Frank and Jillian Rowan have arrived for the evening.
“Well, shit,” Emerson laughs darkly, “It’s a family reunion! This should be fun.”
“Relax, Abby,” Riley says, anticipating my panic. “You’re a grown woman. It’s none of their business who you spend your time with.”
“Try telling them that,” I mutter, anxiously buzzing them up.
“Look, I’m sure it will be fine,” Emerson sighs, starting to gather his things, “If nothing else, they’ve got that whole snobby, fake-polite thing going on. So it’s not like they’ll start anything with me. Rich people don’t do confrontation. It’s not proper.”
I’m surprised to feel a twinge of annoyance at Emerson’s generalizations. My grandparents aren’t perfect, but they’re the only family I have these days. They’re the only people who have supported me through my life, even if that support has been more financial than emotional. I’m not OK with Emerson slamming them.
“Aren’t you a rich person now, too?” I ask curtly, crossing my arms.
Emerson raises an eyebrow, taken aback by my tone.
“Sure. But I earned my money,” he replies. “I haven’t just been inheriting my advantages and coasting along.”
“Like I’m doing, you mean?” I shoot back. Now I’m really getting pissed off. I thought that he, of all people, wouldn’t be judgmental about something like money. But I guess maybe I was wrong. Maybe having money has changed him.
“You know I’m not talking about you,” he says, actually shocked by my reaction. “Abby, you don’t coast. You work your ass off, you’re great at what you do—”
“Well. When you spend your whole life inheriting your advantages, you have a lot of time to devote to your interests,” I say drily.
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Emerson says sternly.
“Don’t spout orders at me,” I return.
“Whoa, whoa,” Riley says, placing herself between us, “Back to your corners, you two.”
“He started it,” I mutter, crossing my arms.
“Excuse me?” Emerson scoffs.
“Oh my god,” Riley groans, “Just because you’re in the same room again, doesn’t mean you get to revert back to your angst-ridden teenage selves.”
Before I can reply, the doorbell chimes. My grandparents are right outside.
“That’s my cue,” Emerson says, walking toward the door with me. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t—”
“Me too,” I say quickly, pausing before the door. Riley is kind enough to go back into her room for the moment.
“Can I at least give you one last birthday kiss?” Emerson asks, catching my hand and placing the ring box onto my palm. I nod, clutching the box to my chest. Emerson lowers his lips to mine, giving me a sweet, swift kiss goodnight. I pocket the box, giddy and flushed, and pull open the front door.
My grandparents are revealed to us in all their finery. I watch them go stock-still, forced smiles paralyzed in place, as they see Emerson beside me. It takes them a moment, but recognition floods in at last. And the second it does, the goodwill drains from their eyes in an instant, replaced by sheer revulsion.
“Is that—?” my grandmother breathes.
“It is,” Emerson smiles, drawing himself up to his full, towering height. “Good to see you again, Jillian. Frank.”
“What the hell is he doing here?” my grandfather says to me, refusing to look at Emerson for another second.
“He was just leaving,” Emerson replies, “But you all have a good night. Happy birthday again, Abby.”
He leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek, and I watch as my grandparents’ eyes bug out of their heads. I’m surprised they don’t keel over as he moves past them to the stairs and disappears from sight. A long moment of silence unfolds as my grandparents stare at me, absolutely seething.
“So...Do you guys want to come in, or—?” I offer faintly.
“Abigail Cecily Rowan,” my grandfather blusters, charging into the apartment with grandmother on his heels, “How dare you subject us to that?”
“Excuse me?” I reply, taken aback by his outrage. I knew they wouldn’t be happy to see Deb’s son again after all these years, but they’re absolutely livid.
“How could you blindside us like that?” my grandmother asks, her nose wrinkled. “Seeing that boy here, in our apartment—”
“I thought this was my apartment, too,” I cut in, “I do live here, you know.”
“Rent free,” Grandpa scoffs.
“I’m sorry,” I reply tersely, “I didn’t realize that meant I couldn’t have a friend over to celebrate my birthday. Should I clear all my guests with you, or—?”
“A friend?” Grandma hisses, grabbing onto my wrist with surprising force for such an old lady. “Do you think we’re absolute idiots?”
“Of course not!” I exclaim, “I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this.”
“You don’t understand why we’re upset to see you hanging out with that piece of trash?” Grandpa shouts, slamming his fist down on the kitchen counter. “Your father told us all about finding you two in bed together the morning after the wedding. It’s absolutely disgusting, Abby. You have no business fraternizing with someone of his kind—to say nothing of the fact that he was your stepbrother!”
“You need to stop right there,” I say firmly, yanking my arm out of my grandmother’s grasp. “You don’t know the first thing about Emerson, or what happened between us when we were kids. There was nothing disgusting about our relationship then, and there’s nothing wrong with us spending time together now! He’s a wonderful man. A smart, successful, funny man who I care very deeply about. Why can’t you respect that?”
“His trashy mother ruined your father’s life,” Grandma spits, “She and her jailbird husband were sucking him dry that whole time. And just look at him now! He’s an absolute wreck. He never recovered from what that woman did to him.”
“Dad ruined his own life,” I tell them, “Deb did a terrible thing, taking advantage of him like that. But he’s a grown man. No one forced him to relapse. No one made him refuse to go to rehab and get his life together. He let himself go to pieces. And even if Deb and her husband did set him off, that has nothing to do with Emerson! He and I were just kids when Dad and Deb got together. We were innocent bystanders to that whole train wreck.”