The Emi Lost & Found Series

  Once back at my apartment building, Marcus shakes his head at me, communicating to me that Laney didn’t stop by. I never thought she would.

  CHAPTER 4

  On Friday, an hour and a half before the gig, I start to tune my guitar and go over a song I had written lyrics for the summer before college. I started working out the chords and melody a few months ago, feeling nostalgic and melancholy one night. I haven’t played it for my bandmates yet, so if I decide to perform it tonight, it’ll be acoustic. It’s how I envisioned it to be played anyway. Acoustic, in a dimly lit room, just me and her. If Emi does come tonight, I’ll strike it from the set list. She said she had some illustrations to finish up on one of her magazine projects. She told me she hoped to make it.

  I hope she does– and then mentally kick myself back into reality. I don’t know why I struggle with my attraction to Emi when I’m not in a relationship. It’s never a problem when I’m seeing someone. I’m always able to direct my full attention and affections to my girlfriend with no trouble. With Laney seemingly out of the picture, my mind again begins to wrangle with the what-ifs. It’s not something I like to even consider.

  I take a quick shower before going through my closet to find something to wear. Our band’s sound has matured over the years that we’d been playing together. When we started, it was a strange infusion of folk and punk, so when we used to play clubs, we’d find our rattiest t-shirts and jeans and our oldest Chuck Taylors to fit the music. Since we’ve pretty much abandoned the punk aspect, I decide on a burnt orange button-down over a clean, white t-shirt, pressed jeans and some boots I had bought for myself for Christmas. I run my fingers through my hair and grab my brown leather jacket before heading out the door.

  The small scrap of paper sits next to my keys and phone. I pick up the innocuous receipt and debate dialing Samantha’s number to set up a date with her. I know I need a distraction, but decide to leave the paper on the table as I gather the rest of my things and leave the loft.

  Marcus stops me in the lobby.

  “Nate, you just missed Laney.” I glance outside the glass entranceway, but there’s no sign of her. A sense of relief settles over me. Maybe I wasn’t as in love with her as I thought.

  “Why did she come?”

  Marcus walks to the reception desk and picks up a box, and I recognize it as the same one I had given her for Christmas. Inside was a vintage-style Hermes scarf that Emi’s sister, Jen, had picked out when the three of us went shopping for holiday gifts. When I open the lid, I see the scarf is still folded up inside.

  “She dropped this off?” I ask him.

  “She said she wasn’t particularly fond of the colors, and thought there might be someone else who would enjoy it more.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Laney,” I tell Marcus, imagining the words “particularly fond” coming out of Laney’s mouth. They never would.

  “I may have worded it a little more politely,” he admits. I laugh quietly and nod. “Personally, the color reminds me of Judy’s eyes.” I’d met his wife, Judy, quite a few times over the seven years he’d worked as the doorman of the building. I could tell that she had been stunning in her youth. I look under the scarf to see if Laney also returned the Louis Vuitton gift card I had given her. Of course not.

  “I tell you what, Marcus. Why don’t you take this home to Judy? A belated Hanukkah gift.”

  “I couldn’t take it,” he argues, pushing the box back into my hands.

  “Really, Marcus. It’s certainly not my style. And I don’t have anyone else to give it to.”

  “But you could get a refund.”

  I roll my eyes at him. My wealth is no secret to him. “Please take it. It would make me happy to know that some woman enjoys it.”

  Marcus silently wavers, but eventually relents with a smile. He takes the box back. “You’re too generous, Nate. And she wasn’t good enough for you,” he adds, knowing all too well that yet another relationship of mine has come to an abrupt end. “Pretty, but a little shallow.”

  I shrug my shoulders and begin to walk toward the doors. “You overestimate me,” I call back to him. The valet hands me my keys and I get into the car, admittedly driving a little too quickly on my way to Brooklyn.

  When I arrive at the bar, I seek out Eric, my drummer, and Jason, my bass player. Both are drinking with women I’ve never seen before. When they introduce me, I understand that they have all just met, and have made plans to go out for a late dinner after we play. I decline their invitation to join them. On my way to the stage, I glance around, but don’t see Emi. I grab a table at the front and drape my jacket over the back of a chair. When a waitress approaches, I order a glass of water and a glass of wine.

  “You can set the water on the stage, but leave the wine on the table.”

  Just in case she shows up.

  We start to set up our equipment on stage after meeting briefly with the manager. I apologize again for missing the last gig, but he already seems to have forgotten about it.

  “Guys,” I address my bandmates. “I’ve got a new one I think I might want to do a few songs in. It’s a slow number. I can do it acoustic.”

  “You don’t trust our improv skills? Jackass,” Eric says under his breath, but I know he’s kidding.

  “If you guys want to join in, that’s fine,” I tell them, confident in their combined talent.

  The drinks arrive in the middle of the first song. The wine sits by itself on the table in front, and I can’t stop my eyes from drifting back there every few seconds.

  When Emi doesn’t show up after the third song, I decide she isn’t coming. I turn around to Eric and Jason and give them both a signal that I’d like to perform the new song I had written.

  A few bars in, Eric starts in with a light high-hat cymbal beat that provides a perfect understated rhythm to the song. By the middle of the first verse, Jason has figured out a complementary bass line. I smile at the beautiful sound, singing the words I’d penned for her, staring at that full wine glass that I’d ordered for her.

  “And at the time, it all felt right

  When we first met that fateful night

  I held you close, I took you in

  You looked at me. Oh, what could’ve been.”

  When the chorus begins, I’m startled to see the wine glass move. Consumed by the song, it takes a moment for me to realize what’s happened. I hadn’t noticed her enter the bar, nor had I seen her sit down right in front of me.

  “It should’ve been me

  That tasted the sweet–

  But he was the one

  Whose–”

  My heart skips a beat as I watch Emi sip the wine. She waves at me when my eyes meet hers, and I swallow the words I’d written before any more can escape my lips. I stop playing the guitar abruptly, embarrassed. The guys continue on for a few more seconds, but stop when I wave my hand at them.

  “Sorry,” I apologize to the audience. “It’s a new song we haven’t quite rehearsed. I forgot the words,” I say with a charming smile and a few strums of my guitar. The audience is kind as they laugh quietly. Emi’s brows furrow in confusion. I’ve never botched a performance before, and she’s seen many. I look away quickly, afraid she heard too much already and can read my thoughts.

  “Guys, let’s move on,” I say to Eric and Jason, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. It’s not until the chorus of the next song that I fully recover. I look back over at her and smile, the sweet look on her face reminding me of her enduring friendship that I never want to be without.

  “Thank you,” she mouths to me after another sip. She takes off her coat to reveal a low-cut sweater that accentuates her chest. She was not blessed with large breasts, but they fit her frame perfectly, beautifully. The pink sweater brings out the rosy color on her pale cheeks, and compliments her strawberry blonde hair perfectly. I, again, find myself looking in the opposite direction before she can catch me ogling her.

  During the next song, a pink drink with
an umbrella is delivered to Emi’s table. The waitress whispers something in her ear and nods to a table of men in the corner. Emi picks up the glass and smiles to one eager man in particular before taking a drink. He waves shyly, and I know he’s doomed already. As his friends try to convince him to go over to her table, he tries to shake them off, obviously nervous. One of Emi’s biggest turn-offs is a man without confidence. Poor sap. It takes four more songs before he finally gets the nerve to go over to her. I watch the interaction carefully, my fingers strumming the familiar chords with no concentration required, the words coming easily.

  He asks if the seat is taken– the seat that my coat is draped over. When Emi looks at me, I simply raise my eyebrows at her, my expression a little mocking, questioning her assessment of the situation. Her cheeks turn bright pink as she shakes her head and the man sits down next to her. His mannerisms are awkward, and I swear his hand is shaking as he takes a swig from his bottle of cheap beer.

  Emi must notice this too, as her fingers gently rest on top of his when he sets his drink down. I can imagine her words to him, soothing, reassuring, telling him not to be nervous. She is always the one to put people at ease. She’s a natural. He has no chance with her, I know this instantly, but she’s never one to be rude or judgmental, and her friendly smile opens the door to more conversation.

  By the end of the set, they’re laughing together, but I can see the distance Emi’s putting between them by her body language. I can read her so well. I thank the applauding crowd, and then invite another round of praise for Eric and Jason. Emi stands to clap, and the man next to her does the same.

  After packing up my guitar and saying goodbye to my friends, I descend the steps and approach Emi’s table. She walks past the man to me, giving me a big hug. I take her in my arms and kiss her on the cheek.

  “Thanks for coming,” I speak softly in her ear. “Who’s your friend?”

  She pulls away from me, her teeth biting her smiling bottom lip. I’ve made her blush with my greeting, which is just fine with me.

  “Oh, um, Grant?” she says to her new companion. “This is my friend, Nate.”

  “Nate, nice to meet you,” he says as he extends his hand to me. Weak handshake. Nope, not for Emi.

  “Likewise,” I tell him.

  “Um, thank you for the drink, Grant,” she tells him, gathering her coat and mine. “Are you ready to go, Nate?”

  “Go?” I ask her, my face serious.

  “To dinner. We have reservations?”

  “Do we?” The pitch of my voice is higher than usual as I play with her. Her back to Grant, she glares with her beautiful, pleading, green eyes.

  “We do, remember?”

  “Ah, yes. You were going to treat me to dinner. Right.”

  “Right,” she nods. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Grant. And thank you for the drink.”

  “You already said that,” I whisper in her ear as she backs away from the table. She turns quickly and grabs my forearm, dragging me out of the bar. She groans in frustration when we exit into the cold night. I set my guitar down and help her with her coat before putting mine on.

  “You... you!” she yells at me, eloquent as always.

  “Me, me... I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Where’s your car?” she snaps at me.

  I can’t help but laugh a little. “Two streets south in a sketchy looking lot.” She nods and begins to walk quickly to the north. “South is this way, Em.” She groans again and pivots around, running right into Grant as he exits the bar.

  “Oh, god, I’m sorry,” she says, embarrassed, moving past him. He holds on to her arm to get her attention.

  “No, I am. Look, if I had known you had a boyfriend...”

  “She doesn’t,” I tell him, shaking my head. I know I need to shut up by the angry stare on her face. She sighs heavily.

  “Look, Grant, you seem really nice, but I’m not really... available...” The three of us stand in awkward silence, Grant and I staring at Emi for her vague explanation.

  “Okay,” he says plainly.

  “Okay,” she smiles. “Good night.” She picks up my guitar as she walks past me and continues in the direction toward the car. I follow her quickly, attempting to take the guitar from her tight grip.

  “I’ll get it, Em.” She lets go and crosses her arms across her chest. “Emi, I was playing,” I plead with her. Her short stature makes it difficult for her to walk angrily ahead of me. She doesn’t look at me. “Emi...”

  “Jerk,” she says.

  “I know, I’m sorry,” I tell her sincerely. When we get to the street, I guide her toward the lot. She slams my door when she gets in. I try to figure out my next move as I walk slowly to the driver’s side. After I get in, I start the car and turn the seat warmers on. “So where are you taking me to dinner?” I ask sheepishly.

  Her jaw drops and she turns to look at me slowly in disbelief.

  “Home then?” I ask.

  A vengeful smile starts to form on her face. She pushes hard against my shoulder. “You’re gonna pay for this,” she says, barely able to hold in the laughter.

  “Okay,” I tell her with my winning smile. “I deserve that.”

  “You do.”

  “I do. That’s what I said.”

  She rolls her eyes at me, grinning. “See if I ever come to one of your gigs again,” she threatens.

  “Oh, you never miss them.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll start,” she says, prissy.

  “Emi,” I tell her as I put the car in gear, “I’m really glad you came out tonight. Thank you. It means a lot to me.” I nudge her chin playfully with my finger and see her blush again. Before I allow myself to gaze into her seemingly-smitten eyes, I pull out of the parking lot.

  I know that my charming ways make her giddy at times, but I know not to go any further than that. We had decided long ago that our friendship should always take precedent over any fleeting romantic feelings. It’s not that they didn’t exist from time to time. The idea is always out there, sometimes distant, and sometimes not... and there is clearly something between us, but I still have doubts that I could ever be enough for her. She’s an idealist, looking for that soulmate. She always seems to look beyond me. And I know she should. From past experience, I know she should.

  “What was up with that new song?” Emi asks when I pull up to her apartment building.

  “I just forgot the words.”

  “You seemed entranced by it,” she says. “Did you write it?”

  “Yeah, a while back.”

  “Well, I liked what I heard.”

  “Thanks. It needs some work.” A veiled smile hides my real feelings about the song. She tells me good night and gets out of the car. I watch to make sure she gets inside okay, then begin my short drive home thinking about the inspiration behind the song.

  One night, more than nine years ago, something happened that told me what I never wanted to know... what I always wanted to forget, but couldn’t.

  Emi’s brother had called me one Friday night. He was drunk, and apparently, so was Emi. He needed someone to pick her up from a party before she got herself in trouble. I was still in high school in New Jersey, and she was in her first semester at NYU, but even then, he knew I would do anything for her.

  Anger clouded my eyes when I pulled up in front of the frat house. A stranger’s hands were on her cheeks, holding Emi’s face close to his. She was trying to move away from him, her hands pressed against his chest. Or were they gripping his shirt, holding him closer? No, certainly not. Eventually they stopped kissing, and he held her arm as she slid off the picnic table and stood next to him.

  I revved the engine and eventually got the guy’s attention... Emi’s, too. I got out of the car quickly, and I could tell she finally felt safe enough to move away from him.

  “Emi,” I said, exhaling as I spoke.

  “Hey,” she said quietly as I glanced at the frat boy. When she started to cr
y, she was the only thing in my vision. I couldn’t get to her fast enough, but when I finally reached her, I pulled her into my arms, holding on to her, whispering assurances in her ear.

  “It’s okay, I’m here. Shhh...” She sniffled loudly in my ear. “Are you okay?”

  She pulled away and looked up at me, looking sorry and apologetic. She nodded, a motion so subtle I barely caught it. Relieved, I kissed her forehead and pulled her back into my chest before trying to walk her to the car. She was unsteady, clearly drunk. Even with my careful steps, she managed to trip us both. Once I knew she was alright, we laughed quietly.

  “Come on, Em,” I urged her as I opened the door. She sat down, folding her hands in her lap, obviously obeying me. I pulled the belt across her body, moving her arms out of the way when she wouldn’t, and buckled her safely in. I closed the door and smiled at her as she looked up at me, smiling back. I brushed the hair out of her eyes and then felt her hand on the back of my neck, pulling my head to hers.

  I shook my head, unsure what she was trying to do. I took her hand in mine, kissed it and placed it back in her lap. I returned to my side of the car and looked back at the guy who still stood motionless next to that table. The anger was immediately back, and I hoped my eyes were communicating it to him as I stared into his. I wondered if Chris knew what had happened in the time that had passed since he called and the time I actually showed up. I wasn’t sure that Emi even knew.

  I sped away from the frat house quickly, glancing back only once in hopes of seeing the guy’s face one more time. He had dark hair, but that was the only physical characteristic I really latched on to, too occupied with taking control of the situation, and I really wanted to remember him... really wanted to go back and let him know it wasn’t okay to take advantage of drunk girls– especially the one sitting next to me in my convertible. He had already gone inside, though. Fucking coward.