Chapter 7
Ten minutes later, I smelled something burning from the kitchen. I went down and found James at the stove, a black lump in the pan and the smoke alarm screaming overhead.
He held a spatula like a man with no idea what to do with it.
I stood in the kitchen doorway and looked at him. "What are you doing?"
"Frying an egg," he said, looking painfully embarrassed.
"Where's the egg?"
"In the pan."
Whatever was in that pan didn't look like an egg unless you stared really hard. I burst out laughing.
"James, you can't even fry an egg?"
He turned off the stove, set the pan aside, and picked up his phone. "I'll order takeout."
He tapped his phone a few times, then looked at me. "What do you want to eat?"
"Whatever. You pick."
He blanked for a second. Before, I was always the one asking him what he wanted and offering to cook it. Today, he was the one asking me what I wanted and offering to order. Lowering his head, he seriously scrolled through the delivery app.
I leaned against the kitchen doorway and watched his profile. He was good-looking that had always been true. But before, handsome or not, it had nothing to do with me.
Today, though, something about him felt different, maybe because, for the first time, he was treating me like someone worth taking care of.
Even if all he was doing was ordering takeout, for me that was already a huge step.
The delivery arrived: two orders of pasta. We sat across from each other at the table and ate in silence, but it wasn't awkward.
Before, he'd stare at his phone and I'd secretly stare at him. Today, neither of us did that. We shared one quiet meal.
Afterward, he gathered the bowls and set them in the sink.
"Leave them. Grace can wash them tomorrow." I said.
Okay, He washed his hands, came back, and stopped in front of me. "Emily."
"Yeah?"
"I talked to my mom today."
"About what?"
"About you. I told her not to bad-mouth you in public anymore."
I looked into his eyes. "Did she agree?"
"She said she never called you a dog."
"She's lying."
"I know. But I made it clear that I don't want to hear that kind of talk."
A strange feeling rose in my chest. It wasn't gratitude or softness, but a bit of surprise, surprise that he'd actually gone to his mother and told her he didn't like hearing those things about me.
"Thanks. But talking isn't enough. If she doesn't change, I'll keep going crazy."
"I know. I told her that too. I said, 'Don't mess with Emily. She's already lost it now.'"
I blinked, then laughed. "You told her I lost it?"
"Didn't you?"
He looked at me, and the corner of his mouth moved a little. It was the tiniest curve, easy to miss, but I saw it. He was smiling. James was smiling.
After two years of marriage, it was the first real smile I'd ever seen him give me, and my heart skipped a beat.
"James, you actually look pretty good when you smile."
His ears turned red again. He turned and walked off, saying, "I'm going back to the study." I stayed at the table, watching him disappear at the stairway before lowering my gaze to the empty bowl in front of me. My heart was still racing.
I pressed a hand to my chest and told myself, Emily, hold it together. It was only a smile. Two years of hurt couldn't be erased by one smile, and I couldn't go soft, at least not yet... though I really was a little happy.
My phone buzzed. Olivia texted: [Em, how's it going? Any progress?]
I replied: [He said my red dress looked good today, and he even ordered takeout for me.]
Olivia texted back: [OMG. Is he finally starting to come crawling back?]
I thought about it, then sent back a single word: [Yep.]
Olivia replied: [That's how men are. When you're good to them, they don't value it. The second you stop caring, they start chasing.]
Looking at her message, I had to admit she was right. Whether James was that kind of man, I didn't know, but I knew this much: I would never go back to who I used to be.
The past me was dead. The woman I was now was Crazy Emily, and Crazy Emily bowed to no one.