Page 53 of Searching for Beautiful
Her smile does something to break through the wall Dad built around me today. I almost texted her to cancel, but the second I saw her, I’m glad I came.
“Sure, we can eat. I’m hungry, too. ”
“Thank God. I get grumpy when I don’t eat. You don’t want to see me grumpy. ”
I laugh and we walk over to the little strip of restaurants. I expected today to be awkward, but it isn’t. As we walk into the little pizza place, I realize it’s the normality that makes it so perfect. It’s just any other day. I’m a regular girl, eating with a friend.
“Glad we’re eating, then. I can’t imagine you grumpy. ”
We go to the counter and I order a Coke and a mini pepperoni pizza. Emery gets a root beer and just about everything in the diner on her pizza. We sit down in a booth and she says, “Excuse me,” as her feet push up onto the bench seat next to me.
“Sorry. I have to put them up as much as possible. ”
“No worries,” I tell her.
Emery takes a drink. “Ugh. I hate root beer. ”
“Why do you drink it?”
“Caffeine. It’s not good for the baby and this is caffeine-free. And I hate water even more than root beer. ”
“Oh. ” I look at my drink. I hate root beer, too. I never even considered having to change what I drank just because I was pregnant.
“How do you hate water? I thought everyone liked it. ”
Emery rolls her eyes, but with a smile on her face. “No, silly girl. People drink water because you have to. Even I do sometimes, but no one really likes it. ”
This time it’s me rolling my eyes. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. It doesn’t even have a real flavor. ”
“Exactly,” she retorts. “How can you really like something if it doesn’t have a distinct taste that you enjoy?”
Okay, so maybe she has a small point there, but still. “I promise you, there are people who love water. ”
“Are not. ” Her voice is playful, and I can tell she’s doing this just to have fun with me.
“Are, too. ” I play along with her game of pretending we’re eight.
“Name one. ”
“My mother” shoots right out of my mouth, but then I add, “Well, she did. Obviously she can’t love it anymore. ”
I
wait to see if she’s going to ask me what happened, but when she doesn’t, I tell her anyway. “She died. She had an aneurysm. ”
“I’m sorry. That sucks. ”
“Yeah, it does. ” That about explains it perfectly.
“Oh, I forgot. I was bored the other day and drew this for you. ” Emery reaches into her pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper.
My palms are sweaty as I grab it from her and open it.
“It’s nothing,” she says. “Just a doodle. ”
My eyes scan the page, taking it all in. It’s a vase, with hands touching it, arms ending on the edge of the paper so you can’t see who is touching it. My fingers yearn for pottery in my hand. My thumb brushes that paper as though I’m molding clay.
“It’s lame,” Emery whispers.
