“Feeling any better?” Wilma’s arm is around my shoulder. Her soft voice is in my ear as she rubs my
back in her office. I had a full-blown emotional break down and did something I never ever imagined PA
Emma would ever do. I told her everything about Jake, and how I really feel about him in a fit of
blubbering sobs. Things I haven’t even told Sarah. I blame the maternal pull Wilma has over me and
the darn gentle look she manages to throw my way at every opportunity. I’m using an almost empty
packet of scrunched up Kleenex to mop up my mess of a face, sniffing down the last dregs of my self-
esteem.
She sat and listened, and nodded, and some of the time, I saw that knowing look in her eye and
assumed Margo had told her the odd tidbit of my sorrowful tale. She listened quietly, her gentle touch
on me the whole time, letting me get it all out. She seems unsurprised to know I had sex with Jake. But
then I guess most of New York’s single women had. His headboard’s probably run out of space to keep
tally years ago. It’s not exactly a small or hard list to get on.
“A little.” I sniff, using the new tissues she’s given me to blow my nose again. I’m a complete mess.
“Sounds to me like you two have got it really bad, yet neither of you has the ability to admit it to each
other.” She smiles knowingly, but I shake my head. She doesn’t know Jake the way I do. She has this
so wrong in so many ways.
Yes, I’ve got it bad … Jake just … I don’t even know anymore, he’s just Jake. It’s all sex with him.
“You sound like my roommate; she said the same. Jake’s complicated. He doesn’t feel the same way
… He pretty much told me to leave and go to Europe.” I smile tightly, hurt. She’s no idea how much of a
roller-coaster ride Casanova Carrero is.
I take solace from her stroking my back, it’s motherly and nice. My mother never did this for me, ever.
Not even as a small child. I’ve never had a maternal figure in my life, not really. No one soothed my
tears or hugged me back then. My mother was all about her pain, her drama. I was the one who
smoothed back her hair and wiped her tears.
“I want you to go home, Emma, for the rest of the week … You need some space to really digest
everything. What you’ve told me is so much in such a small amount of time. Take some R and R. Don’t
come in until Monday. You’re due some holidays anyway, so you won’t lose any pay.” She pats my
back and smiles softly but there is a commanding tone to her hint.
“I can’t …” I begin to protest but she catches my hand and squeezes it tightly.
“This isn’t a suggestion, Emma … I need you sharp and focused. This is for my benefit as much as
yours, sweetie. You also need time to figure out if your future is in this company or in Europe.” She
gives me a full body squeeze before standing up and walking to her desk from the couch where we are
perched. She pours me a glass of water and brings it back to me, sitting down once more. “Go to the
dance tomorrow night. I’ll see you there. And, if you still feel like you don’t need time off, then we’ll talk.”
“I don’t know.” I move uneasily.
Jake will be there, probably with a date. How can I even contemplate going after what’s happened? I’m
so done with this roller-coaster.
“You need a good night off, a pretty dress, and a lot of alcohol. Take a friend, have a blast, kick back,
and set these gorgeous waves free.” She picks up a strand of my hair and pushes it behind my ear. It
seems everyone has the urge to tame my wild hair nowadays. Maybe I should grow it back out and
return it to “sleek poised Emma mode” since my life seemed to start unraveling not long after I cut it all
off.
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