A PLACE IN ME

Chapter four.

I didn't actually go home. I waited around the corner until I was confident Finn would have finished his debate over whether to buy the book, just because it was a special edition, or not, because he didn't actually like it that much. I waltzed back in again, prepared to act like nothing had just happened, but I should have known better than to think Emma would let anything go.

"What was that?" It was probably the first time I'd ever seen someone successfully lift one eyebrow in suspicion. Like something cartoon characters do.

"What was what?"

"You know Finn?"

"YOU know Finn?" I wish I could lift only one of my eyebrows at a time. How could she know him by name?

"He's a regular," she shrugged. "Now, you answer."

"That's only the second time I've met him."

"Okayyyyy, so why did you run out of the store?"

"I didn't run. I walked." I definitely ran.

"My question still stands."

"I'm avoiding him," I shrugged, "we don't get on."

"What? But Finn's lovely," her frown seemed genuine, "I know people say he's a bit of a player but-"

"That's it! That's exactly it!"

Emma had just provided me with the PERFECT thing to be wrong with Finn. He wasn't good to girls. He played them. He was probably stringing along multiple girls at once. I bet that girl who was looking at him with stars in her eyes on Saturday night had been in love with him for years and he was destroying her.

"Thank you, Emma. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

"What????? What is happening?"

"Oh, I just- you just-" How was I going to explain this? "I just knew he was a player."

"I'm not saying I agree, Jean. I just know that's what people say about him."

"Well, you know what they say about the people round here," I sighed smugly, "never wrong!"

Her shoulders slumped the ever so slightest bit and after a second glance in her brown defeated eyes, I realised.

"Oh my God, you definitely like him."

"Nope," she picked up the pile of books she'd been fidgeting with throughout this conversation and headed over to one of the shelves, "worse. I've been on a couple of dates with him."

Shit. The Emma I knew used to agree to dates with men and then not turn up because she couldn't be bothered 'wasting her time', as she would say. So, for her to actually go on not just one, but multiple dates with the same boy, she must really like him.

"Oh, so you really like him then. Are you guys still dating?"

"No, I wouldn't put it like that. I don't actually know if we were ever dating, as such. I think we were but-"

"But he's a player," I try and look at her with a soft expression, hoping she realises how bad I feel for having to be blunt.

"He just hasn't called me back yet."

"How long has it been?"

"A month," she states like it's no big deal.

"Emma-"

"But that's just the way he is, Jean! I know I sound delusional, but this happens all the time. He never calls and then he does all of a sudden and we go out like nothing ever happened."

"I seriously cannot believe I am having this conversation with Emma Young right now. It is So not like you."

"Do you think I should call him?"

"Absolutely not! I know you're saying that's "just the way he is" but how is that going to work out in the long run? How could you be in a relationship with someone who momentarily ghosts you every month?"

She looked at me for a second, like she was battling between two choices. One being from a girl she hadn't seen in a years' mind, and her pre-conceived ideas of what this boy is like. The other being her own heart.

"I'm going to call him."

It felt like Emma was on the phone for an eternity. I was pacing the floor, back and forth, back and forth. I don't know why I was so nervous. An elderly lady even approached me and asked if I was ok. That's how bad it was. I didn't want to tell her there was a make or break phone call conversation happening in our stock room, so I just said smiled politely and said "oh yes, just getting my steps in".

She was actually only on the phone for 3 minutes in total. I watched the clock. She appeared again with her chin a little lower than it was before.

"I shouldn't have made the phone call."

'No, you shouldn't have,' I thought to myself. 'I tried to warn you,' I held back from saying and instead decided upon, "oh Emma, I'm sorry."

I hate situations like these. They make me feel selfish. Emma had been on a couple of dates with this boy, and she's upset. Jack is dead. There are bigger fish to fry. Little breakups feel meaningless.

I try to remind myself that when me and Jack broke up. I was inconsolable. But he wasn't just some boy. Its different. We were together for 3 years. I lived with him. In next weeks session, my therapist will tell me this is just one of the stages of grief. She says I won't always feel this way.

I want to be sad with Emma. Sad for her. I try my best.

"What did he say?"

"'I'm just not in the place for something serious' he said. He made it sound like it was never serious, maybe it wasn't. Suppose it was only a few dates."

"It was serious to you, Emma. That's all that matters."

"Let's not talk about it anymore," she shrugs it off and I can tell she's trying to hide her disappointment, "I don't want to bore you on your first day back with my pathetic love life."

I try to ignore the way she said, 'love life'. I know that's a general term for someone's dating life, but I couldn't help pondering if she meant it in the literal sense. Did she really see herself falling in love with him? I am quiet for a second too long.

"Jean, everything okay?"

"Oh, yes, sorry Emma, I zoned out there. But you're not boring me at all, I don't mind listening if you need to talk. It's nice having a bit of normality back," I tried to sound like I genuinely meant that.

"If you're looking for some normality again, why don't you try going to book club again? Did you see it's moved to Mondays now? A new girl Katie takes it and she's great, I think you'd really like her."

I don't know Katie, but I can't stand her. I picture her as a pretty young blonde girl with a whole life ahead of her. In my head, she's everything I used to be and am not anymore. She'll pick silly little romance books week on week, and she'll believe with every part of her that things always work out in the end. She won't know loss the way I do.

I put my envy to one side for the (most likely fictional) version of Katie I've created in my head, so that Emma stops looking at me like my minds in another world (even though it is).

"Yeah, actually, I was thinking that myself. I'll be there on Wednes-"

"Monday," she corrects me with a sympathetic smile.