The Problem with Emerson

12 | The Problem with Brie

Indie opened the door, a smattering of flour on the front of her shirt and green icing smeared on her cheek.  Clearly, she and Sage had been baking Christmas cookies.  She offered Brie a tender smile and let her into the house.

"Hi, Indie."

"Hi, honey.  He's up in his room," she told Brie, pointing toward the stairs.  Then her expression turned sad.  "You know, we can always tell when something's going on.  Em barricades himself in his room and doesn't even come out for cookies.  And you know it's a bad day when cookies can't even cheer him up."

Guilt began to pool in Brie's gut.  "Well, I'm trying to remedy that."  She made for the stairs, but stopped with her hand on the rail.  "But if I can't, save me one of those cookies."

Emerson's room was at the end of the hall, and today, it loomed before Brie.  Never before had she been hesitant to knock on his door, but she supposed there was a first time for everything.

She rapped her knuckles against his door, and faintly, she heard him tell her to come in.  She knew that he probably thought it was Sage or one of their moms, so she braced herself for his reaction as she turned the door handle and pushed.

"Hi," she said quietly when she stepped into the room.

Emerson swivelled in his desk chair. Brie could tell by the thesaurus opened facedown on his desk and the earbud in his ear that he had been writing. Not that he often did anything else. Emerson's stories were his safe spaces, so it was no surprise that he would turn to them in the wake of their conflict.

"Hi," he replied, pulling the earbud out of his ear.  "What are you doing here, Brie?"

Brie swallowed, crossing her arms.  She glanced around Emerson's room; anything to avoid looking into his warm brown eyes.  "I...I came to fix this – this rift between us."

Her eyes landed on his computer screen, where a notification for an incoming FaceTime call lit up his screen. MJ Hopkins was sprawled across the top of the screen.

Emerson noticed what she was looking at and closed the lid of his laptop. "She's calling about my manuscript," he explained. "She was just giving it a pass before I send it to my editor."

Brie felt like she had been shot. For as long as Emerson had been writing, he had been private about his work. Only recently had be begun to show Brie select pieces. She barely knew his characters' names. And she respected that; truly, she did.

But suddenly, MJ was allowed to read what he had written? Suddenly, she was his confidante?

"So she gets to read your work?"

Brie was ashamed of the jealousy that spewed out of her mouth with her words, but there was no helping it.

Emerson's eyes narrowed. "Yes." Brie's jaw clenched. "Is that a problem?"

"I don't know what your problem is, but–"

This changed something in Emerson. The words died on Brie's lips as she watched the anger cloud his beautiful eyes. He rose from his chair, coming to meet her in the centre of his bedroom. "Do you know what your problem is?"

Stunned, Brie took a step back. She hadn't expected an outburst from Emerson, but she found that it made her bristle regardless. "What, Em? Please enlighten me as to what my problem is."

"You–" He pushed his glasses further up his nose when they began to fall. "You walk around like it's your job to protect me.  You act as if I'm fragile; as if I'll break if anyone treats me less than perfectly.  It's as if you're my personal bodyguard, prepared to strike down anyone that dares to hurt me." He sighed, shoulders slumping. All the fight had been knocked out of him. "I mean, is that all you see me as? Just a weak loser that needs saving from the world?"