“Whew, time for a break,” I said.
“Nah, that's all for today,” he replied. “I think I've pretty much got everything else down. But thanks. You're a really good teacher, you know that? You've got a knack for explaining the complicated stuff, you know, getting to the essence of it and simplifying it so that a doofus like me can understand it.”
I blushed at the compliment, or maybe it was because of the way his gaze lingered a little when he looked at me. Either way, being around the man made me a little restless.
“Come on now, you're not a doofus. I'm pretty sure most people in the class don't get half of these concepts. It's a tough class, and it looks like you're doing pretty well despite that.”
“It is tough. But I gotta say, I'm really motivated to do well this semester.”
“Good! So am I.”
“You're lucky you've got a roommate like Leslie. I'm sure it's much easier to get stuff done in this apartment than it is in mine,” he confessed pensively.
“Yeah, Leslie's awesome, and she's a hard worker, too. I guess you're right, it is easy to get things done in here.”
I wanted to add, “Except when you and Chris are partying and having sex with those bimbos,” but, of course, I didn't.
“Yeah, she seems cool.”
“I guess it's not easy living with Chris if you're trying to work hard at college, huh,” I asked.
Emerson chuckled and shook his head. “You have no idea. Chris is a machine. He just doesn't stop, ever. I'm worried about him, to tell the truth. He barely scraped through last semester. And, I'm talking only barely. Like by a single point. And, he wasn't even partying as hard as he is now. I don’t see how he's not gonna flunk out this semester. I feel bad, not because I feel like he's gonna drag me down with him—I know I'll pass, even with the partying he guilts me into—but because I can't seem to do anything to help him. I feel like a bad friend.”
“Aw, that's sweet of you, Emerson. But you know a person has to want to help themselves and change themselves before anyone else can help them or get them to change. I know you care a lot about your friend, but you can't blame yourself for his choices.”
“Yeah, I know. I still feel bad about it, though.”
“I can understand. I've been there myself.”
“You have?”
“Yeah.” The sting of memories rushed back. “I had a friend in high school who developed anorexia. I know it's a totally different situation than yours, but in some ways, there are similarities. We all saw what was happening as she got thinner and thinner, and we all desperately wanted to help her. But she wouldn't even acknowledge that she had a problem, much less that she needed help, even when we tried to stage an intervention. Eventually, it got so bad that her family had to pull her out of school and put her in a hospital.”
“Oh man, that's terrible.”
“I know. And, all of us felt so guilty, like it had been our fault because we hadn’t stopped her somehow. But it wasn’t that we hadn’t tried so, so hard to get her to see herself differently. One of the saddest parts was that she was beautiful before the disorder. But nothing we ever said or did could convince her of that. Nothing.”
“That is sad. Man, I guess my situation with Chris doesn't even compare to something that hardcore.”
“Oh, no. I didn't mean to make light of your situation or to suggest that it wasn't a serious problem. I was just trying to show you that you shouldn't blame yourself if he doesn't want to change or get help. I know you probably feel like you're not trying hard enough or not doing the right things to change him but, like I said, there's only so much you can do if he refuses to want to change himself.”
“I appreciate that, Brooke. That's good advice, actually. And, it does make me feel a little less guilty about the whole thing.”
He looked at his watch and stood up. “It's getting kinda late. I guess I should go. Thanks again for the help. I really, really appreciate it.”
His eagerness to get the hell out of Dodge caught me a little by surprise. It usually seemed that he was trying to start conversations with me. But here we were, I had just opened up to him, and he was shutting it down and heading out. Still, as much as a part of me wanted to tell him to sit down and stay longer, another part was reminding me that this was exactly what I needed—to ke
ep things formal and maintain a distance between us.
“You’re welcome,” I said as I stood. “It was my pleasure to help.” I went over and opened the front door to let him out. “I guess I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”
He stopped next to me and stood there a moment. There was a bit of an awkward pause in which I couldn't decide whether to hug him goodbye or not. And, judging by the way he looked down at me, it seemed that he, too, was wrestling with the decision. A jolt of adrenaline passed between us as our eyes met. Then, as if he’d been a gawky schoolboy, he merely waved goodbye, walked out, and headed back to his place.
I shut the door and headed to the kitchen, more than a little confused over the feelings that lingered after every encounter with Emerson. I needed a glass of wine. Or some chocolate. Maybe both. After a snack, I packed my books away and then started my nightly routine and made my way into my bedroom to climb into bed.
That's when I heard it.
Again.