She pinched the bridge of her nose at the gravity in her sister’s voice.
“Yeah. And yes, Morgan’s hot. But I’ve got too much going on.”
“You don’t think maybe a distraction would be a good thing?” Anna Maria asked.
“She’s a vet.”
“So? You don’t have to talk about work. You don’t need to talk at all.”
Emilia wondered if it was possible to hear eyebrows waggle suggestively.
“She knew dad.”
“Even better. You don’t have to pretend to be fine, which, by the way, you’re terrible at.”
“Why are you pushing this?”
Silence answered her, then, “you deserve some happiness, Emmy. Life’s been a shit to you.”
“And what if this just messes me up worse?”
“Then leave and come home.”
“I don’t do flings.”
“Try it. It might help you get over Hannah, and honestly I don’t like you being up there all by yourself.”
“You sound like Mom.”
“Mom told you to have a fling?”
“No. The being alone part.”
“We’re allowed to worry about you.”
“I keep telling you I’m fine.”
“Jesus Christ! You were suicidally depressed three months ago. You’re not all right.” Anna Maria’s outburst over the speaker sent Nell slinking to the far end of the porch. Emilia felt just as stunned.
“I’m sorry,” Anna Maria said. “Twins. No sleep. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I just don’t like you being so far away.”
“I know. I miss you, too.”
“I’m glad you’re making friends.”
“Thank you.”
“Even if Morgan is hot enough to make me consider switching teams.”
“Gross.”
“Sexuality is fluid. Shouldn’t you know that?”
“Unlike you, I don’t like thinking about my sister’s fluidity.”
“Or fluids,” said Anna Maria.
“Hanging up now.”
“Just try to have fun!”
“Bye.”
“Sex is—”
She didn’t wait to hear what else Anna Maria had to say about sex. Flings were easy to suggest when you were happily married, she thought, trying not to feel a surge of jealousy. In real life, flings ended in messy feelings. Or at least, Emilia’s always had.
Even if she did want Morgan—and her body had been painfully clear on that account—she hardly knew her. If, once she got to know her better, she decided a fling was a safe idea, then maybe she’d consider it. She couldn’t afford another blow to her mental health so soon. Self-destructive behavior didn’t suit her. It also tended to get other people hurt. For now, she’d focus on the house.
Her phone buzzed again later that afternoon: Lillian.
LL: Down for a run?
ER: I can be there in 10.
“Want to go for a run, Nell?” she asked her dog as she threw on her workout clothes. Nell’s ears perked up, and she nosed Emilia’s sneakers enthusiastically.
Morgan’s truck was not in the driveway when Emilia pulled in. She swallowed her disappointment and parked, letting Nell out on a leash. Lillian came to the door a minute later without either of her tripods.
“Hey,” Lillian said, dressed in a short-sleeved sweatshirt, running pants, and neon sneakers. “You chose a dog with the right number of legs.”