Barely Breathing

"I'm sorry," Sara grimaced, "but there isn't another choice if you really want to cook for him. Otherwise, you'll have to go to a restaurant. I mean, it's only a house, Emma. She's not going to be there. She was admitted into that program for the next six months. There's no one there."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," I groaned under my breath. I'd been planning this dinner all week. The logistics had been sorted out carefully. We were supposed to have dinner on the deck overlooking the pool while Sara and Jared set up the barn for the surprise party after. It was my turn to actually do something for him, but this wasn't part of the plan.

I considered just scrapping the dinner and taking him to a restaurant. But every time I thought of this night, it was more about the look on his face when he discovered I’d actually cooked for him than anything else. I didn't want to lose that over a... technicality.

"Fine," I huffed, "I'll cook there. But where should we eat? That kitchen is the least romantic place on earth."

"How about the backyard?" Sara suggested. I shook my head, feeling nauseous at just the thought of being near the ashes of the rocking chair.

"Umm, I can put the kitchen table on the porch, I guess," I considered with a shrug.

"That's perfect," Sara exclaimed. "Let's look in the closet downstairs. I'm pretty sure my mom has a ton of table cloths you can use to cover it up."

"How many people are coming?" I asked, following Sara down the stairs.

"Uh, everyone," Sara answered with a sarcastic tone. "You put me in charge of inviting, so of course they're all coming."

"But you just invited them yesterday," I stated in amazement. "That was the plan―to invite last minute so no one would ruin the surprise. We figured maybe half would come."

"Well... we figured wrong," Sara shrugged. "It probably has something to do with seeing the Mathews' place. No one's really been there before."

"True," I agreed. "But that's a lot of people."

"Yes, it is," Sara smiled. "And everyone is arriving at eight, so you and Evan should arrive at eight-thirty."

"Okay," I replied, anxiety looming in the pit of my stomach.

Everything was going as planned when I left Sara's with my hair in soft waves down my back and the pink dress hanging in the backseat. I kept replaying my strategy for when I arrived at the house over and over in my head.

Move the kitchen table to the porch. Cut up the salad and fruit. Season the steaks and keep them wrapped in the fridge. Mix the brownies and stick them in the oven before I change. Then the finishing touches after, like set the table, light the candles and... oh yeah, take the brownies out of the oven.

I could do this. It was going to go perfectly.

And despite the palpitations that made me fearful I was about to have a heart attack, and the jitters that kept my hands shaky, it was going exactly how it was supposed to. I kept glancing at my phone on the counter, hoping the battery wouldn't die before Sara called to tell me he was on his way.

In order to get him here, he'd have to know I had a surprise waiting for him. Sara was supposed to send him to me after he dressed at his house. Jared would make certain he didn't go anywhere near the barn. I could only imagine his reaction when he was told where he was to meet me. Sara's call was supposed to give me a twenty minute heads-up.

I was mixing the brownie batter in the bowl, reading the back of the box for the hundredth time to make sure I hadn't missed anything, when my phone chimed. My stomach flit with nerves, fearing he was ahead of schedule.

I picked up the phone, sucking the chocolate off my finger.

"Hello?"

"Emma?" Jonathan responded. My heart stammered. Without giving me time to react, he asked, "Where are you?"

I took a breath and tried to sound as casual as possible. "I'm at Decatur Street unfortunately, but it's the only place I―"

"Emma," Jonathan interrupted, "there's some―" A beep from the phone signaled in my ear at the same time the smoke detector blared loudly.

"Shit!" I exclaimed, forgetting the stove had a tendency to smoke. "Hold on. I can't hear you." I set down the phone and the bowl I’d tucked under my arm, and proceeded to fan the alarm with the dish towel until it turned off.

"Stupid stove," I muttered, clambering up on the sink to push the window open with a grunt.

I picked up the phone again and said, "I'm sorry about that." But he didn't respond. I pulled back the phone and the screen was blank; my battery was dead. "Great. And just when everything was going so well," I grumbled.

I opened the front door and allowed the smoke to filter through the screen. It was a good thing we were eating outside. I continued back into the kitchen to pour the batter into the greased pan. I placed it in the oven and set the timer before I made my way up to the bathroom to get dressed, knowing Sara would be trying to call me any minute―although I wouldn't be able to answer. I wanted to shoot myself for forgetting the charger.

I tried to calm my nerves as I zipped the dress along my side. My hands were sweaty, and I needed to dry them off in order to seal the last inch. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, unable to get rid of the flutters overtaking my stomach.

I stepped out of the bathroom, disappointed I no longer had a full length mirror to double check the sundress for the chocolate that seemed to be everywhere.

I skipped down a few steps and stopped at the sound of a car door closing. He was early, and I wasn't ready.

"Shit," I breathed, rushing down the stairs in search of my shoes. Then I saw the mess I'd left behind in the kitchen and tried to decide what was more important. I picked up the chocolate lined bowl and dumped it in the sink, filling it with water while I scraped the scraps of vegetables and fruit from the countertop into the trash.

I slid the trash can in place and rinsed my hands just as the screen door slammed shut.

"Emma?"

I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. I shut off the water and slowly turned around, wiping my hands on a paper towel.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Jonathan's eyes widened at the sight of me. "Wow. You look beautiful."

"Thanks," I choked.

But then his eyes tightened as he looked to the stove, the chocolate aroma filling the kitchen. "Are you cooking?"

"Um, I wouldn't really call it cooking," I laughed nervously. "It's just brownies."

"But you're cooking... for Evan." Jonathan appeared disturbed by his conclusion.

"It's his birthday," I explained feebly. "So... what are you doing here?"

Jonathan remained contemplative for a moment, unable to move past the scene he'd walked in on. "I need to talk to you. It's important." He turned toward the living room as the timer for the brownies sounded.

I removed the pan and shut off the oven. After seeing the perplexed, yet disappointed, look on Jonathan's face, I wasn't concerned with how the brownies came out. Without inspecting them, I set them on the cooling rack and fretfully followed him into the living room.

Jonathan was staring out the front window with his arms crossed when I entered.

"What did you need to tell me?" I asked, tearing him from his thoughts.

"I understand why you're still with him," he began, turning toward me. "He really cares about you, and he's a good guy. It doesn't mean I like it, but I understand."

I needed to sit down for this. I slowly lowered myself on the couch, preparing for where this conversation was headed.

"But, Emma, you and I have both admitted that we have this inexplicable connection between us, right?" He paused for me to respond. I could only nod slightly. "We trust each other with secrets no one else knows. I can be completely honest with you about everything. I've never been able to do that, not even with Sadie. Have you ever told Evan about your nightmares? Your fears?"

I swallowed audibly, knowing he was right. I'd never shared the darkest part of me with anyone other than him. I never wanted Evan to know that side of me. I shook my head, shifting uncomfortably.

"I've been where you are, remember? I thought Sadie was it. But in the end, they don't understand people like us. They never will, because they never had to go through it. You and I are the same. We share a bond that’s stronger than what you think you have with Evan.

"So... I'll wait. I'm not going to force you to decide, because in the end, I know you'll see it, too. I'll wait because I love you, and I promised to always be here for you―for whenever you need me."

The air seeped from my lungs. His words rushed through my head in a dizzying blur.

"Is that why you're here?" I rasped. "To tell me you'll wait for me?"

Jonathan approached the loveseat and sat across from me. He pressed his elbows on his thighs, shortening the distance between us. I knew he wanted to touch me. He grasped his hands to contain himself as I subtly leaned away.

"No, I didn't actually intend to tell you I loved you," he confessed, averting his eyes. "I wanted to wait until I knew you'd be able to say it back." He took a deep breath. "That's not the reason I'm here." His intensely troubled expression distracted me from his confession.

"Why are you here?" I asked, but was suddenly afraid to know. My gut twisted in nervous anticipation.

"The police came to see me today," he revealed, forcing my heart to skip a beat.

My body responded before I could completely comprehend what he was saying. "What? Why?"

"They found a partial print on the car, and matched it to me."

"Wait. What car?" I drew in a sharp breath when I realized, "Oh no. But why would..." My words were lost with the conclusion, "He's dead."

Jonathan eyed me carefully as I took it all in. "Yeah."

"Oh no. Oh God, no." I shook my head, still in shock. "What did we do?"

"You didn't do anything," he returned adamantly. "He was hurting you, Emma. I'm not going let anything happen to you, I promise."

"I can't believe... he's dead." I kept shaking my head, unable to accept it. "Can't we just tell the police the truth?"

"We covered it up," Jonathan explained patiently. "I cleaned any trace that he was here. So no, we can't tell them the truth. They haven't charged me with anything; they're just asking questions right now. And I've spoken to a lawyer. It sounds like they don't have much to go on."

"What did you tell them?" I asked, the panic subsiding enough to allow some coherent thoughts to surface.

"That I noticed his car at Rachel's party the night before he was found, and that I'd stopped by here to talk to her so I may have inadvertently touched it."

I nodded slowly, consumed by a thousand thoughts and images all at once: what we'd done, the lies we'd told, the bloody mess left behind, what could happen to us if the police ever discovered the truth. And above all else, I couldn't stop thinking about the battered body we'd abandoned in the parking lot. A cold sweat ran down my spine with a shiver.

"Just stick to your story about not seeing the guy's face who broke in, and they can't connect him to being here after the party."