The snowball effect, p.18
The Snowball Effect, page 18
Which brought her back to, “You worked here? I always thought you started at Topped Off as soon as you moved to the city?”
“I basically did. I moved seven years ago this last May, and started at Topped Off in August. Been there ever since,” Regan explained, running her eyes slowly over the restaurant. A small smile played on her lips by the time she returned her gaze to Emma. “I discovered that I wasn’t quite the best waitress.”
Easily recalling their first encounter, Emma dryly stated, “You don’t say.”
But, again, she felt no malice. Didn’t feel the pull of that embedded grudge. She just… wanted to know more.
Regan laughed her full-bodied chuckle. “Yeah. There was a lot of carnage; it was my first-ever job. I got relegated to making the coffee by the end of my second week, and I realized that I was really good at it. So, going to Topped Off made a lot more sense.”
Seemed simple enough. Emma accepted the explanation with a nod. Still, her curiosity wasn’t sated, and she continued to stare at Regan, trying to make sense of the knowledge she’d accumulated over the years. “I still don’t understand why you moved here. As a native, I’ve seen it all. People from small towns looking for a big change. People hustling to make it big in some industry or other. But… all you said when I asked you before was because Sutton lived here?”
Really, Regan was such an oddity in that sense. And Emma wanted to understand it. To understand her.
Regan nodded, looking at Emma as quizzically. “Yes? We’ve already talked about this.”
Emma couldn’t help the incredulous frown that tugged at her mouth. “I just… you moved to one of the most expensive cities in the world with no plans because – your best friend lived here?”
She didn’t mean to sound judgmental. Really, she didn’t. But Emma’s logic-driven brain simply couldn’t compute that answer, though. Not when Regan had her life set up for her back in Massachusetts. She’d known Regan had attended Brandeis University for a year, that she could have finished her education without a single student loan, to have a degree to fall back on as a security blanket at the very least.
Regan was frowning back at her. “Yes,” she doubled down, firmly. “That’s exactly what I did.”
Emma bit the inside of her cheek to hold back any thoughts she had that could possibly come out that weren’t very positive. Literally, she bit down and averted her gaze from Regan’s to stare at the table and mind her own business.
The sigh Regan let out was full of obvious frustration, though, as she dropped her hand down to the table and tapped her fingertips against it. “Just say it.”
Emma cleared her throat as she shot Regan a look. “Say what?”
Regan’s stare alone demanded Emma cut through the bullshit. “Whatever you’re obviously thinking but not saying. Just say it so you aren’t stewing on it.”
“I shouldn’t,” Emma disagreed. “Because I’m trying, remember?”
“You putting in effort to our friendship doesn’t mean you don’t have opinions; I’m fully aware you have them. And we won’t ever get anywhere if we aren’t being ourselves.” Regan squared her shoulders as she turned in the booth to look at Emma fully. “So, I will tell you again: just say it.”
“You really are as persistent as I am stubborn,” Emma muttered as she turned sideways to face Regan, as well. If Regan could take criticism head-on, Emma could deliver it the same way. “Look, I’m sorry, but that’s something I’ve always found really frustrating about you. If you want the spirit of honesty between us as friends, then… there it is.”
The way Regan’s eyebrows furrowed made her confusion clear.
Emma elaborated, “The fact that you could have had that path in life! College completely paid for, a bright future that you don’t have to beg, borrow, and steal anything to achieve. I don’t hold it against Sutton that doors were opened for her in life because she was born into a wealthy family, because I can respect that she understands how privileged she is, and she’s using it to work toward her own dreams.”
She shook her head slightly, staring at Regan, feeling just as baffled as she’d been a minute ago. Feeling echoes of frustration she’d had with Regan for years.
“Do you even understand how lucky you are? To have gone to the school system you grew up in, to have the doors opened to you that you did?” She searched Regan’s gaze, really wanting to know; this wasn’t rhetorical to Emma.
“Do you know how hard I’ve had to work to get to where I am? How many jobs I’ve had to work to slog my way through college, to pay the tuition I owed even after maxing out all of my student loans? Do you think I wanted to graduate and start my career only a few months shy of turning thirty? A career in which I’m currently spending my days sifting through applications for the Alton Writing Fellowship, and every single one is a giant reminder that I earned one of those Fellowship spots myself – and then couldn’t go. Because I couldn’t afford it.”
The words burst from her, from a place so far down, Emma hadn’t expected it to bubble up to the surface. She blinked in surprise, embarrassment quickly on its heels to tie knots in her stomach.
And Regan’s crystal clear gaze – which had gone from confused to defensive to curious and had now settled on sympathetic – held hers, refusing to let go. “I never knew you got into the Alton program thing.”
Emma shrugged, the movement jerky as she reached up a fidgeting hand and swiped her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, it was before I met you. Er, before I met Sutton,” she quickly corrected, feeling her cheeks burn under Regan’s watchful gaze.
What she wasn’t going to say to Regan was that Emma didn’t discuss the brief moment in time that she’d been accepted into the Alton Fellowship with anyone. She’d been utterly elated when she’d gotten accepted, had wanted to shout it from the rooftops. She’d already been gripping her phone so she could call her grandmother and tell her the news…
But then she’d finished going through the envelope and realized that while she had a spot in the program, she hadn’t received any grant money.
Meaning that to partake in the four-month-long California-based fellowship, Emma would have to somehow find the money to get herself across the country, find a new place to live, and try to find a job that would allow her to work around the fellowship hours. All while living away from the only supports she had, in the forms of her gram and her girlfriend.
And the fact that she’d factored how much she’d miss Felicity and their stable relationship, only for Felicity to turn around and unceremoniously dump Emma, had been a retroactive slap in the face, on top of it all.
She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I wasn’t trying to be an asshole to you about the decisions you make in your own life. Because – it is your life. I just… it’s… hard to see someone have access to so many opportunities, like you have, when I would have killed to have half of that access.”
She still felt embarrassed, saying it aloud. Because saying it aloud brought Emma back viscerally to the memories of when she was the only kid in her middle school class who was there on scholarship. Being poor and feeling ashamed of being poor. Then, on top of that, feeling ashamed of being ashamed, because she knew how fucking hard her grandmother worked to provide for her.
Emma couldn’t even remember the last time she’d talked about any of these feelings, the last time those core memories had felt so present in her mind. And she couldn’t understand why the hell she’d just laid out so much about herself to Regan in a diner booth.
Regan’s hand landed softly on Emma’s again, soft and warm, and when she squeezed Emma’s wrist, Emma forced herself to look up at Regan.
Much like in middle school, she’d put on a brave, defiant expression, even if it didn’t match her feelings.
But Regan’s expression didn’t match the middle school bullies, not at all. It was sweet and filled with an understanding Emma hadn’t anticipated. “I really appreciate you telling me all of that.”
Emma arched a doubtful eyebrow at her. “Really?”
Regan was glad Emma had spilled her deep-seated, bitter feelings on Regan’s privilege?
Still, Regan’s guileless face didn’t lie. “Yeah, because I feel like I actually get it, now. Why you’ve always been so grr towards me. And…” Regan’s white teeth dug into her lip as she dropped her gaze for the first time. “I understand why you feel that way. It makes sense.”
“It does.” Emma knew she wasn’t adding anything helpful to the conversation, but she couldn’t help it.
She’d expected Regan to jump right back at her, defending her own life choices. It would probably have been what Emma would have done if the roles had been reversed.
Regan took a deep breath, her shoulders lifting with it, before she slowly blew it out, then turned back to Emma. There was a lightness in her eyes again as she said, “Yup, it does. And now that it’s been voiced aloud, I feel like we can finally move beyond it, right?”
Emma didn’t immediately agree. She took a second to think it over but ultimately nodded. “I guess so. I mean, we kind of already are.” She paused as the reality of the words hit her.
Regan’s insanely enchanting, exuberant smile returned as she squeezed Emma’s wrist twice, letting go of it just as Patty returned with their food.
Emma had to admit after taking a bite – they were pretty damn good. And judging by the knowing grin Regan had on her face as Emma chewed, she knew exactly what she was thinking.
Emma rolled her eyes in response, before she gasped at how Regan was haphazardly scraping her knife through the stack of pancakes on her own plate. “Oh my god, has anyone ever taught you how to hold a knife?”
“Ha-ha,” Regan mimicked a laugh before gesturing at Emma’s own plate. “Has anyone ever told you that this isn’t a math class, and you don’t have to cut your pancakes into equally sized pieces?”
Emma brought her hand up, protectively cupping it around the side of her plate. Where she had, indeed, methodically, neatly cubed her pancakes a minute ago. “You’re literally sawing at them.”
Regan made a dramatic point of using her knife like a saw, then, and Emma couldn’t help but laugh, even as the image of the mangled pancakes looked like the result of an angry toddler.
“So,” Regan said, pointedly changing the subject. “Why did you want to get into publishing?”
Emma rolled her lips like she had to think about the answer, even though she didn’t.
But she looked back at Regan, at her shameless mushy pancake mess and wide, genuinely curious eyes. At how she had a smudge of maple syrup right at the edge of her full lips.
And she realized – that was it.
Something about Regan’s blatantly open, honest approach to life may be loud and chaotic, but it was always honest and accepting.
Emma spoke before she even realized what she was doing. “It was because of magazines,” she admitted with a self-deprecating shrug. “I was obsessed with magazines when I was little. My grandma would bring me to the store, and I would wander away from her as soon as we walked in, grabbing a handful of whatever the latest ones were, and then sequester myself away in a quiet aisle, trying to read as many articles as I could before we had to leave. She’d let me buy one, so I’d always pick the thickest one – whatever it was – to take home.”
A small smile played on her lips at the memory. Even though they hadn’t had much money to spare, and her gram considered magazines a frivolous expense, she’d always gotten Emma one.
“God, I loved reading celebrity gossip in the glossy papers at the supermarket,” Regan agreed, exhaling a dreamy, exaggerated sigh. She cut her gaze to Emma’s. “But I didn’t read all of the articles in them; I was more of a picture-speaks-a-thousand-words girl.”
“Unsurprising,” Emma deadpanned, amused.
It felt – good? Sharing this with Regan. God, that was weird. But, Regan was weird – in a good way, Emma was coming to see. So, she supposed it made sense.
“And?” Regan prompted.
Emma sent her a questioning look as she took a bite from a piece of bacon.
Regan used her fork to gesture at Emma. “When did you know you wanted to be a part of their world? Like, I loved reading magazines, but I never thought I wanted to write in them.”
“Almost immediately.” Emma scoffed out a laugh at her young self. “I’d write articles for my grandmother constantly.”
Regan’s interest was apparent as she set her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her fist and looking at Emma with her full attention. “Do you still write? I mean – I know that’s the goal, right? But, like, your days at work aren’t filled with writing.”
Emma’s chewing slowed that creeping self-consciousness returning. “Uh, not… really.” She hedged after she swallowed.
“Ohhhh,” Regan sang out, eyebrows lifting as she leaned in even closer to Emma. “Not really also means yes, a little.”
Regan stared at her unwaveringly. Emma stared back, that squirmy nervous feeling in her stomach.
“Fine,” she gave in after a few seconds. “I don’t really write. Like, I’m not writing books or articles or anything. I…” She licked her lips before admitting, “I have a bookstagram. Where I write reviews of the novels I read.”
Regan reeled back, her face filled with shock and delight. “Emma!”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why is that so crazy?” She demanded, even though she admittedly had just been reluctant to confess to it. “I love to read, and I have a lot of opinions.”
“Yeah, that part isn’t shocking.” Regan laughed. “What’s shocking is that – I follow you on all of your socials. And you hardly ever post on them! It’s hard to believe you care enough about any social media to keep up with it.”
“Well, I wasn’t doing it for a following or whatever,” she muttered, shrugging. “Look, I started it when I was in undergrad when I didn’t have any time to write anything other than essays. Writing out my thoughts on books was just a fun idea.”
Regan was already sliding out her phone. “Emma, you don’t have to convince me you aren’t here for the clout.” She looked at Emma over her phone. “Now, what’s your name? How do I find you?”
Cheeks burning, Emma pointedly turned away from Regan. “Yeah, that is not happening.”
Mouth falling open in offense, Regan demanded, “Why! You’ll let strangers follow you, but not your literal roommate-slash-friend?!”
“Yes.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Isn’t bonding supposed to be a two-way street?” Emma asked, turning the tables on Regan before they could dig in any deeper.
Honestly, Regan was the only person in her real life who knew about Emma’s book reviewing social media life; Emma felt like that was plenty of sharing on her end.
With obvious reluctance, Regan set down her phone. “Indeed it is. What do you want to know about me?”
Of course, Regan offered herself to Emma without hesitation.
However, instead of finding that annoying, Emma found it… admirable.
Even though Regan was freely inviting Emma to ask anything, Emma found that she didn’t know what exactly to ask. There was so much she didn’t know, and she didn’t know where to even start.
“Tell me something other people don’t know,” she challenged, mostly because she’d just spent the entire dinner so far telling Regan things that she never talked about with anyone else. Leveling the playing field would be nice.
Regan’s lips twisted in thought as she pondered Emma’s comment.
“I like to draw maps.”
The sheer randomness of that statement made Emma choke on her water. Coughing, she blinked at Regan. “What?”
But the grin on Regan’s face wasn’t joking or teasing. If anything, it was a little sheepish. “Maps. I like to draw them.”
Emma frowned. “Like… of New York? The subway? The country?”
“Of made-up countries,” Regan corrected, staring at Emma incredulously. “The subway?”
Emma mirrored her expression. “How are made-up countries less wild than the subway?”
“Who do you know that draws subway maps?”
“I don’t know anyone that draws maps at all,” Emma countered, then paused as she slid her gaze to Regan. “Well, I didn’t think I did, anyway. How did you get into the world of fictional cartography?”
Regan chuckled. “Fictional cartography. I like that. Um, it wasn’t planned. Much like baking – I started hanging out more with some of the people at the café last fall, and I tagged along with Dustin to one of his D&D games, just to see what it was like.”
Unexpectedly fascinated, Emma nodded along. “And you got into it?”
“No,” Regan’s response was so flat it stole a harsh, ugly laugh from Emma’s throat. “Turns out I’m not super into the gameplay. But I did love the world-building stuff! So I spent the couple of hours there drawing up a map for them.” She shrugged, toying with the end of her napkin. “They seemed to really like it, and so did I. So now I draw them maps for every new campaign, and they’ve passed my name along to some of the other people they know. You’d be surprised at the size of the fantasy roleplaying community interested in having a map made for them.”
“I’d love to see these maps.” Really, she was utterly fascinated.
“And I’d love to see your bookstagram,” Regan countered with a devilish grin.
Nearly two hours later, they walked down the hall toward their apartment, and Emma barely even noticed how Regan leaned into her side as she laughed. Cackled was actually more apt, as Regan defensively was telling her about an unfortunate road trip she’d taken with Sutton back in high school.
All right, Emma still noticed how Regan leaned into her. But it felt… nice. It felt like camaraderie.
“And then, by the time we got back to the car – it had been towed!” Regan said the word as if the very existence of a tow truck was offensive to her. “So, you see, even though the trip was my idea, the fact that we were stranded in the middle of Nowhere, Maine really resulted from freak accident after freak accident!”
