Chapter Text
Time.
Oh, how Emily hated it.
It was her enemy. Not Miranda Priestly and her cruel words or the executives at Dior insulting her French, thinking she would not be able to understand them if they spoke fast. It was time. The cruel ticking of the clock making life pass around her without her consent.
You could not control time.
Wanting to make it go faster during times of pure devastation, hoping that the feeling—the pain—completely fades from your consciousness. That is what 17-year-old Emily wanted. For time to accelerate so she could finally leave London.
Leave that bloody school behind. The judgmental looks from the other girls in her sixth form classes, observing her as if she was a wild animal ready to jump a random girl's bones.
Leave that bloody apartment—she refused to call it a home.
Home was supposed to be a safe and happy place. One where she would not feel ashamed and criticized for wearing too much makeup or black clothing, comparing her to a tramp. A home is not a place where your mother would refuse to feed you dinner because you are starting to look a bit round around the face. It was definitely not a place where a priest is called because your parents think the devil has taken control of your soul just because she had written in her journal about how beautiful Madonna was.
She had tried. Oh God, there was not a moment she did not spend in her room praying to a God she did not fully believe was real that time would just pass by. To wake up and be on a bloody plane on her way to New York.
Twenty-seven-year-old Emily wanted the exact opposite—for time to slow down, for the hands of the clock to freeze whenever Andy was in her arms. To savor each kiss, conceal each moan into a temporal loop—the same moments repeating themselves. The burning of her skin, the euphoric feeling of having Andy inside her, pumping in and out while she scratched the Andy's back until it was completely red and her voice would run out.
To have those two months in Berlin, where her little taste of heaven went too fast. It felt like punishment sent by God, to show her that he was indeed real and listening. Watching everything she did and with whom—waiting for the perfect moment to strike and remind her how much of a sinner she was.
At forty-three she believed her utter distaste for time had finally left her body—until she was outside the Coach offices seeing the wide-eyed look of her son after seeing Andy kiss her like they were back in their twenties, walking back to her rented apartment after a weekend in Munich for a silly football game the brunette wanted to watch.
As much as she wanted to freak out, there was no time.
Roark had seen them.
Roark, who was supposed to be on campus waiting patiently for Frank to pick him up. Her fault for believing that man was able to act like a parent for once.
Emily narrowed her eyes and raised an eyebrow, making her usual mum look. Even as a high schooler, the expression had the same effect on Roark as when he was a babe toddling around climbing out of the playpen to go find her in her home office.
Her son slowly walked out of his hiding spot and made his way to where she was standing, trying to conceal a guilty face.
He was just like Andy, all his feelings clearly displayed on his face.
“Oi! Fancy seeing you here, Mum. What a beautiful afternoon, wouldn't you agree?”
“You took the subway again,” Emily responded, turning around and starting to walk, yet still never breaking eye contact.
“I would nev—Yeah, I took the subway,” Roark didn't even bother continuing the lie and followed her. “Umm Mum…” He tried to continue, but Emily can't, won't have this conversation here with so many eyes staring at them. She was still a persona non grata after all.
“Not here,” Emily said, cutting him off and leading them toward the lift.
After what felt like an eternity of silence, where her mind came up with every possible horrible scenario—from Roark screaming in her face, telling her that she was a horrible mother, to what would probably be the worst in her opinion, him silently listening to her trying to explain and looking at her with the same level of disgust her mother looked at her with all those years ago and walking out of that office straight to Frank's apartment and never speaking to her again—they finally made it to her office.
Her assistant was waiting outside, ready to inform her of the next meeting and visit to the flagship store on 685 Fifth Ave.
Without breaking her stride, she told the assistant to clear the rest of the day and to take an early leave. She didn't want anyone close to them for this conversation.
Entering the office, she walked straight to the floor-to-ceiling windows, waiting five minutes to fully confirm that they were alone. Squeezing her eyes shut, pushing tears back as much as possible. There was no hiding now.
Slowly she turned around to face her beautiful little prince. His brows were furrowed, a look of concern evident in his blue eyes—her eyes.
“That was Andrea, but you already knew that,” she started with. There was no point in acting stupid.
“How did you?”
“Please, darling, I have memorized your facial expressions since the moment you came out of me. You did not look angry, you looked shocked—guilty, as if you felt bad for intruding. That is not a face a fourteen-year-old makes after seeing his mother be kissed by another woman.”
Roark looked down toward his lap, the same tell he always had when he was nervous. She needed to take control of this conversation, be as transparent and understanding as possible. It might be hard for her, but she was an adult. He was just a boy.
“We do not have to address it if you wish.”
“No—No, it's alright. Yeah, I know. I have known since I was ten.”
“How?”
“The first time, I went downstairs to get water and saw you on the floor crying while looking at the telly. I thought you were just watching something, so I went upstairs before you caught me. Then it happened again and again,” he stopped for a second trying to get his thoughts in order. “Sometimes you would be asleep and there were newspapers all over the table. I knew I should probably leave you alone but, you looked really sad so I continued to go down and make sure you were okay. Put a blanket over you if it was cold.”
The fact that he spoke about it like a normal memory made Emily feel physically ill.
“Oh, little prince, I'm so sorry.”
“And then I found a box with some pictures.” He didn't stop to address her comment. His eyes were unfocused as if he was reliving the moments.
Her face completely fell, her breathing hitched as if she had been punched right in the stomach. Some of those pictures were not for her children to see. Not for anyone to see. She was in her most vulnerable state in some, not posing for a camera but rather being captured by the person behind it.
That sound must have brought his attention back to the present. “It was just the first two with you guys kissing,” Roark answered quickly after seeing her face.
She needed to sit down. It was too much.
It was all too much.
She needed time to stop so she could breathe. She needed it to go fast so she didn't have to continue to witness how much of a failure of a mother she had become.
After a couple of minutes Emily asked the one thing she was hoping he would negate.
“Does Wyn know?”
His hesitation answered the question.
Emily felt something inside her crack.
Not because Wyn knew—but because her children had been protecting her.
Bloody hell.
Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to focus on her breathing. Four seconds in and four seconds out, hoping that it would calm her wild heart.
Opening her eyes, she looked toward Roark. His eyes were filled with tears, forcing himself not to let them fall. It broke her heart.
He had carried her secret for four years. Had seen her break apart year after year and bottle it all up. Emily was sure that if she had not caught him, he would have carried it until the end.
Her brave and strong boy.
“I am so sorry, Roark. You did not deserve to carry my secrets. This burden—this guilt—was not yours to carry. It was not fair for you and your sister to experience all the fights with your father and me failing. I'm sorry, my love.” As she spoke, she got up and walked slowly to where he was standing. She cradled his head in her hands just like when he was little. How many times did he see her fall apart, take care of her when she was drunk on wine and heartache? She softly pulled him into her neck so she could properly hold him.
It only took a second before he broke. Years of silence leaving him all at once in ugly, shaking sobs.
The blonde continued to whisper apologies as he cried on her shoulder. His shoulders shook with every sob, finally releasing all the tension they had accumulated since he was just a small bright-eyed ten-year-old who loved sitting outside and looking up at the sky, seeing all the little stars and planes as if they were there to serenade him to sleep.
She never wanted to see him in pain like this ever again. The thought came to her. It broke her heart even more, but if it healed his and Wyn's, then she would take it a million times.
“I won't see her again, okay? She will be out of our lives so you never have to see it again.”
The words left her mouth before she could stop them. It was pure instinct. A mother choosing her children before herself.
Emily felt Roark freeze in her arms and gently push away out of her embrace.
“What? No. No,” he quickly responded.
“It is out of the question, Roark. I'm not breaking this family more.”
“That's not why I'm crying. The divorce hurt for a little bit, but…come on, Mum. You and Dad were miserable. I can't even handle Dad for more than twelve hours, less a whole marriage,” he tried to lighten the mood with a chuckle.
“Then what is it?”
“I don't wanna see you sad anymore. Every time I saw you like that it made me angry. I thought she had broken your heart but lately—” he took a breath “Lately you have been happier, you laughed the other day, so hard you started to cry. I thought it was the new job or some weird spell by an Italian wizard, but it was her. She makes you happy.”
Emily had spent so many years convincing herself that love only destroyed things that hearing her son say it so simply made her chest ache.
“She does,” she ended up whispering.
“That's all I want for you. I want you to be happy, Mum.”
At that, Emily couldn't stop her tears from coming out. She took him in her arms again and hugged him, closing her eyes to fully embrace the moment.
When she finally released him, she took a deep breath, raising her hands and wiping the bottom of her eyes, getting rid of some of the now-messed-up makeup. After a couple of minutes, Roark spoke again, his tone indicating he was back to being a little pest.
“Mum? Two questions.” She looked at him with an expression clearly stating more? “When do we get to meet her?”
“I would call her and ask,” she answered clearly. Andy had been asking about meeting her children. Perfect opportunity. “What was your other question, darling?”
“Did you seriously name us after your lesbian situationship?”