Utterly Forgettable | MM Romance | Complete

Thirty-Five: Be Well

"I was hoping to invite you out to lunch today. On me." Emery beamed. He had returned the debit card — that he'd never used for anything other than groceries and transportation — and, after his latest client, Josh had returned home to find Emery had set aside enough money to pay for his half of everything during the previous month, from food, to rent, to utility bills. This invitation held weight for him, Josh knew; he hoped Emery wouldn't be disappointed that he couldn't accept it right now.

"I can't do lunch today — I'm going to the mosque in an hour and I need to take a shower first. Could we do dinner? Or lunch tomorrow?"

Emery looked at him in puzzlement. "The mosque? Am I to take it you've found religion?"

Josh smiled. "Not as such, no. It's a ritual, of sorts. After I lose a client, I go to a service of whatever faith they observed. About a week later I make their charm for my bracelet. It... completes the cycle for me, I guess." He leaned against the counter, pensive. "Do you know what's funny?"

"What?"

"I've been to so many of these places over the years — churches, mosques, synagogues, all sorts of places of worship. They know I'm not one of them, but no one's ever turned me away at the door. Makes all these wars seem kind of pointless, doesn't it?"

A crinkle in the corners of Emery's eyes. "A somewhat simplistic view but yes, it does. I feel reasonably certain the point could be found if one were to 'follow the money'."

A depressing thought if there ever was one. Josh set his cup down on the counter to go get ready.

"Josh?" He turned back to find Emery looking somewhat uncertain. "Emma, she... She didn't believe in anything..."

"I went to a Sylvia Plath reading," Josh answered the unasked question. Emery's eyes flooded abruptly, his voice choked; all he managed to say was Josh's name.

He was sure he could be forgiven for drawing Emery into a short, fierce hug.

#

The funeral, if it could even be called that, was a livelier affair than Josh had anticipated. Emma had left specific instructions that there was to be no mourning her death; Emery, she said in her letter, was welcome to do nothing at all or host a party in honor of her life instead.

She'd like her body donated to science but — if at all possible, the letter said, and Josh could almost picture the look on her face writing it — she'd enjoy it if her skull could have a stint onstage as Yorick.

All the little twists in her letter had been designed to make Emery smile, and some very nearly achieved that goal.

Close to half the poets she'd published in her anthology came, reading their works, trading stories of the emails she had sent them, of the impact she'd had in their lives.

Then came the reading of the will, small personal items left here and there to people who'd mattered.

"—my Scrabble board to my minion," the lawyer intoned. Josh smiled at that as the man droned on. Emery had the anthology, with a complicated plan for promotion and sales that, thankfully, she'd hired a company to take care of in the event of her death.

"—and finally, the contents of my savings account to Josh Winters. There's a note at the bottom. It reads 'What do you know, minion? You were important enough to name after all.'"

There was no warning before his throat closed up and tears streamed down his face. He wouldn't keep it, couldn't, but her words meant the world to him. He'd been focused on minimizing the impact of her loss on Emery up until this moment, too focused to feel the brunt of it himself, but that note brought all his feelings to the surface. She'd been so much more than a client... He always connected, but she'd been a friend.

Josh slipped away shortly after that and retrieved her Scrabble board to take with him. Everything else he owned was already packed, except for his French press. He'd be hard pressed to explain why he wanted to leave it behind, but it was deliberate.

The house was quieter when he finally left the room, the celebration almost over. He left the suitcases in the hallway and went in search of Emery, who turned out to be sitting alone in the kitchen. "Emery. I wanted to talk to you before I left."

"Josh." Emery had fewer words, these days.

"I packed the Scrabble board." Emery nodded. "And you have my phone number. Whatever documents you need to have drafted so I can disclaim the inheritance, just let me know when they're ready."

Emery rose, his face white. "In my office. Now."

Josh had a rule against taking offense at any tone grieving family members took with him. It applied to Emery as much as to anyone else, he reminded himself.

Once in the office, Emery rounded on him. "I expected better from you."

"Better than what?" He couldn't think what he'd said that would cause this reaction.

"I believed you liked her. I believed you respected her."

"Of course I did—"

"She named you in her will!" Spittle flew out of his mouth, features contorted in rage.

"I already said I'd give it back—"

"Do not dare! Her last wish..." His voice broke. "Her last wish was that you have it. And you want to give it back? There is no back! It was hers and now it's yours, and if you think for a minute I will let you disrespect her wishes —" He had to swallow before continuing, but he couldn't seem to finish his sentence, "If you think — If you think..."

Josh was speechless for a moment. Emery defied all preconceived notions he had, time and again. "You've already paid me for what I came here to do," he managed, all but begging to be understood.

"That doesn't mean she didn't have the right to leave what was hers to whomever she pleased," Emery shouted. "You will not disrespect that. You will not... You will not —"

"Alright. Okay. I won't. Emery." He placed both hands on Emery's upper arms to get him to stop. "I won't."

Looking at his face, at the stark vulnerability behind the grief and rage, took its toll on Josh. In a different world he'd have been there for Emery in the days and months to come. In a different world they could have built something together.

In a different world he wouldn't have been an amusing toy to the man.

He let go abruptly.

"Good," Emery nodded, calmer, "good. An accountant will get in touch with you to handle the details."

"Okay," Josh repeated. "Do you need anything else from me?"

"No. I have everything."

He was almost at the door to the outside, bags in hand, when Emery's voice arrested him. It had none of the strength Josh had witnessed scant minutes before.

"Josh?" He turned to look at the sad figure framed by shadows, about to be left completely alone in a house full of empty rooms. Silence stretched, paper-thin. "Be well."

He swallowed. "You too."