Fourteen: Like You're Forty-Two

"Miiiinion. Wakey, wakey."

The undignified high pitched scream that escaped him once he opened his eyes wasn't embarrassing at all under the circumstances, and Josh meant that without a hint of sarcasm.

Being dragged from the depths of sleep by his bed shaking, complete with an electrical buzzing sound, and then being greeted by the vision that was Emma looking down on him, grinning in the dark while pointing her phone's flashlight at her own face, was not an experience Josh would wish on his worst enemy. Add to that the shaky irises and he'd have been well within his rights to pee his pants at the sight.

Her wheelchair banged repeatedly against his bed — the source of the shaking and the electrical buzzing.

"What the— are you trying to kill me?" His hand reached blindly for the light switch.

"Haven't decided yet," she said with a shrug. "It's a possibility. Minions were buried with their masters in several cultures."

"How comforting." He turned on the small lamp at last, sitting on the bed and negating the eerie effect she'd achieved. She turned off her flashlight with a pout. "If this isn't a murder attempt what do you need at —" he checked his phone "— four in the morning?"

"You like Emery." Emma grinned like a cat hunting a mouse.

"I'm sorry?"

"You like Emery," she repeated, not bothering to clarify.

"Of course I like Emery," Josh replied, dumbfounded. "I'd like you too if you didn't try to make me wet the bed at four in the morning."

"You liiike Emery."

"And this is why you woke me up?" He rolled his eyes at her. She was twelve, and he'd never noticed. What an absurd notion. He opened his mouth to deny it. Moments from the past five months sprung to mind, several of them, with growing intensity. He was fond of the man, but he didn't... He didn't...

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

"He's my boss." He wanted to add something else to that woefully inadequate description but, whatever else he said, he'd just be digging a deeper hole for himself.

"Sure," Emma said with a twitch of her head, "all you have for him are very professional feelings. Anyone can see that. Oh, well. Want to go out dancing tonight?"

Josh gave her The Look, which seemed to have no effect on her whatsoever. She shrugged again. "What? If you're living in la-la-land I want in too."

"Your brother's my boss," he repeated, as if it made an ounce of difference to her.

"So you keep saying. You going to sit there, look me in the eye, tell me that's all he is?"

Oh for the love of— She was like a dog with a bone, and a well-rested one at that, or her sentences wouldn't be this articulate. "No, I'd like to lay here and sleep instead." He felt his cheeks aflame.

"Call 'em as I see 'em, buddy," she needled on. "Go ahead. Tell me I'm wrong. If your conscience allows you to lie to a dying woman."

"You play that card far too often." And far too effectively, he left unsaid.

"Trumps whatever game you're playing. Every. Single. Time," she replied without missing a beat. "Come on. Look at me. Tell me he's nothing but the man who signs your paychecks."

"Of course he's not nothing but the man who signs my paychecks, of course I like him. I like lots of people, but that doesn't mean..." He was hoping she'd interrupt him, so he didn't exactly have the rest of that sentence planned out. Emma waited, managing to be both serene and smug at the same time, which was an Olympic feat in and of itself. The silence grated on his nerves. "That doesn't mean..."

"What, minion? What doesn't that mean?"

"Even if I did have feelings for him, it wouldn't matter. He's my boss. I'm not about to make a move on him while he is, as you say, the man who signs my paychecks."

"You'd rather do it over my dead body. Fair enough," Emma replied with startling equanimity.

He spluttered. "Of course not! I'd never—"

"That's what I'm getting at. You'd never. Make a move now. You know you won't after I'm dead. Doesn't make me any happier. You'd make a good minion-in-law if you weren't so stupid. Go get him, tiger."

Was he still asleep, and having a bizarre dream, or had Emma really uttered the words "go get him, tiger?"

"You seem awfully sure this all hinges on me. Since when are you a matchmaker?"

"I know my brother. Doesn't look at people the way he looks at you. Hasn't in a long time." Her restless eyes struggled to lock on his. "Is it a crime to want to see him happy? Your happiness, by the way, is completely incidental. You know how it goes. Can't bring myself to care for the hired help."

He laughed, as helpless as when Emery said one of his things. Emma's sense of humor was different from her brother's, darker most of the time, but no less inappropriate — or compelling — for it. "How does he look at me, then?"

"Like you're forty-two."

Was this a joke? "I'm not even forty-one yet," he grumbled. "That's really not the compliment you seem to think it is."

"Heathen," she hissed. "Not your age. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy — look it up."

"So you've been prodding me for the past ten minutes and now it's 'here, have a riddle, google it'," he asked as he unlocked his phone. "Very mature."

"You can't wait to do it, so — You're doing it now! This is precious!"

Josh didn't reply. The answer displayed on his small screen seemed to mock him. Was Emma just teasing? Did Emery really look at him with anything remotely approaching that in his eyes? Even if he did, it wasn't as if Josh could just march up to his office and... And do what, exactly?

Ugh. Now he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it.

Infuriatingly, Emma just smiled.

#

"Thursdays I usually go to Mark's for game night. You're... welcome to come along, if you'd like." Josh didn't want to invite him, not really; he didn't want to deal with yet another aspect of his life that would be filled with memories of Emery after they parted ways — there were enough of those as it were. But he wanted Emery to feel excluded even less.

Emery's not-quite-smile spoke of someone who knew there was little of Josh's heart in the invite. "Thank you, but I'd rather stay. Please pass my thanks along to your friends, as well."

Away from Emery for the first time in months, immersed in the familiar, welcome chaos of Mark's apartment on Thursdays, Josh felt liberated. He also missed Emery the entire time. He lingered after everyone else had left, helping to put the pieces away and taking the chance to talk to his best friend. "I think I'd like that punch now. I'm not... not planning on forgiving him, but..." He trailed off. How could he explain what he was feeling when he was still sorting through the mess himself?

Mark offered him a pitying look. "At this point? You're beyond punching."

"Thanks. This is the kind of support I come to you for."

"Glad to be of service. Seriously, though," Mark sat down and handed him a can of soda, "if you really wanted me to be against this you should have been out of the house whenever I go to check up on him. Normal people don't look at other people the way he looks at you. The way you look at him goes without saying, by the way."

'Like you're forty-two.'

"The way he looks at me? No, thanks. I've fallen into that trap before. I can't believe you're taking his side."

"I'm taking your side." Mark had the gall to look reasonable. "Are you?"

Josh huffed. "Has Michelle dumped you yet?" He wasn't being childish at all.

"Nope. Must be a consequence of not having met the sort of people I associate with yet," Mark replied with a pointed look. Either Mark was getting sharper or Josh was getting slower, because he couldn't come up with a comeback in time.