Us for Life - Feltson

Chapter 1

He was late. At least, Emma hadn't spotted him yet. She'd told him to come dressed in something inconspicuous, nothing he'd been photographed in before, nothing with any pink in it, and absolutely no skateboarding today. It was a bit of a bossy request but if he hadn't learned to tolerate that by now, he wouldn't still be agreeing to meet her like this after all these years.

She craned her neck to see through the crowd, tilting the brim of her sunhat. Maybe he was here on the busy pier already, and it was her own fault he was blending in too well with the Californians, too perfectly respecting the privacy she'd asked for. 

But no, it didn't matter how he dressed. She would recognize his walk anywhere. How had he known to strut around like that back when he was only eleven years old? And how sad would she be if she ever spotted him walking any other way?

She wouldn't find out today. There he was, coming swaggering through the mass of people strolling around  as the sun set over the ocean behind her. Based on the quick, direct line he was striding toward her, he had seen her, known exactly who she was, but he was still looking left and right of her, as if he hadn't.

He was coming closer, his pace not slowing at all, walking right into her. She gave a startled squeak and grabbed at his arms to keep from being knocked over. 

"Oh pardon me, Madam," he said, his hands on her forearms, steadying her. "Didn't see you there through these black-out sunglasses someone insisted I wear. I accept full responsibility, naturally, but I must say you are barely visible hidden beneath that not-at-all ostentatious enormous designer hat."

She batted his chest, laughing as she chided him. "Hang it, Tom, I said inconspicuous. I must have said it ten times. But you can't help yourself, can you."

"Of course I can," he said, smirking. "Which one of us is attracting attention now -- stood out here shouting?"

"I am not shouting," she hissed at him, threading her arm through his. "But let's move along before you show us up any more."

Tom glanced over his shoulder. "No entourage this evening?"

"You mean my assistant? No," she said. "Not now, at any rate. She'll be swinging by with a car to pick me up in about an hour."

Tom huffed, his nonverbal complaint about the shortness of the visit. As always, he supposed, it couldn't be helped. Without any sarcasm he said, "Thanks for finding some time for me, Em. You're so busy."

She hummed, as if skeptical. "Aren't I? I do still enjoy working, but all year I've been feeling as if keeping myself busy is therapeutic more than anything. Distracting myself from myself."

"Ah," Tom said as they left the pier and turned onto the boardwalk. "You're in a bit of a funk so you've sought me out to unburden yourself."

"Well-spotted," she sighed. "You may remember that I'm thirty-five this year -- "

"Yes, welcome to the late thirties, dearest. Feels like I've been here for ages, and I can promise you life is still good for us old-timers. Is that all you wanted? My assurance that we're still vital and happy even if we're not -- " he seemed to choke on the word, "young?"

She led him to the beach, slipping off her shoes and sitting in the sand. "I accept all of that. Not that I have a choice. But aging isn't quite the same for you."

Tom clucked his tongue. "No, no," he said. "No, this isn't a 'biological clock' thing, is it? Because you've still got loads of time left to have brilliant little Emmas of your own. A whole swotty legion of them."

She shoved him sideways. "You've got loads of time left to have kids. You without a uterus. But do I? Do I really? And even if I do, is raising little children really how I want to spend my forties?"