Chapter 7

“Emma has already told me her version of events. I want to know yours.” Dr. Jameson looked at me seriously. Not an ounce of judgement in her eyes.

I sighed in frustration. “I can’t control myself around her. I keep promising her that she has all the time in the world, but I just want to be with her. I don’t want to lose her.”

“Don’t you feel like you’re pushing her boundaries?” she asked me, curiously.

“A bit.” I said, smiling sheepishly. “But I want her and I feel like I have to convince her and persuade her that it is the right thing to do.”

“George....” she gave me a look that seemed to penetrate my soul. “How do you know that it is the right thing?”

“I—“ I interrupted myself, unable to give her an answer.

“There seems to be a pattern in your relationship with Emma when you are the one really in charge of the whole relationship, and Emma is merely abiding to your decisions.” She observed.

I frowned. I didn’t like where this was going.

“George, you were the one who pushed for a relationship with Emma, the one who nagged her to push her to accept to move in with you and become your wife. You were the one who wanted a child straight away, and told her that you wouldn’t wait more than three years to have a child. You wanted another child. She didn’t. And the first time she decides to go against what you feel is the right thing to do, you distance yourself from her and think that you are not in love with her anymore. And now, you want her back and thus, you believe that it is the right thing for her to do to get back with you.”

“Maybe, it is not the right thing for her to get back with you, George. Have you thought about that?” Dr. Jameson asked.

I shamefully shook my head.

“You have to give her the freedom to choose. Do try not to restrain her actions. If you persuade her or try to force her to give into your demands, then she will feel like she is in chain and is not able to do things on her own. Remember that she is trying to become emotionally independent from you, at least to an extent. By getting back together with you not because she truly wants to, she will only go back to her old ways.”

“Thank you Doctor.”

“You’re welcome. Just remember that you should make sure that you do not think that what you think is exactly what Emma thinks.” She smiled at me encouragingly. “George, you’re making progress.” She reassured me.

She looked at her watch. “I believe our time is up, George.”

“Daddy?” Emilienne looked at me annoyed.

“Yes, Emi?” I gave her my attention. “Sorry. Dad is a bit distracted.”

“Why? Is it something the head doctor has told you?” she inquired.

“Yes, Emi.” I smiled at her. “Do not worry your head around it, baby.”

“Okay...” she frowned at me, trying to make me break the silence and tell her something. When I stare back at her with the same expression she laughed.

I joined her soon enough.

We were at her favourite frozen yogurt store.

“So...when are you and mommy getting back together?” she grinned at me, happily.

“I have no clue, love. You should ask your mother.” I  said feebly. “I’m not so sure that your mom wants to...”

“Why? You’re handsome and generous and you’re the best dad in the world.” She said convinced.

“Aww, thank you Emilienne. But I think mom questions whether I was a good husband or not.”

Why?” Oh no. Here we go again. Never let Emilienne asks you a why question. Ever.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Anyway, how is second grade?” I asked her.

“I love it. I really like school. And all my friends from la ‘maternelle’ are in my same class. That’s so cool.” She grinned at me.

“So you’re happy about doing half of your school work in French?” I asked cautiously.

I remember endless discussions about sending our children to French school. I thought it was a bit unpatriotic. Emma wanted our children to speak more than one language. She didn’t want them to be like me, only able to speak English.

“I prefer my French lessons, to tell you the truth.” She said excitedly. “And now I get to speak a lot of French home too.”

“Wait, so now you speak French home? Just French?”

“We can choose, but Darcy and I prefer speaking French most of the time. It’s so fun.”

That news did not make me happy. I had to talk to Emma about this.

“What’s the subject you think you’re best at?”

She thought about it for a while. Her brown curls bounced on her forehead as she moved her head once side.

I moved them back in place and she smiled at me.

“The teachers say that I’m pretty good at everything. I don’t get anything lower than 15.” She said proudly.

“You’re so good, Emi.”

“Do you miss school, Daddy?”

“Me?” I looked at her incredulously. “Maybe a little bit. I miss not having to worry about so many things, and playing with my friends all the time. I was such a disaster at school. Always playing pranks.”

“Did you have bad grades?”

“Nope. My parents wouldn’t have been happy if I did.” I chuckled at the image of my mother scolding me and telling me she would not allow me to go play football.

“Why are you a lawyer?”

“I like arguing a lot. And I love arguing my case.”

“Why?” she asked again.

“I don’t have an explanation for it. It’s just a way for me to have a play in someone’s case being right or wrong.”

“What’s the point in arguing and arguing and arguing and arguing—“

I interrupted her. “I get your point, Emilienne.” I said sternly.”I’m arguing something different all the time.”

“The right side?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“It sounds boring.” She said sincerely. “Why do you do it?”

“Because I do not find it boring.” I shrugged. “Gosh, you’re worse than the Spanish Inquisition.” I rolled my eyes.

“What is the Spanish Inquisition?”

I smiled. My child was curious all the time. “It was a sort of religious court and they tried people centuries ago.”

“You won’t oblige me to be a lawyer right?”

“Of course not, baby. You can do whatever you want as long as it is legal and reasonable.” I kissed her cheek.

“Good, because I want to be a scientist!”

“Emi, Daddy loves you so much.” I told her. “Never forget that.”

“Mom, I’m home.” I yelled and closed the door behind me.

“Your mom is at her book club meeting, tonight.” My father reminded me from the living room.

“Oh.” I said. I went in the living room and saw him watching a James Bond film. “How are you, Dad?”

“I’m fine. You, son?”

“I’m okay.” I shrugged.

“No more panic attacks?” he ignored the TV and focused his attention on me.

“Some, but rarely now. Thanks for the meds.”

“It’s my job.” He smiled at me.

“Gold Finger, huh?” I asked as I sat next to him on the sofa.

“Yes.”

“How is the family?”

“They are all doing fine. I spent time with Emilienne today. We went to the frozen yogurt shop that she loves and we talked.”

“Good.” He said. “Did you have a chance to speak to Emma and apologise?”

I groaned. “No.” She was a bit distant and I did not want to push her.

He sighed, exasperated. “Oh George.”

“I know, Dad...”

“Do you, really?” he frowned at me.

“Please...” I whispered, my voice broken. “Don’t.”

“I hate to see you like this, George. I hate that you’ve become a statistic, a 30 something man, divorced, two children. What about the promises you made when you got married? What about the promises you made to yourself?”

“Don’t you know that I know all this? Not only I’ve hurt myself but my family and Emma too! I don’t need you to judge me, Dad. I can do that on my own, Emma can do that all she wants. Why can’t you just comfort me and help me get through this?” I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. I did not need to break down in front of my father.

“George, I...”

“You know what, forget it!” I stood up and left the room quickly. I stomped my feet on my way up the stairs and to my room down the corridor.

I opened the door and slammed it behind me.

I paced the floor, my eyes full with tears I did not think I would be able to control. I couldn’t fucking get along with my father even if I was 35. He was so judgmental, always arguing with me with what was best for me.

He questioned me when I expressed my desire to become a lawyer, and my decision to date people when he told me that it was obvious I was in love with Emma when I was a teenager.

I loved the old man, but, I wished that he could be the shoulder I could cry on, sometimes.

I looked around the room that did once belong to the George who left it when he left to go to University more than 15 years before. The walls were still covered in photos I had taken so long ago. Some were taken at concerts, others were simply of the view, others were of Emma, my Emma, who wasn’t mine anymore.

I touched with my finger one of Emma and I when she was 15 and I was 18. Time had passed fast. A part of me was still that smiley George of that photograph. But that young man was also a thing of the past.

Only now I could see Emma’s eyes full with love as she stared at me right in the eyes.

I wanted her to look at me like that again.

How was I suppose to give her space when I was such a control freak?

I plopped myself on the single bed and closed my eyes. Life was not easy.

“Emma, we need to talk.” I told her.

She was surprised to see me, at her office. I hadn’t been there in ages, but I did not care. I needed to speak to her.

“Ehm...okay. Make yourself comfortable. Do you want to go somewhere or...”

“I have no preference. You choose.”

She looked at me confused and shook her head. “Well, we could stay here and later on go to lunch.” She sighed. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Many things.” I told her with a sheepish smile on my face. “The first is that I’m sorry for being a selfish jerk unable to see your needs. I just assumed that you truly agreed with me with everything, and I can see now that I pushed you to do things that maybe you did not want to do, at least not straight away. Could you ever forgive me for misinterpreting your feelings and emotions and for almost obliging you to do certain things?”

She gaped at me, completely taken aback by my confession.

“Emma...?” I asked, a bit worried.

“Yes? Oh...I guess I could forgive you if you show me that you can try and change for the better...”

“Does that mean that—“ I hopefully said, my heart swelling with happiness.

“No. We are not back together, George. Forgive me for not fully trusting you with my heart.”

“Oh.” My voice dropped.

“But your apology was maybe a step in the right direction. I do not know. You just have back your words with facts, George.” She tried to reassure me.

“Do not worry about me.” I smiled sadly at her.

“What else did you want to talk to me about?”

“What is this thing I hear that the house has become some sort of francophone centre?” I frowned at her, a bit irritated.

“I’m not forcing it on them. It’s just that they feel like they speak English all the time and want to practice more their French.” She tried to explain.

I looked at her suspiciously.

She raised her hands in sign of surrender. “I promise, George.”

“Please, don’t turn my kids into little French kids. They’re British, English to be exact.” I implored her.

She rolled her eyes. “You and your British pride.”

“Of course I’m proud of being British. Have you seen all the great things we did?”

“I just would like to remind you that I’m half French and I have both citizenships...so don’t go there.”

“I don’t even know how you can be loyal to both countries. The French are our arch-enemies.” I joked.

She glared at me. “Non plus.” She said in French.

“You don’t know how sexy you are when you speak French, Emma.” I commented.

She avoided my eyes and smiled at my compliment.

This was a step. A step towards the right direction.

Oh. A step towards what I felt was the right direction for me: me and Emma, back together.