Follow-Up: A Private Conversation Between Emma and Me

 Follow-Up: A Private Conversation Between Emma and Me

Fiction by Lisa

After the men finished their beers, the game moved into halftime, and the tension of earlier had completely faded from the living room. Tom and Jack were relaxed again, chatting about a questionable referee call, as if the afternoon had been perfectly ordinary.

Emma caught my eye from across the kitchen and tilted her head toward the back hallway.

I nodded.

We slipped away quietly, moving gingerly—both for obvious reasons—and ducked into the small guest bedroom at the end of the hall. Emma shut the door gently and leaned her back against it with a dramatic exhale.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I messed up.”

I blinked at her. “…You messed up? Emma, I snapped at you three times for absolutely no reason.”

She shook her head. “But I jumped right in front of you like I was your personal human shield. I mean—who steps in between a husband and wife like that? What was I even thinking?”

I sat on the edge of the bed, still feeling the lingering sting from earlier. “You’re protective. It comes naturally to you.”

“So does putting my foot in my mouth,” she muttered.

I actually laughed—a soft, relieved sound that broke the remaining tension. Emma smiled sheepishly and joined me on the bed, sitting just as carefully.

“I didn’t realize how far I crossed the line until Jack said my name.” She shivered theatrically. “You know that tone where everything inside you freezes?”

I nodded immediately. “Oh, I know that tone.”

We both laughed again, this time more genuinely, the shared embarrassment turning into shared comfort.

Emma glanced over at me. “Can I ask… did you know it was coming? When Tom stood up?”

I nodded, a little reluctantly. “Yeah. He warned me three times. And I ignored every single one. I think I was almost… inviting it? Like I just wanted to push until someone made me stop being awful.”

Emma gave a sympathetic sigh. “I get that. Pushing even when you don’t want to be pushing.”

“Exactly.”

We sat in silence for a moment before she added softly, “I wasn’t trying to disrespect Tom. I just didn’t want you to feel alone.”

I touched her hand. “And I love you for that. I really do. But we both know our men don’t let things slide. Especially not attitude. Or interference.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “Yeah… Jack made that very clear.”

“And do you feel better now?” I asked.

She paused, then nodded. “Yeah. I hate admitting it, but yes.”

I gave a small, knowing smile. “Me too.”

She leaned her head against my shoulder for a second. “We’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Absolutely,” I replied.

“And very sore.”

“That too.”

Another bout of laughter bubbled between us—small, quiet, and full of the relief that comes from knowing you’re forgiven, reset, and understood.

Emma straightened up. “Well… for the rest of the day, let’s try not to get in trouble.”

I held up a hand. “Agreed. Truce?”

“Truce.”

We stood, smoothed our clothes, composed ourselves as much as two humbled women could, and headed back toward the living room.

As soon as we stepped inside, Tom glanced over at me with a subtle, approving look. Jack gave Emma the same.

She whispered under her breath, “Round two avoided.”

And I whispered back, “Let’s keep it that way.”