In Your Dreams. Kristan Higgins

thought was adorable.

      And it was nice being useful to Nana, shoveling the sidewalk and scraping the car, running to the grocery store three blocks away. Em was needed. It was a great feeling. Sometimes schoolmates would come over to hang out and study and eat Nana’s fabulous desserts.

      Another benefit of living in New York—she could be closer to Kevin.

      They were still hours apart, but they planned it carefully; if her grandmother would drive her down to Connecticut once in October and once in February (and Nana would—she was a big believer in romance), and Kevin and Em both went home for Thanksgiving, Christmas and spring break, then they could see each other almost every month. They wrote, emailed, talked on the phone, and it was always the same, always great. Kevin was funny and nice and...safe. He would never make fun of her. Never reject her.

      In February of that first school year, Em got a call from her mom.

      “We have a wonderful, wonderful surprise for you,” she said. “You’re a big sister! Here. Want to talk to her?”

      “W-w-what?”

      “Hello?” came a voice. “It’s Angela.”

      And so she had a sister. Angela Amarache Demeku Neal, adopted from Ethiopia. Her name, roughly translated, meant angelic, beautiful, brightly shining champion.

      Emmaline meant little rival. Also laborious. Her middle name was Mara, which meant bitter.

      Only child psychologists could mess with their kid’s head like this.

      Angela was ten years old. Her biological parents had died long ago, and she’d been raised in an orphanage. She was very nice. And smart—she could speak three languages. And beautiful, even at ten, big exotic eyes and long graceful limbs. She was extraordinarily polite and called their parents Mama and Papa, with the emphasis on the second syllable, so much more aesthetically pleasing than plain old Mom and Dad.

      It was hard not to feel a little...replaced. Her parents would call to list Angela’s accomplishments and qualities. Sometimes, Em wondered if they were punishing her for living with Nana, but they did seem to genuinely adore Flawless Angela. Who wouldn’t? Angela loved nothing more than the times Em was home on break. She’d leave bouquets of flowers on Em’s pillow, tuck little notes into her suitcase. For that first Christmas with the Neals, she made Emmaline a beautiful scarf she’d woven herself in the Ethiopian tradition.

      So sure, Emmaline loved her little sister. She didn’t get to see her much, and it took some getting used to, but Angela was great.

      In the meantime, she and Kevin stayed together. With him, Emmaline felt most like herself—her wisecracking jokes didn’t get so strangled by the stutter. With him, she could drop the tough act and relax a little. Even though the kids in Manningsport were nicer, Em was still on guard. She had trust issues, according to her parents.

      But with Kevin, she was normal. All through high school, their romance continued. They both went to the University of Michigan. And then, one day during her sophomore year, something miraculous happened.

      In Shakespearean Tragedy, the professor told the students they’d be reading aloud, just a few lines each.

      Emmaline’s heart sank. Her stutter had quieted down over the years, but it was still there, especially when she was forced to perform. Her heart thudded, and she could barely see the passage from King Lear. Morgan, the boy who sat in front of her, was a drama major, and he read in a beautiful British accent, quite embracing the part of Bad Guy Edmund.

      Then came Em’s turn—King Lear with the body of his beloved daughter. The most important part of the play. The stutter rubbed its bone hands together in glee. Her classmates waited.

      She closed her eyes, imagined herself as Sir Ian McKellen, then looked at her book and read.

      “Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones:

      Had I your tongues and eyes, I’d use them so

      That heaven’s vault should crack. She’s gone for ever!”

      The stutter’s jawbone dropped in shock.

      Her words had come out with a British accent, too, and she hadn’t stuttered once.

      “Nice, Emmaline,” the professor said. “Meggie, take it up.”

      Em noticed that her hands were shaking, and a strange sensation filled her chest.

      It was joy.

      From then on, if she felt her throat lock up, she’d imagine the words in an accent, and her brain and throat detoured around the stuck sounds like a car veering around a roadblock. After all those years, her problem, which had made her so miserable, such an outcast, was gone. When she told her parents, they were quiet for a minute. Stunned.

      “That’s wonderful!” Mom said. “You must feel very empowered.”

      “We’re glad for you,” Dad said from the other phone (they always talked jointly).

      “We’re getting a divorce, by the way,” Mom said. “But we’ll be living together. Nothing will change for Angela. Or you, for that matter.”

      One day about a month later, she and Kevin were at his off-campus apartment, lying in his queen-size bed. He was quiet.

      “Everything okay?” she asked.

      After a long minute, he said, “You don’t stutter anymore.”

      She didn’t answer, not wanting to jinx it.

      “It’s a little weird,” he said. “I don’t know. We both had a...thing...when we first met. And now yours is gone.”

      “Well. You never know.” She paused, feeling almost guilty. “I feel it there. Like it’s lurking, waiting to come back.”

      He sighed. “Well. It’s good, I guess.”

      It would’ve been nice, she thought later as she walked through the bitter wind to her dorm, if he’d been thrilled. After all, few knew better than Kevin how the stutter had paralyzed her, marked her, locked her in an invisible prison.

      But she understood. He was afraid.

      Kevin, you see, hadn’t lost the thing that had made him an outcast. He was still fat. He was, in fact, obese. When she’d met him, he was perhaps thirty pounds overweight. He’d gained possibly fifty more pounds at Choate.

      The weight kept on coming in college.

      Though he never told her what he weighed, she guessed he was at least a hundred pounds above where he should be.

      Maybe more.

      They never talked about him losing it. With other people, Kevin cheerfully acknowledged that he was fat, or “a big guy.” He loved food, loved to eat, and he didn’t just eat junk food and pizza (though he didn’t abstain from those, either). He’d cook for her, and, yes, his portion would be huge. But Em loved to eat, too, and the last thing she wanted to do was pass judgment or make him feel unattractive. Kevin knew he was heavy. It wasn’t a secret.

      Besides, she loved him. Truly was attracted to him. His dark eyes were so beautiful, his smile and laugh were totally infectious and he was a great kisser.

      But as college passed and he started law school and continued to gain weight, she worried.

      They both went home to Malibu for the holidays that year, and Kevin had to buy an extra seat on the plane. His face was fiery with embarrassment, but the thing was, he really did take up two seats.

      He didn’t speak the entire flight.

      “I’m gonna join a gym when we get back,” he said in the car.

      “Great,” she answered calmly. “I’ll join, too, if you want. It’d be good for both of us.”

      He grunted.

      And join they did. Kevin went once.