Chapter 19 Distant Guardians
Olivia: POV
After saying goodbye to Rachel at the restaurant, I headed straight home. The whole drive back, I kept replaying her words in my mind: Emma, working as a waitress at Sunrise restaurant in Millbrae.
The image seemed so weird—my privileged sister carrying plates and taking orders—that I almost laughed.
When I pulled into our driveway, I noticed the living room lights still on. It was nearly 10 PM. Obviously, no one was sleeping well with Emma gone.
I found Mom, Dad, and Mike in the kitchen. Mom was clutching her phone like it might ring any second with news about Emma.
Dad looked beat, absently stirring a cup of tea that had probably gone cold hours ago.
Mike was scrolling through his phone, probably checking in with his contacts.
"Any news?" Mom asked immediately, her eyes lighting up with hope when she saw me.
I took a deep breath. "Actually, yeah. I know where Emma is."
The reaction was instant. Mom jumped to her feet, Dad's spoon clattered against the teacup, and Mike's head snapped up from his phone.
"Where is she? Is she okay?" Mom's voice shook.
"She's in Millbrae," I said, dropping into a chair across from them. "Working as a waitress at some place called Sunrise restaurant."
"Working?" Dad echoed, like he couldn't quite process it.
"A waitress?" Mom's face went from relief to confusion to pure determination in about two seconds. "I'm going to get her right now." She was already grabbing for her purse.
"Mom, wait," I said. "Rachel saw her yesterday. She said Emma looked tired but... like she was really trying, you know?"
"I don't care how she looked," Mom snapped, which was totally unlike her. "She's coming home. Tonight."
Mike put his phone down. "Mom, think about this for a second. Emma's safe. She found a job. She's not living on the streets or—God forbid—with the Sullivans." He shot me an apologetic look for bringing up my birth family, but I waved it off. "This might actually be good for her."
"Good for her?" Mom's voice went up an octave. "She worked alone in some random town, working in a diner. How the hell is that good for her?"
"Because," Mike said, staying calm, "for the first time in her life, she's dealing with real consequences. No safety net, no bank of mom and dad, no special treatment."
I nodded. "He's right, Mom. Emma's never had to work for anything. Remember when she quit debate team because she didn't get made captain? Or when she returned that car you bought her because it was the wrong shade of blue?"
Mom sank back into her chair, deflating a little. "She's just...she's my baby."
"She lived with foster parents before us," I reminded her. "She's tougher than you think."
"The Sullivans," Dad spoke up for the first time, sounding exhausted. "You sure she's not with them?"
I'd been wondering the same thing. Linda and Tom Sullivan would totally take advantage of Emma being vulnerable, just like they'd tried to do with me.
"Rachel said she's definitely working at the restaurant," I told him. "And honestly, if she were with the Sullivans, they would've called us for money already."
Dad nodded—he knew I was right about that.
"I think Mike's got a point," I continued. "Emma needs this. But..." I looked at Mom's worried face. "Tomorrow, Mike and I can drive to Millbrae, check on her, make sure she's not in over her head."
"And we can get someone to keep an eye on her," Mike added. "From a distance. Someone who can step in if she really needs help."
Mom looked between us, clearly torn. "And if she's in trouble? If she's miserable?"
"Then we bring her home," I promised. "But if she's handling it, maybe we let her... figure some stuff out on her own."
Dad reached over and took Mom's hand. "They're right, Catherine. We can't keep bailing her out. It's going to ruin her."
Mom leaned against Dad, and I could see her giving in. She'd do anything to protect us—both the kid she gave birth to and the one she raised—but she was smart enough to know when protecting someone might actually hurt them.
"You'll go first thing tomorrow?" she asked.
Mike and I looked at each other. "First thing," we said together.
---
The next morning, I called in sick to work and moved all my meetings. Since I basically never take personal days, my assistant sounded more shocked than annoyed.
"Family emergency," I said, which wasn't really a lie.
Mike picked me up at 8 AM sharp. He'd grabbed coffee and handed me a vanilla latte without asking—he's known my order forever.
"Ready for Operation Find Emma?" he asked, pulling away from the curb.
I sipped my coffee. "You know, despite everything... I'm actually kind of impressed she got a job so fast."
"Emma's always been good at getting what she wants when she puts her mind to it," Mike said. "Remember when she wanted that designer bag and sold half her closet online to buy it?"
"True."
The drive to Millbrae took about forty minutes. Sunrise restaurant turned out to be this little place on a quiet street, with a faded blue awning and a flickering neon "OPEN" sign that screamed small-town diner.
"We can't just walk in," I said. "If she sees us, she'll run."
Mike pointed to a coffee shop across the street. "What about there? Perfect view."
We grabbed a window table at Bean There, Done That, ordering coffees we didn't really want just so we could sit and watch. The morning rush was happening at the diner—people grabbing breakfast before work.
And there was Emma, moving between tables with a coffee pot, wearing the ugliest polyester uniform I'd ever seen. Her hair was dyed dark brown instead of her usual blonde, pulled back in a messy ponytail.
"Is that actually her?" Mike squinted. "I barely recognize her without the designer clothes and attitude."
I watched Emma smile at some old guy, refilling his coffee like she'd been doing it for years. When he said something to her, she laughed.
"I've never seen her be nice to anyone," Mike said, reading my mind.
We kept watching as Emma cleared tables, took orders, and dealt with what looked like someone complaining about their eggs. No attitude, no eye-rolling, no storming off like she would at home.
"She looks... different," I said.
"Humbled," Mike suggested.
I nodded. "Should we go in? Talk to her?"
Mike thought about it, then shook his head. "Not yet. She needs to think this is all her idea, her independence. If we show up now, she'll just think we're checking up on her."
"Which is exactly what we're doing," I pointed out.
"Yeah, but she doesn't need to know that," he said with a grin. "Let's give her some time. A week, maybe. See if she actually sticks with it."
I watched Emma rush back to the kitchen, notepad in hand, calling out an order like she'd been doing this forever. "Okay," I agreed. "A week."
Mike stepped away to make a phone call, talking quietly. When he came back, he looked satisfied.
"Got someone to keep an eye on her," he explained. "Nothing creepy, just... making sure she's okay. They'll only step in if she's really in trouble."
"And who's this mystery guardian?" I asked.
"Security guy I know. He'll be careful about it." Mike's face softened. "The important thing is keeping her safe. But we have to let her think she's doing this alone."
I looked at Emma one more time through the window. She was balancing three plates on her arm, concentrating harder than I'd ever seen her concentrate on anything.
"Maybe this really is what she needed," I said.
Mike nodded. "Sometimes you have to screw up to figure things out."
I thought about my own mess—finding out I wasn't really a Parker, freaking out about what that meant, eventually figuring out my own path. Maybe Emma needed to write her own story too, away from perfect parents and an overachieving older sister.
"Let's go home," I said, grabbing my purse. "Mom's going to want every detail."
As we left the coffee shop, I glanced back one more time at my sister—the stubborn, difficult, surprisingly tough girl who was actually figuring things out on her own.