by Noir, Roxie
They’re endless. They’re unfailingly positive. They’re emoji-filled. At least fifty percent of the people who’ve texted me claim that they just knew that Daniel and I were secretly dating.
Reading the texts has the weight of certainty. Elizabeth was right. She usually is, a fact which has been annoying me my entire life.
I bite my lip. I shut my eyes for a moment, because what I’m about to do seems completely, utterly, and totally insane.
Then I text Daniel.
Chapter Four
Daniel
“The door opened,” I intone. “Inside the cave were vast piles of gold, silver, and gems, and to one side, an enormous desk. Sitting behind the desk was the biggest — and first — dragon that the Princess Ophelia had ever seen.”
Rusty is sitting bolt upright in bed, eyes the size of saucers, watching me.
“‘Hello, Ophelia,’ said the dragon. ‘I believe you’re here to apply for a job?’”
It’s so quiet I could hear a pin drop as I take the bookmark off Rusty’s side table, place it gently in Apprenticed to Dragons, and close the book around it.
“One more chapter,” Rusty says, breathlessly.
“I already read you two,” I tell her, ruffling her curls gently. “It’s past your bedtime.”
“One,” she says, and holds up one finger as if she was unclear. “Please?”
“Sorry, kiddo,” I say. “You’ll have to wait for tomorrow night to see if Ophelia gets hired.”
She sighs dramatically, but accepts this and scootches down into her bed, pulling the sheet up to her chin. These sheets are jungle themed, and she’s wearing robot pajamas. Seems like the robots might rust in the jungle, but these are the sorts of questions you don’t ask a seven-year-old before bed.
“Night, chickpea,” I say, leaning over and kissing the top of her head.
“Night, Dad,” she says, already sounding half-asleep.
I head out, flipping the light switch by the door. Her light goes off and the stars on the ceiling start glowing as I close the door gently. Thankfully, Rusty’s always been a pretty good sleeper — every now and then she’ll make an appearance an hour after her bedtime requesting water or something, but overall once she’s down, she’s down for the night.
I stand at the top of the stairs. Laughter floats up, and I close my eyes, rubbing my temples with both hands.
The laughter is the reason that Rusty got two chapters tonight instead of the usual one: both of my older brothers showed up, unannounced, along with Eli’s girlfriend, Violet. I managed to get them not to say anything in front of Rusty, but the second I go downstairs, they’re going to have a lot of questions and I don’t really have any answers.
At least my mom is at the telescope tonight, so I don’t also have to deal with her questions.
I can’t even be mad at Charlie for refusing to do this. She’s right. It’s completely insane to pretend we’re engaged to everyone we know, it would never work, and when we got found out it would only make everything worse than if I just stopped this farce right now.
There’s more laughter. I wonder, briefly, if I could somehow escape out of my bedroom window and just sit outside in the flower bed until they leave, though I’m sure that sooner or later, they’ll search for me.
Since I have no other real option, I go downstairs. The three of them are on two couches, Eli sitting with his arm around Violet, Levi across from them, one ankle perched on a knee.
“There’s the man of the hour,” he says, watching me descend the last few steps.
Eli and Violet both turn.
“Shit, I wasn’t ready,” Violet says, and pops up, darting into the kitchen.
I take a deep breath and shove my hands into my pockets.
“Congratulations,” Eli says smoothly.
“Indeed,” adds in Levi.
I glance after Violet, who’s got the fridge open.
“What’s she doing?” I ask, jerking a thumb in Violet’s direction.
“She brought a bottle of champagne,” Eli says, levelly. “So that we can celebrate your engagement to Charlie in style. Since you’re engaged. To Charlie.”
I glance from Eli to Levi and back.
Neither looks remotely convinced.
Time to start the damage control, I guess.
“There was a misunderstanding,” I say.
Expectant silence from the brothers. I steel myself and forge ahead with the bad excuse I made up, even though I can feel a light sweat breaking out on my palms.
At least I’m getting my toughest audience over with first, I think.
“Was there?” Levi prompts.
“I said that Charlie was an important female role model in Rusty’s life,” I go on. “I guess that someone in the room misinterpreted that as Charlie and me being—”
“Ta-da!” Violet says, coming back into the room. In one hand she’s got a bottle of champagne, and in the other, she’s got four wine glasses.
“I couldn’t find the champagne glasses,” she says.
“I doubt that there are any,” Levi says. “We’re rarely champagne people.”
“Daniel was just explaining that he and Charlie aren’t actually engaged, it’s all just a big misunderstanding because she’s a role model for Rusty,” Eli says, getting off the couch.
“It was very believable,” adds Levi.
Eli takes the wine glasses from Violet, sets them on a side table, and holds out a hand for the champagne.
“No,” I say, shoving one hand through my hair, looking at the champagne. “We’re not engaged, nothing happened, save the champagne for something real. It’s all a big misunderstanding. Charlie and I aren’t together, we’ve never been together, we’re not going to be together —"
Levi makes a noise that I don’t appreciate.
“What,” I say, starting to get annoyed.
“I didn’t say anything,” Levi goes on, in that we both know perfectly well what that noise meant and I’m not going to say it out loud tone that older siblings always seem to have.
“We are not. Together,” I say, punctuating it so that maybe he can understand me a little better. “There was a misunderstanding, and—”
There’s a loud bang, and I jump. Violet’s holding the uncorked champagne, wispy fog streaming from the top of the bottle.
“Fuck it,” she says, grinning. “Now I want champagne. Y’all?”
She doesn’t wait for us to all grumble yes before she starts pouring. Eli and Levi come grab glasses, still both watching me expectantly, like I’m going to break into a musical number any moment now.
“Here’s to Daniel and Charlie very definitely not being together,” Levi says, holding up his glass.
His eyes light up and his beard twitches like he’s smiling. I don’t like it.
“We’re not,” I say.
“Here’s to nothing at all weird happening today,” Eli says, and he’s definitely smirking like an asshole.
“Here’s to champagne because we like champagne,” Violet says calmly.
“That one,” I agree. “I like that one.”
We clink glasses. I take a sip, then another sip, and then before I know it, I’ve guzzled a wine glass full of champagne and it’s empty.
Everyone else just looks at me.
“You want to talk about it?” Eli offers, just as my phone dings in my pocket, and I sigh.
“The hearing was shitty besides everyone thinking that I’m engaged now,” I say, pulling it out of my pocket. “Crystal’s married, and she’s pregnant, and—”
I’ve got about a thousand texts, but it’s the most recent that stops my sentence in its tracks.
Charlie: I’ll do it.
I have half a second of perfect blankness, where I can’t remember what we were talking about earlier that she’s agreed to.
Then it hits me, and I have a thousand thoughts all at once: shit I just told my brothers another story thank God for Charlie maybe I’ll have a chance now o
h my God how do you act engaged and especially engaged to Charlie what face do I make? Do we get to kiss? Will people know?
Everyone will know.
“Do what?” Eli asks, craning his neck around so he can see my phone.
I shut it off as fast as humanly possible.
“It’s take your daughter to work day next week,” I lie, my mouth running ahead of my brain, moving my phone back to my pocket. “I’d asked Charlie if she’d take Rusty, since—”
My phone dings again in my hand, and then, suddenly, it’s not in my hand.
“Hey!” I snap, whirling around as Levi steps back, holding my phone up in front of himself.
“She also says she wants a ring the size of Texas,” he says.
“You can’t just take my phone!” I hiss, still trying to keep my voice down because Rusty’s asleep.
I lunge at Levi.
“Seems like I can,” he says, and smoothly tosses it to Eli, who catches it one-handed.
“Give me that,” I order him, whirling around, my hand out.
“Tell us why Charlie wants a ring the size of Texas for take-your-daughter-to-work day,” Eli says.
“I don’t know. Maybe she’ll explain it in another text,” I say.
I grab for the phone.
Eli throws it back to Levi, just out of my reach. I ball both my hands into fists of impotent rage and stand there, every muscle in my body tense, seething.
“Fucking stop that,” I tell them.
“What are you guys, ten?” Violet asks, sipping her champagne and leaning against the side table.
Levi glances at me, then looks down at my phone again. I force myself to stand still, because I’ve played this game far too many times before in my life, and I know the only way to win is not to play.
“But she thinks you should go to some wedding cake tastings for real,” he tells me.
“I know all the good places,” Violet volunteers.
Levi tosses my phone in his hand, flipping it end over end. I watch it, tempted to lunge again, though I know exactly what will happen if I do.
Having two older brothers really sucks sometimes.
“So you’re going to go taste wedding cake for take-your-daughter-to-work-day,” Eli says cheerfully, because he’s a dick. “While Charlie is wearing a ring the size of Texas and all of Sprucevale thinks you’re engaged.”
“Which no one will think after you shop for wedding cake together,” Violet volunteers. “That will definitely make people think this was a misunderstanding.”
“You two deserve each other, you know that?” I snap.
Violet and Eli just clink their glasses together. I glare.
“Would you like to tell us the truth or should we continue meandering into this increasingly ludicrous web of lies?” Levi asks, stoically as ever.
I look from Levi to Violet to Eli, and I know one thing for certain.
There’s no way I’m getting out of this. I’d prefer to begin our charade with as few people in on the secret as possible, but this will have to do.
They can keep a secret. Right?
I hold my wine glass out toward Violet, who reaches behind her, grabs the bottle, and gives me a refill. I drink about half of it down, then take a deep breath and try to figure out where to begin.
“I lied to a judge at the hearing today,” I start.
* * *
I take another sip of my black coffee and fiddle with my phone. I’m sitting at one of the back tables in the Mountain Grind, the coffee shop in downtown Sprucevale where Charlie told me to meet her this morning. I’ve got about twenty minutes to waste — I was ten minutes early, she’ll be ten minutes late — and I keep rereading her texts from last night.
Charlie: Fine, I’ll do it.
Charlie: I want a ring the size of Texas, though.
Charlie: And we should go wedding cake tasting for real. FREE CAKE.
Charlie: Mountain Grind at 8 tomorrow morning? After Rusty gets on the bus, before work?
Right now, I’m nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, as my mom would say. Already this morning at least five people have congratulated me on my recent engagement, and they’ve all said variations on the same thing: we’re so happy! You’re perfect together! We always thought that there was something between you and Charlie!
It should soothe me, but it doesn’t, because now I’m thinking about her, us, how we are together, what we’ve done to make everyone think we’re an item. If everyone thinks it’s true, what are they expecting?
PDA? A lot of PDA? Handholding? Kissing in public? Intimate, candlelit dinners where we hold hands over the table, stare deep into each other’s eyes, and coo sweet nothings while ignoring the food in front of us?
Well, we won’t be doing that because there’s no way Charlie makes it more than ten seconds of cooing without cracking up. I don’t think I’d make it more than ten either.
We’re going to have to do the other stuff, though. Holding hands. Kissing.
The thought of that last one makes my stomach feel like it’s on a roller coaster without the rest of me. I frown at my phone, tapping it restlessly on the table, ignoring my reflection in the black screen as a flicker of a memory comes to light.
Just as quickly, I shove it away, because it’s completely irrelevant to the current situation.
“You’re not even watching anything,” her voice says.
I look up from my blank phone screen, sitting bolt upright at the table. Charlie’s standing next to me, coffee cup to her mouth, both eyebrows raised.
Should I kiss her? Do engaged people kiss when they see each other?
Is it weird if we do? Is it weirder if we don’t?
“Just zoning out,” I say, and she sits across from me. No kiss. I can’t tell if I’m relieved or not.
“Why, something on your mind?” she teases, her cup between her palms.
“What could possibly be on my mind?” I deadpan, taking a long pull from my own coffee cup, and she laughs.
It’s a good sound. It makes my stomach feel less like it’s on a roller coaster and more like it’s on a lazy river.
“So,” she says.
“So,” I echo, looking across the table at her.
Charlie’s pretty. She’s distractingly pretty. Confusingly pretty. She’s got a mane — that’s the only word for it, a mane — of deep brown curly hair that goes gold in the sun. She’s got hazel eyes that always look like they’re laughing, a spray of freckles across her nose and cheekbones, and full lips that somehow always make her look like she’s up to no good.
Even in the wintertime, she looks like she’s just come in from the sun. She looks like she could shake her head and sunbeams would sprinkle the floor around her. She’s always in motion, fiddling with something, talking with her hands, tapping her feet. She’s more fidgety than my seven-year-old.
I don’t understand why there isn’t a line of men following her at all times, begging for a date. I’ve never understood that.
“I had some thoughts,” she says, and reaches for the canvas bag that seems to be functioning as her purse today.
“At least one of us has a strategy,” I say.
“I didn’t say it was a strategy,” she says, bringing out several loose pieces of paper with fringe on one side, like they were ripped from a notebook. “I said I had thoughts.”
She reaches in again and grabs a receipt, covered in writing, and then an envelope. A sturdy-looking napkin. A piece of a cardboard box.
“The notebook I was writing in ran out of paper and I couldn’t find another one,” she says.
I reach over and grab the piece of cardboard box.
“Backpacking with Caleb?” I ask, squinting as I try to decipher her handwriting.
“Don’t look at that yet,” she says, grabbing it from my hand, then frowning at the various pieces of writing-covered stuff in front of her. “I thought I numbered these,” she says to herself.
Patiently, I
take a sip of my coffee.
“Here’s page one,” she says, finally shuffling her pile together. “For some reason I numbered all the other pages, but not the first one, so I—"
She looks up at me, then laughs.
“Right. Anyway. I need a ring.”
“The size of Texas,” I supply, and she grins.
“I actually don’t care what size it is,” she says. “And it can be cubic zirconia or whatever. But everyone’s going to ask to see it. I had to explain to three people already this morning that we hadn’t planned on announcing yet so I don’t have a ring, but you got surprised at the hearing and couldn’t bear lying to a judge.”
She rests her chin on her hand, eyes laughing.
“That’s our backstory now?” I ask. I feel like I should be taking notes. “Good to know.”
Charlie looks down at her notes.
“Sorry, I got put on the spot,” she says. “Also, you always have to let me win at horseshoes.”
“But you’re terrible at horseshoes,” I point out.
She just shrugs.
“That’s the price of my acceptance,” she says.
I glance around us, but no one is listening. We’re sitting at the only table against a wall in the back, and the rest of the Mountain Grind is bustling, the ambient noise too loud for anyone to overhear.
“Okay, you can win at horseshoes,” I say, begrudging. “What else?”
She glances down at her notes.
“Wait, is that your list of demands?” I ask, grabbing for a piece of paper. She pulls it away.
“It’s not all a list of demands,” she says, shuffling. “There’s other thoughts in here too.”
“How much is demands?” I ask. “What am I getting myself into?”
Charlie ignores my question and continues on.
“Next, I want first crack at your mom’s strawberry pie,” she says.
“Not blackberry?”
“Nope. Strawberry,” she says. “Any time a strawberry pie appears, you will save me a piece.”
I swallow some more coffee.
“All right,” I say.
