by S. L. Scott
A short line has started to form behind me. “Seems I have some stuff to think about, then.”
He smiles, returning to his jovial self. “Like I said, bring her by. I’d like to meet this complicated woman. Anyway, she sounds good for you. I have a feeling you’ve had it too easy with the ladies.”
That makes me laugh. “Yeah, maybe. Hm. I don’t know.” But I know deep down he’s right, pretty much about all of it. “Thanks for everything.”
“See you soon.”
I walk outside and stop to sip my coffee. My phone rings, and when I see the screen, I smile before answering. “Dude, you finally back?”
Conner laughs. “Yeah, I’m back for a while. I received a few threats from my parents last spring after I extended my trip by two weeks and then spent half the summer in Europe.”
“They need their shipping tycoon of a son to come back and run the business full-time now.”
“Basically. My dad needs to hit the links again. Ever since he retired in July, he gets irritable if he has to miss his Friday golf game.”
“So you’re working today?”
“That place runs itself. You want to get some lunch?”
“It’s nine thirty in the morning.”
“Yeah, but the diner is always open.”
I look at the bagel in my hand and debate momentarily. “I’ll meet you at the diner in twenty.”
Conner is already seated in a booth by the window when I arrive. I toss my little bagel bag down and slide in across from him. “Were you even at the office when you called?”
“No. I was here, but I have my laptop.”
“So you’re running a multimillion-dollar business from a diner and a laptop?” I wave at Shirley, our regular waitress, and she starts pouring the orange juice she knows I’m going to order.
Conner shrugs nonchalantly. “I didn’t ask to run my family’s business.”
“But you did accept the job.”
“No, I was forced into the job.”
“Forced? You sure don’t mind living off the money the business brings in.”
“Same old argument, Charlie. Get over it. You could’ve been running your family’s biz, but you walked away. Now you sound bitter. What gives?”
“Not bitter, just simple observations I’ve made.”
“Changing the subject because this one bores me. Fill me in on what I missed these last few months.”
“Not much—”
“Jada said you missed her last three parties.”
“When did you talk to her?”
“Last week in Atlantic City.”
“Jada in Atlantic City? I thought she didn’t gamble anywhere but Monte Carlo.”
He laughs. “She made an exception for me.” He points two fingers at me accusingly, and says, “You, my friend, are causing the ladies all sorts of stress.”
Shirley sets my drink down along with my toast. I don’t have to order here anymore. She knows my selection already. Ordering the same thing almost weekly for five years makes it pretty obvious. “Thank you.”
Her face is pleasant as she stands ready, coffeepot in hand. “You’re welcome, Charlie. All good?”
“Yep. All good, and you?”
“Same old, same old. Enjoy your food.”
Conner is now reading e-mails. I don’t know if they’re personal or business, so I pick up our conversation where we left off. “I’m not stressing the ladies out. They’re stressing themselves out.”
“I get it, Chuck. Everyone does. You didn’t want everything handed to you.” His voice turns mocking. “You wanted to ‘make it’ on your own and prove your parents wrong. It’s all very admirable and blah, blah, blah, but what gives on the social scene? What did we do to offend?”
I started staring out the window around the quoted “make it” line.
Since I remain silent, he says, “Dude, I’m not trying to hassle you here. It’s just, what’s going on with you?”
“Just because I don’t go to a party doesn’t mean I’m not living life.”
“No, but it’s not just Jada’s party. It’s also Jenn’s last month and Susi’s last week. You’re stepping back again. Why?”
I feel defensive, although he has every right to ask. He’s my one friend from the old days I talk to on a regular basis, the only one who supported my decision back then. “Same reason I wanted out in the first place. I don’t like to stand around and talk about a fashion show some girl attended, and I don’t care about the party the weekend before out in the Hamptons. I don’t care about that stuff, and they don’t care about what I’m doing. I found myself reevaluating what I consider a good time, and I figured out it’s not those people.”
“Then what people are living up to your standards these days?”
“It’s not like that, and you know it. You make it sound like I’m the snob.”
“And you’re not?”
“I don’t owe anybody anything, Conner.”
“You’re right, you don’t. As your friend, I’m curious as to what’s going on. I see the changes in you. I saw the change before I left—the moodiness, the unenthusiastic attempts at parties, all of that. Now that I’m back, I see even more changes. Is it Justin?”
I scoff out loud. “Justin? Justin can be entertaining, but he’s doing what I did at twenty-one. I’m not looking to revisit those days again. It’s fun every once in a while, but my liver appreciates not having to work that hard.”
Our breakfast is served, and everything seems to calm between us as we eat.
I know he’s going to give me shit about this, but I still feel the need to say something. I brace myself for the taunts I know are coming and say, “I met a girl.”
“I knew it! You are so transparent, man.”
“I don’t want to talk about her, though.”
His fork goes clattering down onto the plate. “You say something like that then follow it up with no deets. That’s BS and you know it.”
“We’re friends. That’s all.”
“Since when do you have girls in your life who are just friends?”
Shaking my head, annoyed, I try to justify my position. “I’m not that bad. I never was, despite what you and the rumormongers chose to believe.”
“I’ve known you since you were five, Charlie. I’ve been in awe of your skills with the ladies since I was twelve. I also know that you’re no angel.”
“That, my friend, is in the past. That is part of the life I chose to leave behind, because whether it was at the end of the day or the morning after, it didn’t change the feeling inside me that I didn’t want to live like that.”
Ignoring my answer, he redirects. “Back to this girl. She’s different?”
I feel my chest ache, like I’m sharing a secret I shouldn’t, but can’t resist doing so all the same. I nod as I take a big bite of eggs.
He leans back in the booth and sips his coffee while watching me. “You can stick with that nonverbal reply shit, but just so you know, it says more than your words ever would.” He laughs and puts a fifty-dollar bill on the table. “She must be some girl.”
He lets me off the hook, and we finish our breakfast in lighter conversation.
Out on the sidewalk, we stand in silence a minute before he raises his hand to hail a cab. “You want a ride?”
“No, I’m heading home.”
As the cab pulls to the curb, he asks, “So, this girl . . . when do I get to meet her?”
“That seems to be the question of the day.” I shove my hands in my pockets and briefly wonder if I want to introduce her to him. He’s my friend and one I trust, but I kind of like keeping Charlie all to myself. “Maybe soon. I don’t know.” I shrug.
He laughs as he climbs into the backseat of the taxi. “All right. Well, you let me know, and in the meantime, baseball, Sunday at my place. Two o’clock. If you’re not busy with your girlfriend, that is.”
“I’ll be there.”
When he shuts the door, I turn and wa
lk down the street in the opposite direction. He’s left me with a lot to think about—my old life and my new life—how much do I want them to overlap? I worry more about them colliding than overlapping. I don’t know how to prevent that from happening, but even in one of the largest cities in the world, I know it will.
First, I need to concern myself with my family’s dinner this weekend. I still can’t bear the thought of going, but maybe bringing Charlie, bringing someone on my side, is what I need to do.
I lean against a brick wall and dial her number.
“Hello,” she says. Her voice is sweet, happy.
“Hi.”
“What are you up to today? Writing?”
“I’m heading home now to start. I just had breakfast with one of my friends. So, I was wondering about something, and you have every right to say no. I know it’s last minute and not the most thrilling thing to do on a Saturday night—”
“Wow, with a setup like that, how can a girl resist? I’m on the edge of my seat here, wondering what you could possibly ask me that won’t be the most thrilling thing to do on a Saturday night.”
I laugh, because she makes these things easy, makes me comfortable. “It’s a family dinner. I mean, a dinner . . . at my family’s house.”
“Oh.” Her voice perks up.
“Well, it’s really the reading of my aunt’s will.”
“Oh.” She sounds more somber now.
“Dinner will follow.” I close my eyes and shake my head. “I know how ridiculous this is. I shouldn’t have ask—”
“Of course I’ll go. I want to be there for you, if you want me.”
“Yeah? Yeah, I want you there, which is why I asked. I’ll understand if you think this is weird.”
“Truthfully, Charlie, it is kind of weird, but I think we got over weird when we went to the funerals together. So I’m in. What time?”
“I’ll pick you up around six.”
“Hey, before we hang up, about our Saturday ritual, or what’s become of our ritual as of late.”
“Yes?”
“Well, since we’re doing the family-reading-of-the-will thing that evening, I guess we’ll be skipping said ritual, huh?” She sounds disappointed.
I’m disappointed by that thought, too. “What would you say if I still want to come over and, you know, continue the ritual?”
“I’d say I’d like that.”
“Maybe I can bring my clothes over and get ready at your place then?”
“I think that would be a great plan.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you on Saturday at two.”
“Are you free at noon?”
“Yep.” I don’t hesitate when it comes to spending more time with her. “I’ll bring lunch.”
“I’ll make cupcakes.”
“You pick the movie.”
“I’ll make the couch up.”
“Make the couch up?”
She laughs. “Yeah, pillows and blankets.”
“So, you’re taking this napping thing to a whole new level?”
“I have a feeling we’re going to need to energize ourselves for that family dinner.”
I laugh out loud. “You may be right.”
“So noon?”
“You’ve got a date.”
“Hey, Charlie?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for calling.”
“My pleasure.”
Suddenly, Saturday night doesn’t seem so bad after all. She’ll be with me, by my side, and that makes this whole thing seem much more manageable. I’m especially looking forward to our afternoon nap and snuggling with her. I smile at the thought of a couch full of pillows and blankets, movies, cupcakes, and Charlie’s pretty face.
Chapter 25
“Come in,” I shout from the kitchen. I know it’s Charlie. I left the door unlocked since I would be busy in here baking.
He walks in, and I hear the deadbolt being reset. “You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked.”
“I unlocked it for you.”
“Maybe you should just give me a key,” he says, walking into the kitchenette and waggling his eyebrows.
“You’re feeling bold today.”
“Are my Saturday afternoon cuddles not enough to warrant a key?” He sets a bag down on the counter just as I take the cupcakes out of the oven.
“I have no response to that,” I say sarcastically, waving my free hand in the air.
“Carrot cake?”
I look over my shoulder and smile. “Yes, how did you know?”
“It smells spicy and, I don’t know, carrot-y.”
“Carrot-y?” I ask as I dump the cupcakes down onto the counter. I place them one by one onto the rack to cool.
I feel his chest press against my back. “Can I have one now?”
“You don’t want to wait until they’re frosted?”
“I’ll eat one when they’re frosted, too.”
I hand him a particularly perfect-looking one and watch as he takes a bite. It just never gets old watching him do this. The way he pulls the wrapper down on one side, and the way his eyes close as his teeth sink into the cake—it’s quite the sight.
With his mouth full, he wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer. After a kiss to my temple and a nod of approval from him over my cupcakes, I laugh.
He makes me feel warm and . . . I don’t let myself finish the thought. I step out from under his arm and reach into the bag of groceries. “What beer did you bring, Charlie?”
He watches me, amused by my reaction or lack thereof. He loves that he elicits these kinds of responses from me, and I don’t want to make him smugger, so I don’t give him the satisfaction. My stubborn side is coming out.
He comes closer again, reaches over me, and pulls the six-pack from the bag. “Guinness.”
“A dark beer.”
“A man’s beer.”
“Ha! Guinness has less alcohol than a Budweiser.”
“What? No! You’re dashing my beer dreams here.”
“It’s true, and sorry about the dream dashing.” I giggle at his pouty face.
“No matter. You ready to step up your drinking game, Ms. Barrow?”
“I can drink you under the table, Mr. Adams.”
He ruffles my hair and asks, “So, I take it the challenge has been accepted?”
“Getting sloshed isn’t a great idea before the dinner tonight.”
“Who says I’ll be sloshed?”
I nod. I can see right through his false bravado. He’s nervous about tonight for sure. I am, too, but I don’t want to make this about me. Not tonight, when he needs me. “You know where the glasses are.”
I adjust the blanket and the pillow before sitting down on the couch. “I was thinking we could watch a documentary today?”
With two beers in his hands, he sits down next to me and passes me mine. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” I sip the dark Irish beer.
“A documentary? What’s it about?”
“The slaughterhouses of Montana.”
He shoots me a confused look and scratches his head. “Um. Okay.”
“You don’t want to learn what goes into our meat products?”
His laugh mocks as he stares at the television. “Not really. Sometimes the old saying ‘ignorance is bliss’ is very apropos. This might be one of those times.”
“Come on. It will be educational.”
“It’s your turn to pick, so the slaughterhouses of Montana it is.”
Charlie. Sandalwood, peppermint, cedar, and coriander. “Charlie,” I murmur, inhaling all that he is.
Plush lips press to my forehead and retreat too soon.
My eyes fly open to be met with his sleepy greys, the filtered afternoon light making it dark in my living room. I relax into his chest again. I fell asleep in his arms, and he won’t hear any complaints from me.
“You kissed me,” I whisper, just because I want to acknowledge it happened. Maybe I say it more as a conf
irmation since I’m still tired, hoping it wasn’t a dream.
“I couldn’t resist with you mumbling my name and smiling at me like that.” He chuckles lightly.
“Smiling? Your name?”
“You smile in your sleep, and yep, I distinctly heard you say Charlie. Oh! I guess you could have been saying your own name, but who does that?”
I smile, too, debating if I should tell him it’s because of him. I don’t, though. He gets all smuggy and bigheaded when I compliment him too much. Picturing him smirking makes me giggle.
“What’s so funny?” he asks. His arms are still wrapped around me, holding me tight.
“Nothing. So, how far into the movie did I make it?”
“You didn’t even make it to the twenty-minute mark. I thought you wanted to watch it?”
“I thought I did, too, until we got all comfy and lay down. I blame the beer. Did you watch it?”
“I’ll never eat a burger again. Thanks for that.”
“So it was educational is what you’re saying?”
“Repeats for you—ignorance is bliss.”
I laugh against his chest, not wanting to move from this position. His fingers weave into my hair, and then drag through the length of it. I close my eyes and enjoy the sensation, the comfort it gives me.
His voice is soft as he says, “You didn’t drink me under the table, Char.”
“I finished the one,” I say, proud as a peacock. “Are you disappointed in me?”
“So disappointed. It’s tragic actually.”
I scoot back so I can see his face again. “You don’t want to show up at your family’s house drunk, do you?”
He seems to be considering this idea. “You’re right. I should be on my toes, at least in the beginning.”
“You’re making me nervous.”
“Don’t worry, pretty girl, you’re safe. You’re not an Adams.”
“I’m a Barrow.”
He laughs louder this time and taps me on the nose. “Yes, you most certainly are a Barrow.”
I glance over my shoulder to see the time. “It’s four. I should shower.”
