Naturally, Charlie

by S. L. Scott

  I’ll give him this. A few more minutes in his presence and I’ll give him anything, so I hope he’s quick before I lose all of my willpower. I nod for him to continue.

  “You could never be considered someone’s second best.” He takes my hand without permission, rubbing his thumb over the top. “Not that it means anything to you now, but I would have asked you out if I thought you had any interest in me. When you left the club so fast, I figured we weren’t meant to be.”

  His sweet words fill my heart, and I swallow hard. Lifting up on my toes, I kiss him on the cheek and linger, whispering, “Thank you.”

  “It’s too late, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not good, Charlie. I’ve started meeting with a counselor, but I’ve only had one session.” A heavy silence fills the space between us as he releases my hand gently. “I’m not okay. That means we’ll never be okay if I don’t work through this.” I step closer, still struggling to resist touching him again. “I’m sorry I dragged you into my mess.”

  “As long as you don’t say ‘this isn’t you, it’s me.’ ”

  I smile, because I would have said that next. Instead, I remain quiet, watching him process the meaning behind my words.

  His hands are shoved into his pockets, and his body leans closer as he asks, “We can’t be friends anymore?”

  I shake my head, not able to say the words. Tears threaten, but don’t fall.

  He looks to his right then up at the building behind me. I think he might be holding back his own tears. He closes his eyes, hiding them. “Is this good-bye forever, Charlie?”

  I rush to answer. “I don’t want it to be, but I can’t make any promises either.”

  His breathing hardens, puffing his chest out with each intake. After a quick sniffle, he opens his eyes and clears his throat. “It hurts to be this close to you and still not be as close as I want to be. Please don’t leave.” I hear his own hard swallow, his nerves making his voice shake enough for me to notice his distress.

  Looking down at my hands, I say what I need to. “My life has crumbled, and I can’t seem to rebuild it. You were there to help me, but all we did was Band-Aid the situation instead of dealing with it—the pain, Jim’s cheating, his death. I thought me moving on and forgetting about what happened was the same thing as healing. It’s not, though, and I finally figured that out.”

  “Char—”

  “Please let me say this.” I sniffle and he goes quiet. “You’re right. I am leaving. But it’s not because of you. I hope you will believe me. I need to face my life and figure out who I am now instead of relying on who I was with him. I’m sorry if this hurts you. I never wanted to do that, but if I don’t take ten steps back and focus on me, I’ll hurt you more in the long run. I see that now.”

  The tears dry, because this realization is my epiphany. I know I’m making the right decision for me, and that’s what I need. The weight burdening me for so long lifts, confirming this truly is right.

  After another long pause, he says, “You have my number if you need me. I’m not going anywhere.” I can hear a new lightness in his tone. He knows this is the right decision, too.

  “I do, and the same goes for you. I’ll be here. I’m just not your couch-cuddler anymore.”

  “I guess this is good-bye?”

  “For now.” I hate this feeling, hate the word good-bye.

  “Hmmm. Good-bye for now then.” He takes a step back.

  “Hey, Charlie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Good luck on the book.”

  “I finished it, actually, but I might need to make some tweaks to the ending.”

  “Well, make sure to let me know when I can buy it.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I’ll be the first in line.”

  “Take care of yourself, Charlie.” His voice is soft and kind, just the way I want to remember him, reflecting the man I know.

  I can’t manage another word. I know he can tell, because he turns and walks away, leaving me there. My heart aches in my chest. Good-bye, Charlie.

  Chapter 31

  I’ve put six months into counseling, and reading. I’ve avoided watching movies. I cook now and don’t bake. I had to because all of those things had too many memories attached to them.

  I’m staring at my phone, a bad habit I’ve developed over the last six months. But it’s not my phone that I find so intriguing, it’s the photo on the display screen. The day it was taken was wonderful. I might even venture to say perfect. Charlie held my phone out in front of us as we went round and round on the carousel in Central Park. He stood beside me as I rode the pink horse with a lavender saddle. Leading up to that picture was an adventure in itself.

  “Which one do you want?” He nudged me conspiratorially.

  I watched the carousel make a full circle before making my final decision. “That one,” I said, pointing. “The pink horse with the purple saddle and the gold hooves.”

  “That is so girly,” he joked.

  “That’s the exact reason why I want it. It appeals to my inner five-year-old.”

  The carousel stopped, and the ticket taker opened the gate. Charlie jumped the small barrier despite the operator yelling at him for cutting in line.

  He didn’t care, though. Charlie stood proudly next to the horse with his hand staking claim by holding the gold pole. He cut off two kids and a mom, but no real harm was done. They wanted the green and yellow ones on the other side anyway.

  When I approached, he bowed, swaying his arm in presentation. “Milady, your horse awaits.”

  I wanted to say something sarcastic or clever, but I couldn’t. My heart was in my throat. He was so sweet and sincere in wanting to get me the exact horse I wanted. As soon as he was upright, I hugged him, hard.

  That was last summer, before the infamous dinner and before I was forced to confront my past in front of his family . . . and in front of him.

  I’m brought out of my daydream when Rachel calls my name. “Charlie? Earth to Charlie. Hey, it’s quitting time. Go home.”

  I spin around in my chair and look up at her, slightly dazed. “What?”

  She taps her watch and smiles. “It’s five thirty. You’re done for the day, unless you want to stay and help field the phone bids tonight.”

  We don’t get to see each other as much at work since I got a promotion two months ago, but I don’t miss working the phones like I had to before. Now I work them on an as-needed basis. I smile, laughing in jest. “No, thanks for the offer, but I have a book at home that I’m hoping to finish tonight.”

  “Sounds like a very provocative evening ahead,” she says, making fun of me.

  “Are you mocking how I choose to spend my Thursday night?” She teases me a lot about the changes I’ve made. It’s not considered an exciting life for most twenty-six-year-olds, but that’s okay. I’ve had too much excitement the last few years. I did what I needed to do for me, and it was nice in a way.

  I’ve settled any outstanding notions regarding Jim, those lingering doubts I had. They weren’t real, just like the life I led with him. I wouldn’t have taken him back, because his cheating on me changed who I was on the inside. The guilt was gone. I realized this when I slammed the door on him, closing the door on that part of my life also. I just never spent the time to take note of that.

  I’m okay with the breakup now. Yeah, it hurts to think about, but he wasn’t who I was meant to be with. No one I was meant to be with would hurt me that way. I see that now. My thoughts drift to Charlie. I miss him and think about him every day.

  “Absolutely,” Rachel says, “I should have never given you that e-reader for your birthday. I don’t even remember the last time you went out with us.” She throws her hands in the air in a dramatic fashion before dropping them down again.

  “Maybe because it’s always the two of you. You and Justin. It’s fine hanging out at your place, but sometimes it makes me feel like a third wheel or worse . . . lonely.”

&nbs
p; “You don’t like him?”

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t mean it like that. You know I like him. You guys make a great couple. But that doesn’t change the fact that I still have to return home to an empty apartment.”

  “You don’t have to, Charlie. You’re choosing to. There’s a difference.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this again.” I turn off my computer and grab my purse out of the bottom drawer of my desk.

  “We never talk about this.”

  “Why does it feel like we do, then?” I stand up and look at her. That’s when I notice the change, notice how much she has changed. She’s beautiful, more beautiful, because she’s in love. Maybe it’s her recent engagement, but no matter what it is, I want that, too. I want the way her skin looks brighter and her eyes shine. Even her smile appears bigger than I remember. Did she have her teeth whitened? Everything about her is just . . . prettier, and she looks happier.

  She leans against my desk and rubs my arm. “You’ve gone through a lot this last year. You’ve given yourself the time you need to rediscover who you were before Jim, but I see the longing sometimes. I know using that word sounds cheesy, but it’s there, in your eyes. You want love, and I think you’re ready for it.”

  I look down at a file lying open on my desk, running my fingers down the text. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m ready to start dating again.”

  Standing upright, she clasps her hands together. “That’s the Charlie I know. Go home and finish your book, and let’s plan to go out this weekend.”

  “Yeah, okay. That will be fun.”

  She looks at her watch. “I’ve gotta run, but we’ll make plans tomorrow morning.”

  I nod as she dashes around the corner.

  Walking through the lobby, I push through the revolving door as I hold down the feeling of sorrow that’s overcome me. It’s winter, and the dark of night comes earlier. I close my eyes, absorbing the chill on this February day. The weather has been cold, colder than I remember in years past. It makes me wonder if loneliness has played a part in the forecast. I reopen my eyes, feeling self-conscious, and start walking again.

  “Hey, Charlie, wait up.”

  I stop, looking over my shoulder, surprised to see a guy jogging toward me. It takes me a moment to place him, but then I recognize him from a night out with Rachel and Justin. “Conner? Um, hi. What are you doing here?”

  I know he’s Charlie’s best friend, and I want to ask about him, but maybe I’m ready to call and talk to him myself. My heart still holds a place for him that I can’t deny any longer.

  “Hi, I came to see if you’d grab a drink with me. Just one, if you can spare the time.”

  “Oh. Sure. What’s this about?”

  “Let’s get that drink.” He smiles, and my defenses go down. “You can relax. I’m not going to hit on you or stalk you or anything like that.”

  “So I take it this isn’t a social call?”

  “Kind of.”

  “There’s a place right across the street. It’s dark, not fancy.”

  “Cool.” He walks next to me and seems relaxed, but I can’t help but think this is a bit of an odd visit. “How’ve you been?”

  We cross the street as we chat. “Are we making small talk?”

  “Yeah, I thought we would.”

  I laugh. I like his honesty. “I’m doing good.”

  “You look good.” I raise an eyebrow, and he stammers to correct himself. “I mean you look . . .” He shrugs. “Shit! I’m screwing up here. You look good. I don’t mean that in an inappropriate way, though. Happy, maybe. Are you?”

  “I’m still working on happy. I have my days, just like everyone else.”

  He nods in understanding, which makes me wonder what Rachel or Justin, or maybe even Charlie, has said in regards to me. The place is empty except for one other occupied table at the back of the bar. He points at a table against the wall, more toward the middle.

  “So, I hear you’ve got something of mine,” he says, leaning his elbows on the table.

  “What’s that?”

  “My lucky rabbit’s foot.”

  “The orange one?”

  “Yes, ma’am. So you do know of it?”

  “Don’t call me ma’am. I’m younger than you. And yes, I might have seen said lucky rabbit’s foot.”

  “Feisty. Charlie said you were feisty and a lot stubborn.”

  “He’s right on the last account. So you came to get your foot back?”

  “Not exactly. I came to tell you a story.”

  “Well, you wanted to grab a drink, and here we are, so I think drinks are in order before we start this story. I’d like Boddington’s on draft.”

  Conner smirks. “Coming right up, doll.”

  When he returns with two pints, he doesn’t waste time getting to the point. “Last April, I went on vacation, an end of season skiing trip. I was only supposed to be gone for a week or so, but ended up staying three because I met this girl. Okay, that’s beside the point. The point I’m trying to make is that at the time, my man Charlie was on what I’d like to call a losing streak with the ladies.”

  “That surprises me,” I say, then sip my beer.

  “He doesn’t have trouble meeting them. I’m not going to lie to you, because he wouldn’t. The man has a lot of opportunities. He’s taken advantage of some of these opportunities before.” He coughs. “But that’s not who he really is. He’s more a one-woman kind of guy. I admit, I didn’t understand that kind of thinking before. I thought he was nuts, but to each his own.”

  Sitting back in my chair to get more comfortable, I can tell this isn’t going to be a short story. I wave my hand for him to stop rambling and get to the point.

  “So I gave him my lucky rabbit’s foot and told him it would bring him luck in the love department.”

  I take a swig of my drink, because I think I know exactly where this story is headed. I can’t resist a good love story, though, so I have to ask, “And did he? Did he find love?”

  “Are you always this slow?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Do women put up with your rudeness?”

  “The truth, Charlie, and I’m not here to talk about me. Do you really not know?”

  “What? What am I supposed to say here? What do you want to hear? Are you here to break the news that he’s met someone and they’re together and his world is perfect now?”

  I start to stand, but he grabs my wrist. “Stubborn is putting it mildly. Hostile might fit better.”

  I roll my eyes and lean down, both hands flat on the table. “Tell me the moral of the story, Conner.”

  “Do you have the rabbit’s foot on you now?”

  He’s more intuitive than I guessed for someone as shallow as he is. I sit back down, hugging my purse to me, and stare at him for a minute.

  He nods his head, knowing the answer before I have to say it. “Did I hit a homer? Strike gold? Win the golden ticket?”

  I drop my handbag on the table, dig inside the interior pocket, and pull out the neon orange rabbit’s foot keychain. I hold it up by the little chain, and we both smile.

  He pats the table with his hand twice and stands up. “I think you know deep down what the moral of this story is. If you don’t, I suggest you spend some time and try to figure it out.” He walks backward right past me, heading for the door. He turns around and struts with confidence, which is really annoying in a funny kind of way.

  “Hey?” I yell. “Don’t you want your lucky rabbit’s foot back?”

  He turns his back to the door and opens it with his backside. “Nope, I think you need it more than I do.” And even though it’s dark outside, he drops his shades down from the top of his head, covering his eyes, and walks out.

  I let the chain of the rabbit’s foot slide over my finger and twirl it around several times before dropping it back into my purse and leaving the bar.

  Chapter 32

  Friday doesn’t turn out the way I planned at all. Rache
l knocks on my door just before ten with a mocha in hand for me. Maybe she wants to bribe me or cancel our plans for the night.

  “Irene wasn’t at her desk, so I came on in. Hope you don’t mind?” she asks, walking into my office.

  Having an assistant is nice, but sometimes I miss the casualness of the two of us talking over our cubicle walls. “You know you can walk in here, Rach. Ooh, thanks for the coffee.” I take the cup from her and smile.

  She remains standing, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. My stomach sinks when she struggles to say what she came to say.

  “Justin just called.” She watches for my reaction as if I will shatter into a million pieces from hearing that her boyfriend called her.

  “And?” I shrug, confused to why she’s being so careful with her words.

  She finally sits down on the other side of the desk and leans forward. Placing her hand on top of mine, she speaks in a hushed tone. “I know you’re not comfortable talking about Charlie.”

  I’m starting to lose my patience, because she’s making me nervous, especially with an opener like that. Sitting back in my chair, I cross my arms defensively across my chest and ask, “What is it, Rachel? Just say it.”

  “Well, we both think that Charlie might need you.”

  “Need me . . . how?”

  I knew what I wanted to do as soon as she explained the situation. It’s what I need to do for Charlie, what I know Charlie would do for me. He’d go. He’d go at the risk of being rejected. So I’ll go, too, and take that same risk.

  What if Charlie doesn’t want to see me or doesn’t want me there? What if he invites a woman or has a girlfriend?

  Her face shows the sadness I feel inside. “Are you sure you want to go?” she asks.

  “I do. For Charlie, I will.”

  She smiles, but it’s soft, sympathetic. “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, though.”

  “Call me later?”