The Art of Us

by KL Hughes

  “It’s true,” Gabby said. “She’s so well mannered.”

  Charlee laughed. “It’s all an act, you guys. She’s mean, Dad. So mean.”

  “I am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “I was mean to you one time, and I’m not even sure it qualifies as being mean.”

  “It qualifies.”

  “You called me a douche canoe three days ago over a bag of potato chips. I don’t even know what that is, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t deserve it.”

  “You finished the bag before I got home!”

  “I was hungry.”

  “I can’t wait for you two to get married,” Drew said. “I can see Alex now on family vacations, coming down the stairs with her hair flowing around her in that movie wind that seems to follow her everywhere she goes.”

  Charlee let out a loud bark of laughter. “Seriously, though. How do you do that with your hair?”

  “Maybe she’s born with it,” Drew said.

  “Maybe it’s Maybelline,” Charlee countered, and Alex had to fight to suppress a smile.

  “That’s makeup, Charlee,” Alex said. “Not hair products.”

  “Whatever. It’s magical.”

  “You’ll come down the stairs, hair blowing, and then…” Drew put on his best imitation of Alex’s voice. “Good morning, Father-in-Law, Mother-in-Law.”

  Gabby joined him, adopting the same voice. “What a sufficiently enjoyable day we are having, wouldn’t you say?”

  Snorting, Alex grabbed a plum from the fruit bowl on the island. She chucked it at Gabby and Drew. Charlee threw her hands in the air and cheered when it smacked Drew in the head and left a stain of purple juice behind.

  Gabby squealed as Drew grabbed the plum from the floor and tried to rub it on her face, but just as she ducked away from him, the song on the radio changed, and Drew whirled on the spot. The beginning notes of The Temptations’ “My Girl” floated from the speakers.

  Cranking the volume up, Drew shouted, “Come on, kiddo. It’s our song.” He darted around the island, dragged Charlee up from her chair, and immediately began twirling her around.

  They danced wildly and without rhythm, silly and out of sync. Drew spun Charlee around and dipped her to loud shrieks of “Don’t drop me!” Alex laughed. She’d seen this so many times now, but it never failed to touch her.

  This was what family was. This was what it was supposed to feel like.

  When the song died down, Charlee slung her arms around her dad’s middle. “Love you, Dad.”

  “I love you too, Charlee,” he said, patting her back. “More than all the stars in the sky.”

  Another upbeat song followed, and Drew grabbed Alex from her seat. “Your turn, kiddo!”

  Alex could only laugh and try to stay on her feet as he spun her around and around, Gabby and Charlee watching from the kitchen with identical grins.

  Charlee shakes the water from a bundle of large spinach leaves before placing it in her bag and passing the vendor some cash. She loves the farmers market, especially this one. It’s always so lively and open year-round, though only on Wednesdays and Saturdays in the off-season.

  Bundled-up street musicians line the spaces just outside the massive awning. They fill the air with music, and Charlee hums along to a few classic songs she recognizes. She gently swings her bag to keep from swaying her hips and makes her way down to the next stall. She nearly drops the small container of garlic cloves she’s just purchased when she glances up to see a familiar figure hunched over a row of potted plants.

  Bent at the waist, Alex buries her nose in the soft petals of a bright blue flower, and Charlee can’t help staring. Alex’s slender figure appears graceful, no matter her position. It always has. Her hair hangs over one shoulder in large, loose curls, and her long lashes flutter as she closes her eyes and smiles. Something stirs in Charlee’s gut and flitters between her ribs, aches in her fingers. She itches to put the image to canvas. Her feet move without command, closing the distance between them in seconds.

  “You always had a weakness for flowers.”

  Alex stiffens, jerking up quickly and turning to face her. “Charlee.”

  Charlee closes her eyes at the sound of her name coated in Alex’s soft, lovely voice. It feels like all the best parts of their past winding through the air around them in two short syllables.

  “Hi.”

  “Hey.”

  Charlee glances around for a sign of Kari. When she doesn’t see her, she says, “Just you today?”

  “She’s sleeping,” Alex says. “She has a deadline and was up all night working.”

  “Oh.”

  “She’s a writer.”

  Charlee nods. “So, some dinner, huh?”

  “Some disaster.” Alex’s eyes soften as she looks Charlee over, and Charlee has the most immense urge to step into her space, to hold her the way she’d been held at the curb. She wonders if Alex would still feel safe and loved in her arms the way Charlee felt in hers.

  “Thank you, by the way,” Charlee says, “for what you did for me. I haven’t had an anxiety attack since, well, you know. Since after Dad died.”

  “I’m glad the counting still helps.”

  “I’m surprised you remembered that.”

  “No, you’re not,” Alex says with a slight smile.

  Point. She had helped Charlee through every attack during that awful year. “Is it weird that—”

  “Do you want to—”

  Stopping midsentence, they laugh, and Alex says, “Go ahead.”

  “I was just going to ask if you think it’s weird we keep bumping into each other.”

  “It’s been nearly two weeks since the dinner.”

  “Still, it’s a huge city, you know.”

  Alex ducks her head a bit. “I think our places will always be our places, and I think we’re always going to gravitate toward them. It’s unavoidable.”

  Charlee nods again and sighs. “Yeah.”

  “Do you want to shop together?” The uncertainty in Alex’s eyes is clear, barely masking a glimmer of hope. “Would that be—”

  “Inappropriate?” When Alex nods, Charlee shrugs. “I don’t think so. We’re friends. Well, we can be friends.”

  “We can?”

  A sad smile paints Charlee’s lips, the words burning inside her. “I hope so.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  They fall into step together. It feels as natural as breathing—being with Alex again, walking through the farmers market together as they used to. Conversation comes easily, and all the little ways they know each other, the ways they’ve always known each other, begin to jump out at Charlee like signs she can’t ignore.

  They fit.

  Alex leads them by the homemade-soap stalls without stopping, and without even a word, shifts to the opposite side of the lane so Charlee doesn’t have to draw too near. There are always too many lotions and soaps made with eucalyptus, and Charlee’s allergic. Even the smell makes her eyes itch.

  At the refreshments stand, Charlee orders an additional coffee for Alex, then asks the cashier if the creamer is liquid or powder, because she knows Alex doesn’t like the latter. When the cashier confirms powdered creamer, Charlee asks for two packets of sugar instead and stirs them in for Alex before passing the drink along. She doesn’t miss the way Alex looks at her, searching. Knowing.

  When Alex attempts to put her hair in a ponytail, only to have her hair band snap, Charlee merely laughs and hands over one of the two bands she keeps on her left wrist. She’d always worn an extra for Alex, a habit she still hasn’t broken.

  They still fit after all this time.

  As they near the market entrance in their third loop, Alex says, “You kept the loft.”

  Charlee chokes on her coffee
and has to force it down, coughing until her throat clears. She turns to Alex, not sure what to say or how to explain, so she sticks with being simple, being honest. “I couldn’t let it go.”

  “And you live there now with Chris?”

  “No. He doesn’t live with me. He stays over sometimes, but we don’t live together. I couldn’t share that place with anyone else.”

  “But you do,” Alex says. “He stays over, so you do.”

  Charlee shakes her head. She doesn’t launch into a complete explanation. She can’t. It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be fair. There are too many things she shouldn’t—couldn’t—reveal. So instead she says, “You don’t understand.” Alex arches a brow at her. “There are just some things you don’t know.”

  Alex remains silent as if waiting for Charlee to continue, waiting for her to tell her all the things she apparently doesn’t know. It isn’t going to happen. It can’t. Eventually, Alex simply nods and says, “Okay.”

  They pass the market entrance again, and the music from the street performers drifts over. Charlee stills in place as the familiar opening of “My Girl” touches her ears and sends her heart plummeting into her stomach. It’s been years since her father’s death, but this song still chokes her up. Her eyes water as an image of him, his smile wide as he reaches out to her, fills her mind.

  She jumps when hands clasp onto hers, and Charlee blinks hard. She looks down, part of her expecting to find her father’s hands gripping her. Instead, she finds Alex’s slender fingers tangled with her own. Green eyes are rife with sorrow and understanding, and Charlee has to take a breath, blink away building tears.

  Alex sets aside their bags before reaching for Charlee again. She braces one hand on her waist and uses it to send her twirling. Charlee stumbles around before winding back toward Alex, and she understands what is happening. The tears she fought away come flooding back.

  The cold air doesn’t seem cold at all as Alex leads Charlee into a wild, offbeat dance, messy and ridiculous. They step on each other’s feet more often than not, but Charlee finds herself laughing through tears as Alex spins and dips her and reminds her of all the reasons she always knew Alex was the one.

  They dance like they’re the only two there, like the world has narrowed around them and there’s only music and only them. When the musicians wind down the song, their dance burns out to a slow sway, Alex’s hands on Charlee’s hips and Charlee’s arms looped under Alex’s long hair. Charlee’s face is buried against her neck.

  “He still loves you,” Alex says, a whisper. “More than all the stars in the sky.”

  Charlee shudders, and fresh tears fall as she grips Alex harder. Nudging closer is a nearly unconscious action, Alex’s familiar scent driving Charlee to burrow in deeper. “Thank you,” she says as her hand glides up the other side of Alex’s neck and braces there. Charlee closes her eyes and lets her lips just barely dust over warm flesh.

  The hands at her waist clench, dig in. Alex’s chest heaves out against hers, and Charlee’s eyes snap open at the feeling. She jerks back.

  “I’m sorry,” she says immediately, stepping out of Alex’s embrace and running a hand through her hair. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Alex. I just, um—you were comforting me, and I—”

  “Got caught up in the moment,” Alex says. Her eyes are wide, glossy, and Charlee can’t hold her gaze. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “It’s not, but it has to be.” Alex grabs her bag from the ground and tilts her head away. In some direction. Toward her car, her house, Charlee doesn’t know. “I should—”

  “Go,” Charlee says, nodding. “Yeah, me too.”

  They linger only a moment longer, Charlee shuffling in place and Alex tangling her fingers together around the strap of her bag. Then Charlee clears her throat, turns, and forces herself to walk away.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Alex says as she looks over her outfit in the mirror. Black jeans, shredded to hell, run the length of her long legs and disappear into her tall boots. The loose button-up she wears hangs open at the bottom, and she keeps the sleeves rolled above her elbows. Her hair is brushed back away from her face, braids running through it and down her back. She knows she looks good. But that might be the problem.

  “Too bad.” Vinny yanks on one of Alex’s braids as she flits by her to grab a few pieces of jewelry from the top of her dresser. “Besides, Kari said it was okay for you to go.”

  “Kari said it was okay. That doesn’t mean Kari actually thinks it’s okay.”

  “Well, then, she should say what she really thinks.” Vinny fastens a silver triple-chain necklace behind her neck. “You already agreed, so you’re going. And you know you want to go.”

  “You don’t think that me and Charlee, an unlimited amount of booze, and a body-packed dance floor in a dark bar makes for a dangerous combination?”

  “I think I don’t care,” Vinny says. “Because, one, we both need a night out, and, two, I want to see Charlee. It really isn’t fair that you’ve gotten to spend time with her and I haven’t. I want to see Cam too. I haven’t seen her since my car broke down last year.”

  Alex narrows her eyes. “You told me you took it to Jiffy Lube.”

  “Well, I lied.”

  “She isn’t even a mechanic.”

  “Doesn’t mean she can’t do an oil change,” Vinny says. “She might design theater sets for a living, but the girl can fix basically anything you put in front of her. She’s a freakin’ genius.”

  Alex groans, and Vinny throws her wallet to her from across the room. Catching it with ease, she shoves it into her back pocket. “Are you trying to ruin my relationship? Is that why we’re doing this?”

  “No, why? Are you saying it would be that easy to ruin? Just put you in a bar with Charlee and then game over? Because if that’s the case, Alex, then you should probably rethink your relationship anyway.”

  Alex winces at the words, taking them for what they are—a slap in the face. “Fine.” She turns her back to her smirking sister and makes her way toward the door. “Let’s just go.”

  “I still can’t believe that happened,” Vinny says as she passes a third round of shots around their booth. They’re tucked into a corner booth of an old bar they used to frequent together in Back Bay. “I’m partly convinced this is just some elaborate shit you two made up.”

  “Why would we make up stories to embarrass ourselves?” Alex throws back her shot, already having a good time. There’s an ease among them that saps the tension away in seconds and helps her relax. She falls back into the group like she was made for it—they were all made for it—and it’s almost as if no time has passed at all, almost as if she never left.

  “It happened,” Cam says. “Well, the gallery thing did. I was there for that. It was painful. They could be lying about the dinner, though. I wouldn’t know because I wasn’t invited.”

  Charlee holds her hand up at the passing server and orders another round of shots before turning back to Cam. “You should be thanking us for that.”

  “Never.”

  “Anyway, we aren’t lying. It happened. The world’s most uncomfortable double date.” Charlee swallows down the drink in front of her. She’s situated between Vinny and Cam in the circular booth with Alex on Vinny’s opposite side, almost directly across from her. The lime she stuffs in her mouth muffles her speech as she points to Vinny’s chest and says, “I swear on your nipple rings.”

  With a bark of laughter, Vinny slings an arm around Charlee’s neck. “I’ve missed you.”

  Smiling, Charlee spits out the lime and smacks a loud, wet kiss to Vinny’s cheek. “I’ve missed you, too, Vin.”

  “Yeah, well, we all know Vinaya missed me more than anyone.”

  Alex nudges Vinny’s arm. “Why don’t you get onto Camila about calling you Vinaya?”

&
nbsp; “Because you only call her Vinaya when you’re annoyed,” Charlee says, laughing.

  “And I say it with love,” Cam says. “Anyway, she missed me the most. In fact, everyone missed me the most. Alex missed me the most. Vin missed me the most. Even Charlee misses me when we’re apart for too long.”

  Alex wads up a napkin and throws it at Cam’s head. “Maybe you should skip the next round of shots. Your ego is drunk.”

  “Or—” Cam swats the napkin away “—maybe I should get an extra round of shots since I’m clearly everyone’s favorite.”

  When the next round arrives, they all tap their glasses on the table before clinking them together and swallowing down the clear liquid. Alex pops a lime into her mouth afterward and tries not to gawk at the way Charlee licks along the lines of her lips like she’s trying to savor the flavor.

  They drink until their eyeballs are practically floating, and Cam drags Vinny out into the small stretch of open space that a few drunk lovers have turned into a dance floor. The air seems to buzz in their absence, Charlee and Alex left alone to stare at one another, heavy-lidded and grinning like fools.

  “How did we end up agreeing to let them take us out, only to watch them get drunk and dry-hump to oldies rock?”

  Alex shakes her head. “You’re just as drunk as they are.”

  “I’m not slurring yet, so I’m good.”

  “You just slurred the word slurring,” Alex says, and Charlee bursts into loud laughter.

  “Shut up!” She dips her fingers into her drink and flicks the liquid at Alex from across the table. “You’ve had just as many drinks as me. How drunk are you?”

  “Do you want me to scale it?”

  “One to ten.”

  “Twelve.”

  “No way!” Charlee pops another lime in her mouth, sucks on it for a moment, and spits it out again. Narrowing her eyes, she points at Alex. “If you were a twelve, you’d be hitting on me by now.”

  Alex’s stomach coils up at the words, and she clamps her thighs closed under the table. “You wore those jeans on purpose.”