by KL Hughes
They slip and slide along the way, Alex nearly falling and Charlee catching her, but they still make it in record time, both soaked. When they step through the building’s front door, breathless and with their knit hats practically melted atop their wet heads, Charlee looks over at Alex and is surprised to find her smiling. A second later, laughter shakes up, and it’s free; it’s the loveliest sound.
“You look like a wet rat.” Charlee reaches for Alex’s hand without thought and leads her toward the elevator. Once inside, they don’t let go of each other, their slick hands locked and chests still vibrating with laughter. “I can get you some clothes.”
“No, that’s okay. Just a towel, please.”
When they enter the loft, Alex stops just inside the door. Her gaze roams, absorbing the space, and Charlee leaves her to it, heading to the bathroom for a towel. When she returns, she grabs Alex’s soaked hat from her head, lets it drop to the floor with a plop, and replaces it with the towel.
“Is it strange? Being back here?”
As if stirring from a daze, Alex blinks and reaches up for the towel. She dries her face, then wraps the towel back around her hair, a gentle nod her only response.
“It’s good, though,” Charlee says, wiping her own face with a second towel. “It’s not a bad strange, right?”
Alex leans back against the door, shivering. “It still feels like home in a way. That’s weird, I know, but I have so many memories here. It still feels like mine.”
“It is yours,” Charlee says, hearing a touch of sadness in her own voice. “It’s ours.”
“Charlee.”
Charlee turns and walks toward the kitchen. “Coffee? You’ll probably want to wait to call a cab until the storm calms a bit. It’s really coming down out there.”
They can hear the sleet popping against the top of the building, pecking at the large paneled windows that make up the far wall. It sounds like it might never let up.
“Thank you.” The barstool creaks beneath her as Alex settles atop it and rests against the counter. “I hope it doesn’t last long.”
Charlee tries not to feel offended by the statement, but her face apparently doesn’t get the message, because Alex quickly amends her words.
“Because of the ice,” she says. “The roads won’t be safe if this keeps up for long.”
“You can always stay here,” Charlee says before she can stop herself.
The color drains from Alex’s face. It rushes back a moment later, her cheeks full and flushed with it. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Charlee.”
“Okay.” Charlee hands her a fresh mug of coffee and, with a grin, teases her. “Scared you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself?”
Alex tightens her grip around her coffee mug. “Charlee.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, laughing. “I shouldn’t have said that.” At Alex’s tortured gaze, her laughter falls away. “I was joking. I’m sorry.”
A tense silence envelops the space, almost too tense to bear. Alex clears her throat, takes a sip of her coffee, and pops off the stool. She walks around the loft like she’s searching for something to distract her, like she’s desperate to keep her hands and attention anywhere but on Charlee. And Charlee is content to watch her, just a tad amused.
She follows along as Alex moves in front of the old graffitied wall and looks over the probing alien still carrying on with his cookies. It warms her to see the smile that spreads over Alex’s lips and the way she skates over the image with her fingers. She lingers only a moment, though, before moving on. Charlee’s work dots the walls, vivid and dynamic, and Alex stops in front of nearly every one.
“There’s more art than before,” she says.
“I’ve been busy the last few years.”
“I can tell.” Alex turns to look at her from across the room. “You’ve grown so much as an artist, Charlee. These are beautiful.”
Charlee smiles, lets her gaze dip down to her coffee and linger. “Thank you.”
“I’m proud of you.”
At that, Charlee looks up again, searches Alex’s eyes, and finds only sincerity. Her stomach flutters. “I’m proud of you too.”
They hold each other’s gazes for several long moments before Alex turns away again. She points across the loft. “The bed’s out here,” she says—an observation.
Charlee’s pulse quickens as she glances back and forth between Alex, the bed, and the studio door, no longer padlocked. “Yes.”
“What’s in the bedroom, then?”
“I turned it into my studio. Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“Sort of.”
“Would you like to elaborate?”
Charlee chews at the loose skin of her chapped bottom lip. “I really don’t think you want me to.”
That draws Alex’s brows toward her hairline. “Meaning?”
“Remember when I told you I could never share the loft with anyone else? That there were things you didn’t know?”
Alex nods, and Charlee walks over to the studio. She hesitates, one hand on the door.
“What’s wrong?”
Her voice shakes. “I’m nervous.”
“About showing me your studio.” It is somewhere between a statement and a question, and Charlee knows Alex is lost, confused.
“Up until a month ago, I hadn’t shown it to anyone. No one had seen the inside of this room in years, not since I turned it into my work space.”
Alex moves closer to Charlee then, still wrapped in her towel and slightly shivering. “What happened a month ago?”
“I showed it to Chris.”
“Oh.”
“I showed it to him, and then we broke up.”
Alex’s eyes widen, and Charlee hears the quiet gasp she tries to cover with a cough. She licks her lips, turns toward Charlee, and manages a small smile. “Are you hiding bodies in there?” It’s a joke, something to lighten the moment, but Charlee can see the sympathy in Alex’s eyes; she can feel it in the hand Alex gently places on her shoulder. She searches for something more, something like hope, in Alex’s gaze, despite knowing she won’t find it. Alex is too kind to think of herself. “Because if so, I must say, Charlee, I don’t approve.”
“Shut up.”
“Do you want to show me?”
“Are you going to freak out?”
“So, there are bodies in there.”
Charlee rolls her eyes. “Seriously, are you going to freak out?”
“I can’t say.”
“Will you try not to freak out?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Charlee slides the door open. She closes her eyes as Alex steps past her and into the room, but she still hears the sound of that gasp. It tears through the silence, and her fingertips go numb. Her breath sticks in her lungs like it suddenly can’t move, and her heart starts to beat too fast. She feels dizzy.
“Charlee,” Alex says, a blip of sound that seems unintended, more out of shock than anything. It’s enough to make Charlee want to look, to see the room through Alex’s eyes.
When she opens her eyes again, Alex is standing frozen in the room that is still so obviously their bedroom. She takes in the sight of her own face and body speckling the walls, all the while with one hand pressed to her chest.
“I told you,” Charlee says. “I couldn’t share this place with anyone else. This bed is ours. This room is ours. This place—it’s ours. It’s always going to be ours. I couldn’t let that go. I don’t think I ever will.”
Alex is silent so long Charlee’s skin starts to crawl, and she still can’t get her breath to unstick. Everything feels too tight. “Alex?”
When Alex turns, her eyes glisten. Her towel falls to the floor, and wet hair sticks to her face. Charlee reaches out before she can stop herself or be stopped
. Slowly, she brushes Alex’s hair back behind her ear, and then they’re trapped—too close, too tense, too silent, too…much.
They stare at one another, surrounded by their history. It’s overwhelming, but somehow, it’s exactly what Charlee needs. Her lungs loosen and her heart slows. The closer Alex is, the clearer and calmer everything becomes. Charlee’s gaze flickers down to Alex’s lips, and she hesitates before moving closer, stepping well into her space. Their chests brush. With a hand trembling against Alex’s cheek, Charlee moves in, closes her eyes again. She can feel Alex’s breath against her lips, close, so close.
Then Alex splutters out a gurgled sound, gently grabs Charlee’s wrist, and pulls her hand away from her face. She eases Charlee back. “I—I’m sorry. I can’t. Things with Kari… We haven’t officially… I can’t. I have—I should go.”
She doesn’t wait for Charlee to say anything before darting around her and practically sprinting for the door.
“Alex, wait. Let’s talk.”
“I can’t.” She doesn’t even stop to put her coat on. “I can’t stay here.”
“But you haven’t called a cab.”
Alex is gone before she can even fully get the words out. Charlee knows why she’s running. She’s desperate to get away from the tension—the wanting, the forbidden, the memories. Everything. She thinks, briefly, that she should let her go, but her feet are already moving.
“Wait, Alex!” Grabbing her keys, Charlee sprints out after her. She can hear Alex’s boots stomping against the stairs a flight below her as she races down, and when she hits the lobby, she catches a glimpse of her just before Alex spills out into the storm.
“Alex, wait!” She follows Alex outside. The cold stabs at her damp clothes, pricks through and bites at her skin, but Charlee doesn’t care. She has to say the things she’s been holding in. “Please! Don’t leave me like this!”
That stops her. Alex skids to a halt on the slick sidewalk and nearly falls. She barely manages to catch herself, throwing her arms out for balance, and Charlee gains on her. When she rights herself and turns, Charlee is only a foot away.
Alex blinks hard against the sleet as she takes a few steps toward her ex. “We can’t do this, Charlee. We can’t be around each other, not y—”
“We can’t not be around each other,” Charlee says. Sprays of water fly off her hair as she shakes her head. She doesn’t care that they are doing this in public, in the freezing rain, because this is it. This is the moment. This is when they finally crack through that fragile exterior and get down to the meat of things. Down to the reality. Down to the truth. They were always meant to be together, and there is no getting around it.
“We can’t, and you know it. What we had, what we were to each other—it’s not something we can ignore.”
“I know.”
Charlee moves closer, shivering. Her teeth chatter as she talks, but she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t retreat. “We loved each other.”
“We did,” Alex says, her voice choked and sad.
“I still do,” Charlee says. “I know I’m not supposed to say that. Not like this. Not when things are so messed up and you’re still with someone else. I know I’m not supposed to say it, and I’m sorry for doing it like this, but I can’t not say it anymore.” She shoves her wet hair out of her face, blinks through the water on her lashes. “I can’t keep pretending like I’m okay with just being your friend when I want you in my bed.”
Alex closes her eyes for a brief moment, trembles.
“Our bed.” Charlee steps in closer. “I want you, Alex. I want you like I’ve always wanted you. I never stopped.” Her words start to strain, and Charlee has to force them out. “I still want to marry you in the middle of winter. In the snow. I still want to adopt ten annoying, perfect kids with you and argue over who has to change diapers and where to send them to school.” She takes another step. “I still want to grow old with you, Alex. I want it all, everything, and that’s why I can’t hold it in anymore. It’s been killing me.”
“I know.” A sob escapes her, lost in the rain. “It’s killing me too.”
Charlee reaches out then, grabs Alex’s hand, and tugs her in. They shiver against each other as Charlee looks into her eyes. “You love me,” she says, and it isn’t a question. It’s a simple truth. Something they both know in their souls—as old and rich as time.
“I’ve always loved you,” Alex says, cupping Charlee’s freezing cheeks. She glides her thumb over Charlee’s quivering bottom lip. “Charlee, you’re the love of my life.”
Charlee feels her lip split with the force of her smile, but it falters and falls when Alex shakes her head a moment later and steps out of her embrace.
“But there are things I have to take care of now.” Her voice sounds shredded. “Promises I made that I have to break. Apologies I need to…” She runs her hands over her wet face. “We can’t just smash ourselves back together and pick up where we left off, Charlee. As much as I wish we could, we can’t. That’s not how it works.”
She steps in again, briefly, and presses her lips to Charlee’s forehead. Charlee is too numb to feel it, but nothing saves her the pain of watching Alex turn and walk away.
“So, maybe we shouldn’t say goodbye.”
“What do we say, then?”
“The same thing we always say when one of us leaves.”
“And then what?”
“Then I’ll go.”
The words echoed in Charlee’s mind, over and over and over, as she trudged from the elevator and slid her key into the lock. She couldn’t bring herself to turn the handle for the longest time, simply leaning her head against the door and trying to breathe.
“You’re just going to turn and go?”
“I don’t know how else to do it. If I stay, if I linger, I might never get on that plane.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“So, I love you.”
“I love you.”
“Alex, wait!”
“Charlee, that was supposed to be our goodbye.”
Turning the knob, Charlee finally opened the door and stepped inside the loft. The silence was deafening as she shuffled farther in, shutting the door behind her. Her chest tightened as she looked down at the floor.
Alex’s boots weren’t by the door.
Charlee briefly closed her eyes. She knew what she would find as she moved through her home, their home—absence, more and more absence.
Alex’s wallet wasn’t on the counter. Her toothbrush wasn’t on the sink. Her underwear wasn’t squished into the top drawer next to Charlee’s.
“…this is hard.”
“I know, but this isn’t the end. We’ll say hello again. I promise.”
“When?”
“Soon, I hope.”
“Okay. Soon.”
Charlee crawled onto the mattress on the floor, wiggled over to Alex’s side, and buried her face in the pillow. The smell of Alex washed over her, drawing tears to the surface. It was only a scent, something intangible, something that would fade. Alex’s absence was still there, still obvious, still haunting, and Charlee could do little more than exist in it. Alone.
Near-violent tremors rack Alex’s body as she opens the door to the mercifully warm apartment. She toes off her boots and strips herself bare at the door. Grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch, she wraps herself up and heads toward the kitchen.
The Keurig whines with the start of a fresh cup, and Alex calls out through the house. “Kari?”
No response. Alex pads down the hall toward Kari’s office. “Kar?” She peeks in, but the room is empty, and Alex feels the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Her stomach bottoms out.
“Kari?” She moves toward the bedroom, farther down the hall. When she steps inside, something about the space feels off. Empty. Alex’s
vision blurs with tears as she zeroes in on the open drawers and the small sheet of paper on the bedside table. With trembling fingers, she picks it up. Kari’s loopy handwriting stretches across the page.
Alex,
I deserve to be someone’s first choice.
I’m going home.
Be happy,
Kari
Alex reads the words over and over, walking aimlessly through the apartment, unable to hold still. She shivers with every step, every loopy letter, and grips the paper in her hand until it crumples. When she can’t look at it anymore, she drops onto the couch and feels the full weight of the disturbing silence press down on her.
The changing lights of the Christmas tree still brighten the room with their glow—still colorful while the rest of the world fades.
White to blue to green to red to yellow.
Chapter 12
Well past midnight, the need for sleep itched in her bones and curled at the edges of her mind, but the stars shone too brightly for Alex to want to close her eyes. The grass was dewy and cool beneath them and the air cold enough to sting. But Charlee’s expression, lips parted just slightly and eyes wide as she gazed up into the vast expanse, was too beautiful for Alex to want to go inside.
She stared at Charlee the way Charlee stared at the sky, attentive and reverent. Her eyes traced the angles of Charlee’s face. They made constellations from lashes to lips, from brow to chin, and Alex felt breathless with the old discoveries, every feature she had memorized. Every expression. Every bit.
The feeling in her chest, the expansion forced between her ribs by a vibrant girl building a home inside her heart, was the best kind of pain Alex had ever felt. She was alive with the stretching, the growing, alive with learning what it was to love and be loved by Charlee. It was good.
It was so incredibly good.
“Every time we come to the cabin, I want to paint a million things,” Charlee said, shaking up the silence. Her words puffed into the air in white clouds, and Alex watched them leave her lips and drift up toward the stars. They didn’t get far before disappearing.
