by S. Massery
“Why what, Charlotte?”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” There were notes of hurt in my voice; there was a lump in my throat. Why was I getting emotional about this?
Because his opinion matters?
He exhales sharply and looks out the window.
We don’t say anything for the rest of the car ride.
When I pull up in front of his apartment instead of parking, he looks like I caught him off guard. “Are you coming up?”
I swallow and say, “Nope.”
“Charlotte.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I say.
“Charlotte!”
“Get out of my car, Avery.”
He groans, leaning his head back. “Stop it.” His hands tug through his hair. “You don’t—you shouldn’t settle for being a personal assistant. You have a good degree from a great school. Not many people get into the University of Chicago. You’ve got all this potential, and you’re wasting it on doing the dude’s dry cleaning?”
“Seriously?” I blink at him and feel my face flushing bright red.
“Yes, of course. I have a high opinion of you, Charlotte, and so does your family.”
The waves of incredulity washing through me are quickly turning back to anger.
“Seriously, Avery? That’s not even the fucking point.” It’s my turn to shake my head at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side and not let my dad steamroll me without backup. Now get out of my car.”
“You know what, Charlotte? You’re being a brat right now.”
I pop the trunk. “You’re being a jerk!”
He jumps out of the car, slamming the passenger door. A second later, he yanks his bag from the trunk. “Call me when you cool down,” he yells through the glass.
I flip him off and drive away.
What just happened?
32
Rose shows up at seven o’clock sharp. When I open my door, she holds up a bottle of tequila and a bag that smells like Chinese.
“Welcome,” I say, waving her inside.
It’s been two days since Avery and I fought. I’m surprised that he hasn’t called me. I’m a little hurt, too. Although… I did flip him off. Maybe he’s trying to come up with the best way to break up with me.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Rose says as she passes me. She sets the bag and bottle on the counter and turns toward me. I had filled her in a little bit about our argument—thus the tequila—and she now looks at me with pity. “Please tell me you’ve talked to him since we last spoke?”
“Nope.” I sigh. “It’s just as well. I’m still pissed at him.”
“I can’t believe he implied… what, exactly?”
“He actually said that I was not living up to my potential. That I was wasting my time.”
She shrugs. “I’ve learned a few things since our companies merged. Would you like to hear them now or after I pour you a shot?”
“After,” I say with a smile. “Definitely after.”
My buzzer sounds again. “Oh,” she says. “I invited Eve.”
“Oh, goodie,” I grumble. I hit the button to let her up and unlock the door. “Shot glasses are in the cabinet above the microwave,” I tell Rose.
Eve knocks on the door a minute later, and I pull it open. “Hey,” she greets me. I motion for her to enter. “Happy Thanksgiving, ladies.” She pulls a bag out of her giant purse. “I brought cookie dough.”
“Perfect,” Rose says. She hands me a shot glass full of the clear liquid. “We’re giving Charlotte a dose of tequila before the hard truth.” She hands Eve the other glass, then picks up the third from the counter. “Ready?”
“If you say so.”
We clink our glasses together, and Rose watches as I throw back the shot. It burns a path down my throat and heats in my belly. She and Eve quickly follow suit.
“Okay,” she says. Eve and Rose lead me to the couch and sit. They pat the space between them. “Don’t get all weird, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” I want to roll my eyes, but I don't. I do laugh, nervously, and say, “This feels like an intervention.”
“Hon,” Eve says as she pats my knee, “we think you may have been a little unfair.”
My eyes nearly bug out of my head. “Excuse me?”
Rose smiles gently and lifts my hand. “You said that your dad was trying to get you to agree that this job wasn’t going to be forever. Right?”
I shift. “Uh, yeah.”
“Well. Do you see yourself doing this in five years?”
Eve snorts, and Rose glares at her. Finally, I answer, “I don’t think so. No. I… I don’t know.” A small tremor of fear runs through me. I watch my hands, curled in my lap, and whisper, “I don’t think I know anything else.”
Eve pats my back. “Girl, you’re young. You can do anything you set your heart on. After watching the temp girl brought to tears by your boss yesterday, I’d say you would be able to earn a very good recommendation from him.”
“Thank you, Eve,” I say. And, to my surprise, I mean it. I don’t know for sure how Tom would react to me giving notice, but her words give me strength. When the time comes, I’m sure I’ll be able to handle it.
“Okay, Charlie, listen to me,” Rose says. I look back at her. “You reacted to me in a calm, reasonable manner. How was it different with Avery? Did he not say much of the same?”
I close my eyes. The feeling of shame is familiar, and it makes me want to run.
“He should be on my side, though, shouldn’t he?”
Eve cocks her head to the side. “Can you clarify?”
“I mean…” I stop and take a breath. “He’s my person. Supposedly. I love him, and I thought he loved me. All I wanted was someone to stick up for me when I couldn’t do it myself.”
“Aw, honey,” Eve says. She puts her arm around my shoulders. “I think he does love you because he wants you to be the best version of yourself. Don’t you think?”
The thought rankles, but it makes sense.
“I get it.”
Rose smiles. “Great. Time for food?”
Once Rose and Eve leave, I pick up my phone and call Avery.
“Yes?” It’s how he always answers his phone.
“Avery,” I say.
“Charlotte? Are you okay? It’s after midnight.”
“I’m sorry.” I can only hear his breathing as I walk around my apartment, turning off lights. “I was cruel.” I crawl into bed, pulling the covers up to my ears. “I didn’t understand. But you were saying those things because you love me, right?”
“Yes, Charlotte. Of course I love you.”
“Okay.” I yawn.
“Are you drunk?”
“No,” I say. “Just tired. And maybe tipsy.” I don’t bother telling him that I don’t get drunk anymore. “I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
“Okay,” he whispers.
And since the jury is still out on if it’s been a good night or not, I settle for, “Night, Avery.”
33
Two days later, Avery meets me for dinner. Even though I apologized, there is a weight pressing on my chest. I haven’t seen him; we haven’t even really spoken too much, beyond the midnight phone call. It isn’t until I see him and my heart starts beating out of control that I realize I’ve been more anxious than anything. I’ve missed him. I’ve been afraid of losing him.
The North End has so many fantastic Italian restaurants. The one slight downside is that most of their streets were built with cobblestones, and the narrow sidewalks are always swarmed with people. It takes me a few minutes to find the place and locate Avery. I catch a glimpse of the side of his face. He is leaning against the brick, but straightens when he sees me. When I reach him, he pulls me close and kisses my forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“Me, too,” I say into his chest. We stay like that for a moment, in a bubble, and I let the weight lift off of me.
He threads his hand into mine as we walk into the restaurant. “How have y
ou been?”
I laugh because it hurts. Boy, I didn’t expect it to hurt, to see him, to feel awkward. We lost our groove, just as we were sliding into it. “I’m okay. And you?”
He shrugs.
He shrugs.
I stare at him, feeling this desperate urge for his words. I haven’t felt so recklessly desperate since… Colby. That makes me tense, and a lump forms in my throat.
I grab his hand, squeezing, and demand, “Talk to me.”
Avery meets my glare. “What are you doing, Charlotte? Do you even know?”
“What?”
He sighs. It sounds so condescending, I might pull out my hair and scream. As it is, I slowly pull my hand away. My fingers tremble on my lap, twisting together. He says, “What have you done about our argument?”
I’m still confused, and also now getting a little angry. “What have I done about our argument? In what way?” I keep my voice level.
“I was trying to help you. You started it out of nowhere, and then flipped me off. To apologize, you got buzzed first. What kind of apology is that?”
My mouth drops open. He’s right, but he’s also so wrong.
“I told you it wasn’t about you helping me. I wanted your support!”
“So if you were arguing the sky was green, you’d expect me to back you up then, too?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. I’m not an idiot.”
He points at me from across the table. “Exactly, Charlotte. You’re not an idiot. Why are you doing a job anyone else could do?”
I jerk my head back. I do not think anyone could do my job; I think maybe a lot of the population could figure it out, and it doesn’t require a college degree, but to work with Tom? He is as difficult as they come. I know this, but it burns worse when it comes from Avery’s lips.
In college, I had all this passion. I wanted to save the world with art. I wanted to paint the world into a better place and make people happy. It breaks my heart, now, to remember that passion. It somehow dissipated like smoke, so slowly that I didn’t even feel it leave. But now that I’m looking for it, I can’t find it.
Tears fill my eyes.
“I have to go,” I tell Avery. I feel like an idiot. I feel like he’s just like my family, and I’m letting him walk over me. When I stand, he catches my wrist. I stare down at his fingers, pressing into my skin, and wonder how we got here so quickly.
This instant loathing is wrong, but it’s so easy to lean into it.
“Charlotte,” he says. His voice is soft. “I love you. I tell you these things because I love you.”
I snatch my wrist away. His hand drops back to the table. “Well, Avery, you should be able to tell that it’s a sensitive subject.”
He exhales. “Just, sit. I’ve missed you.” When I do sit, he says, “I can help you.”
“I swear to God, Avery…”
He shakes his head, his eyes skating around the restaurant, before meeting mine again. I’m always taken away by the beauty in his eyes, but today it doesn’t distract me from how he’s acting. “Okay, Charlotte. I’ll stop talking about it.” For now.
The rest of the dinner is awkward. I want to slink away, to hide and lick my wounds. Part of me is wholly disappointed with myself. The other is completely devastated by Avery’s opinion of me. We part ways at the door, and I go home alone. Why do I keep going home alone?
Once in my apartment, I decide to research jobs. Any jobs. In any city. I’ll move there alone, start all over, I think. An hour later, I am having no luck. Everything requires experience that I don’t have. I growl and contemplate throwing my computer against the wall. Before I can get that far, though, my phone rings from an unknown number.
“Hi,” I mumble. I’m hoping it’s a telemarketer or anyone other than my mother.
His voice is warm as butter when he says, “Hi, Charlie.”
Jared doesn’t introduce himself. There’s no need. I could recognize his voice anywhere. I don’t know how that happened. Had those two phone calls really cemented his voice in my head?
“How are you?” There is so much guilt sitting in my stomach, suddenly, that I don’t know why I didn’t bother to call him again. I only had two more dreams of burning, a few days after I talked to him the second time. Each time, I had woken up in a panic and rushed into the shower. I had been alone both times.
“They sent me home a week ago,” he says. “Just in time for the holidays.”
“Home?” I wonder if he means some apartment in a city somewhere far away. If he means with his girlfriend, or wife, or whatever she is. With the baby—a toddler by now, right?
He coughs. “Yeah, you’re familiar with it, Charlie. You watched it be built, after all.”
I almost drop my phone. He’s back in Massachusetts? He was across the street at Thanksgiving? “I—I was—”
“I know,” he says. Mind reader. “He’s quite the looker.”
I can’t help the blush that makes my face feel too hot. “You spied on me?”
“I am stuck on the first floor of my parents’ house with nothing to do,” he answers.
I pause, quiet. “I’m sorry.” How can I apologize so easily to him, and not to Avery?
Jared says, “I should’ve called sooner.”
I bite my lip. “Same,” I answer.
“We suck,” he says. “But… I wanted to see if you were okay. I missed your voice.”
My ability to breathe leaves me. Where did my lungs go?
Finally, I manage, “Are you, Jared Wyatt Brown, admitting to missing me?”
“Yes,” he laughs. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Too late.
He asks, “What’s his name?”
“Whose?” I pretend to be ignorant. He just stays silent, until I answer, “Avery. What do you want to know about him?”
“I want to know why you sound like you’re wrinkling your nose when you say his name,” Jared replies.
It’s true. I did wrinkle my nose. “He’s just…” How on earth do I say this nicely? “I work as a personal assistant. It isn’t glamorous. It isn’t my end-goal job. But I like it. That’s okay, right?” I hold my breath, waiting for Jared to inadvertently take the side of Avery and my parents.
“It’s your life, Charlie. Where are you going with this?”
So, I tell him about Dad’s comments, and how Avery didn’t even pretend to be on my side. And then I tell him, in perhaps too much detail, about my ongoing argument with my boyfriend. I end with, “I don’t even care that you caught me job-hunting. It’s that they seem to be ashamed of my job.”
Jared is quiet. He’s always had this ability to see things from multiple angles. “Listen, Charlie.” I roll my eyes, and I think he knows it because he says, “I’m on your side. Okay? I get it—that you wanted your boyfriend to be different than your pissy father.”
I crack a smile.
“But maybe he’s being supportive in a way that you don’t quite see. It’s hard to leave something once you get comfortable. I know you, Charlie. At least, I used to know you. You like comfort, and not a lot of change, and then you get stuck. When we were nine? I thought you were going to have a meltdown about moving your bedroom down the hall.”
I remember that. It also makes me think of later in my life, and how getting stuck has been a real trend. And I remember something else he said. “You saw a therapist in high school?”
“Are you changing the subject?”
“No, it made me think of something.”
He hums. “Okay, I’ll let this clear diversion slide… Yes, I saw a therapist after my parents sent me away.”
“You shouldn’t have beat up Colby.” I immediately regret bringing him up—I want to snatch the words out of the air. I guess we’re going to talk about this now.
He inhales, coughs, and grinds out, “Oh?”
The animosity in my voice surprises me when I say, “Yeah, because then you were forced to leave, and I got stuck with him.”
“What does that mean?”
I try to remember how it went: how Colby took over my life. “Colby wouldn’t leave me alone. Not at school, after school, nowhere. He manipulated my mother into letting him take me out. She was excited, because—”
“She’s your mother,” he cuts in. “I know how she is.”
“Right,” I agree. “But then it just got… weird. I don’t know what happened. One minute, I didn’t want anything to do with him. The next, I was taking whatever pills or alcohol he gave me, doing whatever he said, and who I was as a person... disappeared.”
There is so much shame hanging around me, now, that I’m not surprised by the lump that appears in my throat and how my eyes slowly fill with tears.
“Oh, Charlie,” he whispers. His voice has so much grit to it, I feel it scrape against my soul. “So the nightmares—”
“They started after he was arrested.”
“He was arrested?” I pull the phone away from my ear, wondering if he’s going to wake up his parents. I swipe at the liquid seeping from my eyes. “Did he hurt you?”
“He was on probation for a while because he beat up Leah. Broke her nose, fractured a rib. She called the cops. Honestly, he never did anything like that to me… Just, different sort of stuff.”
“Charlie…”
The tears flow down my cheeks faster and faster. “I’m sorry, Jared.”
“What?” He groans. “Don’t apologize. I should be the one saying sorry.”
“No,” I immediately say. “I put too much faith in you coming back to save me. Eventually, I figured out that only I could save myself.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
I sigh. No one knows that I’ve kept track of Colby over the years. I figured, if I knew where he was, I would know how to avoid him. “Don’t bother, Jared. He raped a girl on camera a year ago. He’s in jail in California.” His parole is coming up, though. The law takes it easy on rich white boys.
Jared makes a noise in his throat, like he’s in pain.
“Is your leg hurting—”
“Charlie, did he rape you?”
My stomach feels like it’s on a rollercoaster. I don’t want to think about Colby’s hand on my throat. I don’t want to think of him telling me what to do, never asking. A freaking lightbulb clicks, then, that none of my relationship with him was fully consensual. How did I let him get away with that? “Jared…”
