Modern Fairy Tale

by Proby, Kristen

  We were two broken people, trying to find our way with blinders on because someone was destined to be even more broken when we were done.

  One weekend a month, alternating locations, swallowing as much of each other’s air as we could in forty-eight to sixty-four hours wasn’t even close to enough.

  Janie poked fun at our situation, but I knew she was happy for me. We’d worked out and were chatting over coffee one Sunday, both of us stirring our foam into our lattes.

  “Janie, I need you to support me in this. I need you because I don’t have anyone else,” I said matter-of-factly as she took my hand and squeezed our palms together. “I know this wasn’t what you wanted for me, but it feels right to me, and you know my mom is so messed up.”

  “It’s probably with both your dad and grandma gone, she’s even more focused on you. But I do love you and if this makes you happy, I support you.”

  She gave my hand another squeeze and leaned over the table and kissed me on the cheek. My affectionate Janie couldn’t spend a second without kissing someone.

  “Plus, you look so good recently,” she said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had ass fat injected into your cheeks. You’re always smiling and look perkier, and your face doesn’t look all sunken in.”

  “That’s the muffins I eat at the coffee shop,” I said with a laugh. “Not ass fat.”

  “Well, you should work for those muffin people because they look good on you.”

  I shook my head. She was crazy at moments, but the closest thing I had to a sister or confidante.

  August turned into a bigger challenge. Layton was working around the clock on three movies and also traveling to Colorado to meet with a smaller studio. I was on deadline for my first book, my editor champing at the bit for my words.

  Layton and I met for one glorious night in Arizona. We both flew there Saturday morning and I took the red-eye home on Sunday. Layton took the midnight flight home to Los Angeles. In between, we crawled into bed, ordered room service, and had coffee on our balcony—which was the only time we spent outside the room.

  He left a love bite on my thigh and we giggled like teenagers about hickeys.

  We watched a bootleg of a movie he worked on, releasing later in the month. He fed me strawberries dipped in champagne in bed. I read him the prologue of my latest work in progress. He made love to me, softly and slowly late Sunday afternoon before we headed to the airport.

  I cried on the way home. It was the first time I’d cried. The melancholy surrounding our separating deepened each time I said good-bye. This time, it actually caused physical pain. My chest burned as much as my thighs ached.

  But we still hadn’t said I love you.

  There were lots of I’m falling for yous and I miss yous and I care so much for yous. No mentions of love. I knew I did love him, as sure as my tear fell onto the tray of my coach seat.

  On my flight home, I reminisced about the first time we met. Layton had been almost invisible to me back then.

  Since then, everything had changed. I didn’t fly first class anymore. Janie took a step back from managing my love life. I was writing, and eating muffins.

  And Layton was now my everything.

  * * *

  The next month, my mom’s name popped up on my iPhone as soon as I packed up my stuff at the coffee shop. I thought about screening it, but she’d just call again.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hey, Charli. What’s new? Are you still just writing?” Her disdain traveled all the way from another state, through the phone and deep into my soul.

  “Yes, Mom. I am. That’s what I want to do.”

  It was still sort of nice out, breezy, the sun was beginning to set, so I decided to walk a bit. I connected my earbuds and stuck them in while only half listening to her.

  “…what happened to your big career?” she was saying. “Graduating early? Dad would’ve been so proud of all that.”

  “Mom, I thought that’s what I wanted to do, but it wasn’t. I’m happy. I wasn’t so happy back then. Plus, I’m my own boss now, more responsibility and control.”

  “You’re changing your mind because of the freeloader guy in California.”

  “Freelancer, not freeloader, Mom.”

  “Whatever.” Deeper disdain filtered through the line.

  “Listen, you don’t even have to pretend to understand. I have to chase this, and I earned it. I had some savings, which is remarkable in New York, and I haven’t even touched the money Dad left me except to put a security deposit on the condo. So, I have to try.”

  “Well then, you don’t have to pretend to understand what I’m about to ask,” she countered.

  My feet trudged, one in front of the other, my body rigid and wary of what was about to come from her mouth next. Whatever it was, I was certain I wouldn’t like it.

  “Garrett needs a date this weekend, and you’re going. He has some company thing and he really needs someone by his side. It’s non-negotiable. I told him yes.”

  I blew out a long breath and decided to take a run when I got home. Maybe to New Jersey and back? Or however long it took me to burn off my growing tension.

  “I can’t, Mom. I’m seeing someone.”

  “He’s across the country. Garrett is there and he needs someone. He’ll text you later with the details, but it’s Saturday, late afternoon, an evening picnic. Period.”

  “Why are you so set on Garrett?”

  “He’ll get you back on track.”

  “I am on track. I don’t want to do this.” The evening wind cut through my sweater, chilling me to the bone. I started to shiver.

  “You will. I’m all alone, a widow, and I asked.”

  “’Bye, Mom.” That was all I could force from my throat before disconnecting.

  I knew better than to change the plans. If I did, she’d be on a plane and fixing them to her liking. Whether I liked it or not, I had to do this and get it over with.

  Do I tell Layton?

  I decided to run to the Pennsylvania border over that thought.

  We hadn’t been able to figure out a September plan. We were aiming to connect to celebrate our birthdays during the last weekend of the month, hoping to steal four days while my book was at the copy editor and two of his films were wrapped.

  I’m not going to lie. I was counting the minutes and it was only midmonth.

  I couldn’t go through with this Garrett thing. I’d have to find a way out of it, I decided as my feet picked up their pace on the New York streets.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Layton

  My bare feet were up on the desk in my studio, Harriette on the cool floor, her jowls dripping on the hardwood. We’d just come in from an early evening walk, and I was antsy. Determined to shrug off the feeling, I shoved on my headphones and listened to a few loops of an electric violin solo.

  It was perfect.

  I let out a loud sigh. I’d been looking for something to pair with an erotic bathroom scene, the last piece of music for this movie, and then I was done. I played the clip on my laptop and matched up the tinny violin strokes with each body movement. The scratchy music fit perfectly with the gruff, tattooed man and the lithe woman onscreen in front of me. He was abrasive like sandpaper and she was smooth like silk. Together, they were explosive and gave new meaning to scratching an itch.

  I rewound the clip, made sure the music was set perfectly, and e-mailed it to the producer, confident he would love it.

  Leaning back in my chair, I should have felt at ease, but I was even more antsy. All the sexy clips made me miss Charli even more than I already did. I pined for her laughter, the new slight curve of her hips. She hadn’t really gained weight; she looked more like a woman filled out in all the right places.

  And her smile…that smile could light up Manhattan.

  I didn’t want to share it, though. I wanted all of her grins, each and every one. I would stuff her giggles in my pocket for a rainy day.

  F
uck, I’m such a goner. Gone for her.

  My mind went to her, to our situation, like it so often did throughout my day.

  Although no one had said I love you, I wanted to, but I needed it to be right. Charli needed to be settled in her career before I approached her about this. Although her job was sort of transient, but no…no, I needed to make a move. I suspected that was pivotal to our relationship working, yet I waited. And now I feared I’d waited too long.

  It didn’t matter. I missed her so much that my hand twitched, wanting to touch her, to feel her, to slip her hair behind her ear. It was silky like satin sheets fresh from the package.

  I should buy some of those, I thought, but then my phone buzzed on my desk.

  Adam.

  A few guys were grabbing drinks at Bastion’s. Looking more closely at the time, I realized it was almost seven on a Friday night. Happy hour was well under way.

  I needed to get out of my house for something other than a run or a walk. My mind was playing tricks on me.

  She loves me. She loves me not.

  Leaving out some fresh water for Harriette, I pulled off my old concert tee and grabbed a Henley. I left my jeans on and slipped into a pair of Reef flip-flops. Why else live at the beach?

  Adam clapped me on the shoulder when I bellied up to the bar. “Well, it isn’t Romeo! How’s it going in lover land?”

  “Beer please, whatever’s on tap,” I said to the bartender.

  “That good?” Adam took a sip of his drink.

  “It’s rough, man. She’s not here and I’m not there.”

  “Star-crossed lovers, that’s what I said.”

  “I heard your little joke, but this is my life.”

  He lifted his glass to my bottle and said, “Cheers, Lay. Damn straight it’s your life. Take control.”

  “You’re kidding. You don’t think I have?”

  But I hadn’t. It was my fault we didn’t share our true feelings. I should say it first. I knew she loved me.

  “No,” Adam said, his tone suddenly sober. “And you know me? No bullshit ever. You took control of your life, even though you almost had it all. Kicking business, lots of pussy, but not her…”

  “Don’t say it,” I warned.

  “Now you just mope around.” Frowning, he said, “Fucking fix it, dude. You want her to move here, ask her. You want to marry her, ask her.”

  “Whoa, marry? No, we’re not there yet.”

  But the idea did appeal to me…a lot. To all of me, my head and my dick. My heart too.

  “Drink up and enjoy your night,” Adam said as he circled his finger at the bartender for another round. “Wake up tomorrow and do something ’bout this shit.”

  We drank like he wanted but my mind was elsewhere, concocting a plan. I was going to fucking fix it, all right.

  At ten, I left and prayed my neighbor’s lights were on. They were, and I knocked softly. Then I grabbed Harriette and delivered her over there before grabbing a duffel and shoving shit inside.

  By a quarter to eleven, I was on my way to the airport with one thought in mind.

  I was going to fucking fix it.

  * * *

  Physically exhausted, I was running on adrenaline as I made my way to ground transportation at JFK. I needed a cab quickly.

  Turned out, I missed the red-eye back east. It left at half past eleven, but the nice old lady working the counter took pity on me and put me at the top of the standby list for the first flight out in the morning. I ended up sitting at the gate for most of the night, too afraid to lose my spot.

  By the time I landed in New York, I was wired on caffeine and Charli.

  The air was damp when I walked outside, a light mist coating the sidewalk, the sky gray and the leaves in mid-change.

  It wasn’t the kind of day I’d imagined for us. Back home, I was used to hummingbird-blue skies and hearing the ocean in the background. Maybe that was one of my main issues—I was a California boy at heart. The place had woven itself into my blood, and maybe subconsciously, I worried our love wasn’t geographically compatible.

  If she wanted me to move here, I would. That’s what I decided as I slid into a cab and barked out the name of my regular hotel. I hoped to be surrounded by purple soon enough, but I needed a shower and fresh clothes. Even I knew that spending the night in an airport after drinking beers with buddies and then flying cross-country was no way to meet a woman.

  “Crap,” I muttered as we hit bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Jersey side of the Lincoln Tunnel. “What’s happening?”

  “There’s parade. Fashion Week.”

  In September? I closed my eyes, thought hard, and came up short. They paraded around the street for Fashion Week?

  “German parade,” the cabbie hollered, explaining.

  Christ. I leaned back into the dirty seat and took a breath, counted to ten, and exhaled. I did that all the way to Columbus Circle. It took us over an hour.

  At the hotel’s front desk, I begged for any room as long as it was ready. They took pity on me, which was unusual for New Yorkers. The minute I got to my room, I dialed room service, jumped in the shower, and was out in time for the knock on the door.

  With coffee down my throat and toast in my gut, I tossed on jeans, a long-sleeved tee, and Chucks. Fuck it, that was me. She liked the old me.

  In the lobby, I paused and texted Charli.

  Layton: Hey! Happy Saturday! How goes it? I’m just back from a run. You?

  She didn’t respond right away, so I decided to take a quick walk. Roaming Central Park South, I was convinced I needed a plan.

  By the time I hit Fifth Avenue, my thoughts went haywire.

  Finally, she texted back.

  Charli: Hey, you. Curled on my couch, writing and drinking coffee. I ran on the treadmill this morning. It’s raining here.

  No shit. The rain had stopped, but the skies looked like they were about to crack back open.

  It should have been a warning.

  My conversation with Adam turned in my head, mixing with my love for Santa Monica and my need to have Charli completely. My brain was like a washing machine on the heavy cycle. Thoughts whirred and swished around in one big tangled mess.

  The skies parted just as I ducked into a fancy jewelry store and came out twenty-five grand lighter.

  I didn’t realize how fucked up I was, or that there was more fucking up coming my way. Or that my heart was about to crack in half, like the dark sky above.

  I was on a major mission, and nothing was going to stand in my way.

  Definitely not New York traffic during a thunderstorm.

  I darted into the street and hailed a cab, my free hand in my pocket, fingering my purchase. When a cabbie stopped for me, I jumped into the backseat and rattled off my destination in the Meatpacking District, then closed my eyes, thinking of what I wanted to say.

  Water splashed as the tires rolled through puddles, a dull hum of Indian music flitted from the car’s radio, and I felt at ease.

  I love you.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Charli

  All the way home, I cursed myself for lying, my hair freshly washed and curled in beach waves that were beginning to droop from the rain. I stood outside my apartment, not wanting to open the door, flipping the key back and forth between my thumb and forefinger.

  I just had to get through the next few hours, and then I was going to take charge.

  It didn’t change how much I despised my mom. There was nothing more to say. She’d thrown down the gauntlet and then shown up out of nowhere, her hair done in some weird seventies Farah Fawcett style, and wearing tight jeans. She resembled the twenty-something version of herself I’d seen in pictures.

  Great. She’s having some sort of midlife crisis, and my love life is the innocent bystander.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said, opening my door. She was the one curled up on my couch, listening to rock and roll and drinking coffee. Not me.

  “You look great, Charleston. Le
t’s see what you’re wearing. He’ll be here soon.”

  “I’m not really up for turning this into a big fashion show. I’m going to get dressed and wait in my bedroom.”

  Not bothering to remove my wet jacket, I stopped in the kitchen and filled a glass with Pellegrino and stomped back to my bedroom. Of course, my mother had spread out in my living area.

  An hour later, I heard the buzzer and my mom yelling into the intercom.

  I made my way out in a pair of skinny jeans, knee-high boots, and an eggplant-colored blouse. The event we were going to was a faux picnic, held inside, and only eighty-five percent work-related, like everything in Manhattan. I didn’t think the occasion called for flannel, so I opted for business casual.

  My mom threw open my door. “Garrett,” she said, her voice practically a coo as she greeted him before she called out, “Charli, he’s here. Your date.” Her voice carried through my small condo.

  I felt like saying, I can see that, but I wasn’t an ornery teenager. Just back to being a bitch.

  Garrett stepped inside and smiled at me. “Charli, thanks so much for coming with me.”

  He was stuffed into one of those tight flannel shirts with the big pockets and rhinestone buttons. He looked so stupid, like a freaking idiot whose secretary dressed him.

  “You look great,” he told me as my mom smiled at us with approval, sipping a Bloody Mary.

  I wanted to roll my eyes. “Thank you. Ready?”

  He held out his arm, but I didn’t take it.

  “’Bye, gang!” my mom called out, so cheerful now that she’d gotten her way.

  I didn’t bother saying good-bye to her. Honestly, I hoped she was gone when I got back.

  “Oh, Charli, come here,” she called out before we were out the door. “One sec, Garrett.”

  Of course, she needed the last word.

  “You’re taking the pill right?” she whispered into my hair. “Feel free to go back to his place.”

  “Enough,” I replied through clenched teeth.