9. Gwen
I’m sweating again, and not because of the temperature, as I knock on the McCallum’s door. Charlie offered to take Ana and I to her appointment, but when I insisted on slow-rolling Ana into this, he nearly demanded I let Zane drive us. Which is why I’ve got a twenty-two-year-old shadow who, and I quote, has a history of evading police helicopters, hanging out against the sedan.
“Hi, hi, hi, Gwen, come on in,” Linda sings as she opens the door, throwing her arms around me and dragging me inside.
Gray and Ana’s footsteps on the floor above complement the musical tones of some kid’s show on the living room television. Gray’s little sister, Maddie, sits with a bowl of dry cereal in her lap, attention rapt on an animated family of dogs.
“Thanks for having Ana for the weekend,” I say as she lets me go and ruffles my hair with her fingers.
She’s in her early thirties, and despite having a teenager and a toddler, she always looks frustratingly put together. Even though it’s Sunday morning and my sister and her son have probably run her ragged for the past two days, her dark hair is pulled back in a slicked back ponytail, her makeup is done, and she’s in a matching lounge set that probably costs more than my mattress.
Linda and her husband Paul have always been kind and compassionate to both me and Ana. Part of it is because Ana and Gray have been inseparable since kindergarten, and stayed friends even when his family moved into the suburbs. Another is that Linda and I bonded over being the only teen moms in Ana and Gray’s entire class—although obviously under different circumstances.
But most importantly, Ana didn’t balk when Gray transitioned. He walked up to her at school one day when they were twelve and told her that his name was Gray now, and Ana told him she was happy he didn’t choose Kevin.
Linda and Paul didn’t balk either, because they’re decent and loving humans, and I think they appreciated that Ana made Gray’s life easier when a lot of other kids made it harder.
I don’t know if Linda is my friend, but she’s definitely a mom-mentor, and that’s appreciated.
“Are you kidding me? Gray spends so many weekends with you, I should pay you child support.” She grabs Maddie’s bowl of cereal just as she’s about to dump it all over the couch. “Plus, if Ana didn’t come over, I don’t know what would motivate my child to clean his room, so please don’t thank me.”
Before I can respond, a scuffle of careful footsteps come down the stairs, and the kids enter the living room with their faces covered in blue paint.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Linda whispers, but it’s not quiet enough, because all three of the minors in the room scream swear jar at the same time. Linda fishes a dollar bill out of her wallet on the kitchen counter while I turn to Ana.
“If this is some sort of anime thing, I might lose my mind,” I say as I lick my thumb and drag it across her cheek. The paint comes off easily, thank god. Ana rolls her eyes at me, which in any other situation I would scold her for.
“We’re testing out our Crespallion cosplay,” she replies like I’m the biggest idiot on the planet, rummaging in her bag until she pulls out a giant makeup palette with multicolored cream foundations. “It’s just makeup.”
“Okay, so it is an anime thing?” I grab the palette from her and flip it over, breathing a little sigh of relief when the ingredients look thoroughly washable.
“Crespallions are from Doctor Who, Gwen, not an anime,” Gray says, smiling at his mom. “The theater makeup did the trick, thanks mom.”
I glare over my shoulder at Linda, who looks appropriately shamed as she slinks behind the kitchen counter. I cannot have a conversation about Cresp-whatevers while I’m trying to figure out how to explain Baby Driver outside to my sister.
“Okay, well, I appreciate your dedication to your craft, but we have to get to your appointment, so please go wash your face.”
I spend the next ten minutes watching cartoons with Maddie and waving off apologies from Linda as she packs Gray’s lunch for theater practice. Honestly, they’re fifteen. They could be joyriding or in prison or avoiding my calls, and they’re preparing for Comic-Con, so I’m thankful for face paint.
When Ana comes downstairs, a ring of blue in her hairline, my stomach churns. I hate lying to her, but there’s no way around it. I have to lay the foundation for Charlie being in our lives now, and I have to build a backstory.
I take her backpack so it doesn’t bump against her incision and fiddle with the zipper as she thanks Linda for letting her stay. When we’re standing in the foyer, Gray and Linda distracted with a discussion about nut allergies in his theater troupe, I grab onto Ana’s shoulders.
“Before we go outside, I have something to tell you.” She raises a blue-tinted eyebrow at me.
“Did you crash Jimmy’s car? because I’m not lying and saying it was me.”
I pinch her nose and she shakes me off.
“No, I don’t have Jimmy’s car.” I take a deep breath, readying myself to purposefully lie to the most important person in my world. “Actually, my friend sent a car to pick me up this morning. His driver, Zane, is outside.”
Ana stares at me, her mouth slightly open and her brows pressed together, like I’ve spoken a riddle she’s supposed to solve.
“A friend? Sent a car?” Her voice is incredulous and teasing, a hint of hurt lacing her words.
“He’s more than a friend, I guess. But yes, I’ve been seeing someone, and he offered to have his driver pick us up.” I take another deep breath through my nose and try to steady my heartbeat.
“How have you possibly been dating someone without me knowing?”
I knew she was going to ask this. Not only because we spend nearly every waking second together, but also because hidden under that question is, how did you keep this from me?
“We’ve kept things low key because I didn’t want to introduce you to anyone before I was sure they meant something serious to me. But it’s serious enough now.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, a sensation that only gets worse when Ana’s eyes soften and she grabs my hand.
“You didn’t have to hide something that made you happy just because of me.”
In any other situation, her words would have me pulling her against me and telling her she’s being uncharacteristically sweet. But the guilt beats down any chance of that. I have to repeat Ana lives over and over in my mind to remind myself why I’m doing this. Doesn’t make me feel any less like throwing up.
“I promise, I hadn’t even thought about it before last night. It just wasn’t the right time, and now it is.” At least that is, in some twisted way, true.
Ana reaches for the door handle and turns to me before she opens it.
“A driver is pretty cool, though.”
“Okay Banana, how are we feeling?”
That’s what the radiation oncologist, Dr. Mya, has taken to calling my sister. Banana. I’m pretty sure Ana hates it by the way she cringes every time they say it, but she doesn’t correct them.
“Good. I feel like I’m ready,” she replies, nodding her head against the crinkly paper cover of the exam bed.
She’s got her arm gingerly stretched over her head, and the oncologist presses around the incision, checking the scarring flesh again. They nod and pull their gloves off to type something into the workstation next to them.
“Good to hear. You can get dressed, sweetheart.”
Ana pulls her camisole back down carefully, and I know it hurts more than she’s saying.
“Can she still take painkillers for the incision during radiation?” I ask, my notebook cracked open in my lap once again.
“Yeah, that should be fine, if she needs them.” They look up from their workstation and raise an eyebrow at Ana. “Are you in pain?”
Ana blushes and shoots me a glare. “Only a little, when I stretch too fast or have to lift my arm,” she says as she drags her cardigan carefully over her shoulder.
“Well, you don’t have any swelling or anything like that, and your stitches dissolved nicely, so I’m not worried about infection. Some residual pain is normal, so take over-the-counter medications if you need to.” They shut down the computer and move to Ana as she sits up. “You’re going to do a great job, Banana. Keep your head up, okay?”
We leave the office and stop by the lab for one last blood draw before we’re finally out the door. It’s only midday, and Kenzie took my shifts for the next two days, so we’re free to do whatever Ana wants.
“What’s on the schedule, Banana?” I ask, wrapping my arm around her shoulder as she zips up her coat. The intense eye roll confirms my suspicions about the nickname.
“I hate that. Bananas are gross,” she says, bumping my hip with hers. She thinks for a few seconds before an evil-looking grin spreads across her face. Pure joy lights her eyes.
I’m terrified.
“I want to meet the boyfriend,” she demands. I navigate us around the parking lot toward the bus stop, staring at her in disbelief.
“What? Why?” I don’t even give her time to respond. “Don’t you want to see a movie? Eat until we puke? Go to the comic book store?” I’m bribing at this point, and she knows it.
“Nope, I want to meet Charlie. That’s his name, right? I wouldn’t know, since you’ve hidden me from him for the last six freaking months.” She’s saying it like a joke, but I heard the slip. She doesn’t think I hid him from her, she thinks I hid her from him. I grab on to her shoulders as we hit the bus stop and look right at her.
“Hey, no way, girlfriend,” I shake her, and she giggles, but there’s a little bit of hesitancy in her eyes. Oh, fuck. “You think I hid you from him? He knows all about you, seriously. You’re the coolest kid in D.C., I barely ever shut up about you.”
She smiles a little brighter, her shoulders relax an inch, and the clenching feeling in my gut dissipates a fraction. Truth is, Charlie probably knows more about her than he does about me.
“Okay cool, then you should have no problem introducing us,” she smirks, rocking back on her heels. I glance at my phone and down the street, praying for the bus to show up and give me a few seconds to think.
“He does have a job, Morgana,” I deflect, watching the bus turn the bend of Michigan Avenue and sending a thankful prayer up to whoever is cutting me a break.
“Oh, does he? I wouldn’t know, because I know nothing about him,” she stresses, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Also, it’s Sunday.”
“Attitude,” I reprimand as we tap our phones against the reader and scramble toward the back as the bus jolts forward. “Yes, he has a job. He works for a foundation.” That is, in all technicality, true. “And foundation people work on weekends sometimes.” I’m reaching.
“Great, does he get a lunch break? We can bring him something.” She slips next to the window and I sit beside her.
“There’s no way I’m getting out of this one, huh?”
She shakes her head, nearly bouncing with joy.
“Shouldn’t have asked me what I wanted if you didn’t want an honest answer,” she taunts, peeking over my arm while I pull up my texts with Charlie. I turn the screen away and shoot her a glare, but it doesn’t dim her smile.
This was going to happen eventually. I just thought I might have more than twenty-four hours to process all of this. Apparently not.
Me
On a scale from one to ten, how busy are you right now?
The bubbles pop up, disappear, and then reappear.
Charlie
Is everything okay?
I laugh, and Ana tries to sneak another peek before I pull her hood over her eyes.
Me
Yeah, no emergency. Ana’s just asking to meet you.
Charlie
Oh.
Yes.
I mean zero. I’m not busy. That’s fine. Good.
Are you on your way home from the hospital?
I stare as the strange cadence of texts rolls through. What is happening? Does he not want to meet her and feels obligated to? Is he uncomfortable? He seemed completely fine with discussing Ana’s presence in my life yesterday.
Me
If you’d rather wait it’s no big deal, I can tell her you had work.
Seriously, no worries.
His reply is immediate.
Charlie
No, I want to. I was just surprised. I’m in the Navy Yard but I’m leaving now. Why don’t we meet at that cafe on Belmont and 18th?
Let me know when you get off the bus.
Also, why are you on the bus and not with Zane?
I roll my eyes and change my settings so he can see my location.
Me
If you wanted to stalk me you could have asked nicely.
And I told him we could get home on our own.
Charlie
That’s not the deal. Support, remember? Comes with the territory of being my wife.
Even via text, that word—wife—makes my chest feel tight and my limbs feel loose, like I’m swimming a little too deep for comfort and enjoying it.
And as much as I want to protest, the selfish part of me craves this. I try to justify it, convincing myself that it’s better for Ana, that she can stay at school a half hour longer because we don’t have to jump on the Metro and a bus. Shame makes it hard to swallow, but I type out a response anyway.
Me
We’ll discuss it. See you in a bit.
“He’s going to meet us near home for lunch. Does that work?”
Ana puts her head on my shoulder.
“Thank you.”
By the timewe’ve hopped off the bus in Columbia Heights and made our way downhill toward our neighborhood, Ana’s lost her bravado. For all her big talk, she’s a pretty reserved kid when she’s not putting on a performance.
Cosplay? Easy, she’s behind a costume and makeup. Softball? No problem, she’s got a role to play and a team with her. But one-on-one, she tends to be an observer, and hesitant to trust.
Man, our parents fucked us up.
I do my best to quell my own nerves as we head into the cafe, sweat dripping down the back of my neck despite the temperature. Like a magnet, my eyes land on Charlie sitting at a back table, and he grins when he sees me.
“No fucking way,” Ana whispers, and I smack her on the back of the head lightly before helping her gently take her coat off. “No offense, Ginny, you’re pretty and everything, but come on.”
My face is on fire, I can feel it, but I hope it’s being played off as flush from the walk over. I lean down next to Ana’s ear.
“Don’t be a weirdo and hit on my boyfriend.”
Ana gags dramatically. “Ew, he’s old enough to be my dad, you freak. I can just objectively tell who the reacher is here.” She snags her coat from my arms and fishes her phone out of the pocket.
“Real nice, Ana. Thank you so much for the assessment,” I bite as we navigate around the tables to the back of the restaurant. She scoffs behind me.
“Don’t know why you were hiding this guy. If it was me, I’d be renting out billboards.”
Jesus Christ, this was a bad idea. Also, when did she start talking like this? I should start paying attention to the books she’s reading.
“Behave, please,” I whisper as we get up to the table.
Charlie’s already standing, and when we reach him, he grasps my elbow, pulls me forward, and presses his lips against my cheek. It’s the first time he’s touched me like this, a fact that my brain is blasting like a tornado alarm through my skull. When he pulls back, I’m sure I look like I’ve been electrocuted. Sure as hell feels like it.
“Hi, missed you,” he whispers. He’s so good at this. From the outside, with the casual touches and soft smile, it has to look like we really are enamored with each other. He chuckles at my expression and turns to Ana. “You must be Morgana.”
He puts out his hand, and Ana glances at it, and then me, before shaking it.
“Yeah, Ana is fine,” she says, hugging her coat closer to her body but keeping her face neutral.
Charlie pulls out a chair for her and takes her coat to drape it over the seat next to him. He does the same for me, so I’m sitting beside Ana, and it feels intentional. Like he doesn’t want to separate us.
“It’s really nice to meet you, Ana,” he says, pulling up the sleeves of his sweater. The left one catches on a bandage wrapped around his arm. When I raise my eyebrows at him, he covers it back up and winks at me.
Christ.
“Nice to meet you too, finally,” she says, and her attitude has me elbowing her in the ribs, but only because it’s her good side.
“Hey, it’s not his fault—” I start, but Charlie cuts me off.
“No, it’s okay, you’re allowed to be upset.” He unrolls his silverware from the napkin, and it feels like he’s trying to find something to do with his hands. “I’m sorry we haven’t met earlier. Gwen made it clear that she wouldn’t bring anyone into your life that wasn’t serious about her, and I didn’t do a good enough job of convincing her I was.” His eyes flash to me with a quick smile before turning back to Ana. “That’s my fault, and I’m sorry.”
I don’t know what”s more shocking, the way the lies slip from him so easily, or the sincerity with which he says them. I guess I can’t really be upset—I’m deceiving Ana just as much as he is. But it’s still hard to school my features.
Ana takes a beat, staring at Charlie with a contemplative frown.
“So you didn’t decide to clue me in so you can help the charity case?”
“Is that what you thought?” I grab Ana’s hand. I hate how close to reality she’s hitting without knowing it. Even more, I hate that she sees herself like that. Despite my grip on her, she keeps her eyes locked on Charlie. It feels like she’s assessing him, reading for a weakness or a lie.
“No, I guarantee you that’s not what’s happening. I care about your sister, and I want to be a part of your lives.”
My stomach is churning. I feel like I’m sinking, like I’m failing her.
But like a light switch, the atmosphere changes as Ana pulls her hand from mine, picks up her menu, and starts browsing the brunch options.
“All right, I believe you,” she says, and Charlie’s fighting a grin as he mirrors her.
I’m staring open-mouthed at both of them.
“Ana, I promise I didn’t—” I start, but again I’m interrupted, this time by her.
“I didn’t think it was you, don’t worry. Just wanted to make sure GQ over here wasn’t looking to get on your good side by pretending to care about the cancer kid.”
“Why would you even think that?” I ask, picking up my sticky plastic menu without looking at it.
“Because men are gross,” Charlie answers, and Ana looks over the top of her menu with her brows raised. “I know saying it doesn’t win me points.”
He can’t see, but behind the menu, a small smile takes over her face before she neutralizes it.
“Correct.”
We spend the rest of lunch talking and, to my genuine surprise, laughing. Ana badgers Charlie with questions about his work, his family, his tattoos. I’m learning just as much as she is about him, which is both comforting and disorienting.
He hates orange juice. As a kid, he was terrified of snakes, but got the tattoo on his right hand when he overcame the fear. He’s the Chief Operations Officer at his family’s foundation, which helps victims of human trafficking resettle, either back in their homes or here in safe havens and shelters. A lawyer by training, he went to the University of Chicago for law school.
I have no idea how much of this is true, and seeing how easily he lied about our relationship, I try not to put too much stock into his words. But for every question he answers, he asks one of Ana back, tossing me a few along the way.
Everything about this is so normal, and while part of me is relieved, I’m also racked with guilt. It’s all a facade, and every moment from here on out will be too. I didn’t even stop to consider the fact that it’s not just me that has to have a relationship with Charlie. Ana’s going to build trust with someone based on a lie. My lie.
Ana excuses herself to the bathroom, and I double check that she’s feeling okay before she heads toward the other side of the cafe. When she’s out of earshot, Charlie grabs my hand.
“You doing okay?” he asks, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against my clammy skin.
I can tell he’s trying not to look worried, his smile a little too fake for comfort.
“Yeah, just a little hard to lie to her, you know?” I take a deep breath through my nose.
“You mean about how long we’ve been together? I thought we agreed on that?” His question seems genuine enough, and I shrug, downing half my glass of water with my free hand.
“And all the stuff about your personal life. I think it’s just hard for me to imagine her getting to know someone and it not be one hundred percent real, you know?” I’m staring toward the bathroom, still worried that maybe she’s in pain or nervous about tomorrow, when a squeeze of my hand brings me back to Charlie.
“None of that was fake, Gwen,” he says, the crease between his eyes deepening with concern. “There are things we can’t tell her, of course. But I really do hate orange juice, and I’m allergic to blueberries, and I think Revenge of the Sith is criminally underrated.” He grins a little, like he’s encouraging me to do the same, and I roll my eyes in response. “We’re in this for the long haul, right? Partners, hopefully friends. That means being as honest with Ana as I can, and hoping both of you can trust me to take care of you.”
It hits me then just how sincere he was yesterday. He meant it when he said friends and partners.
A little piece of me I didn’t know was out of alignment settles. Sure, I was worried about turning into Isabelle, about marrying a man who doesn’t care about me just for what he can provide. But I had no idea how something as simple as true, earnest friendship would settle that fear.
All I can do is smile and nod, but Charlie seems to understand. When he pulls his hand away, I notice the bandage peeking out of his sleeve again.
“Are you okay?” I ask, gesturing to his arm as I try to finish my soup. It was the only thing I thought I could stomach when we ordered.
“Yeah, just a little scratch,” he replies, brushing it off. “Work, you know?”
I wait silently for him to continue, but he nods his head toward the bathroom. Logically, I understand why we shouldn’t talk about it here. But even the mention of his work has my heart rate picking up.
I shouldn’t be intrigued. Understanding? Sure. But interested, fascinated, maybe a little more? I try to shake the inclination, but as soon as he told me about The Syndicate, it felt like a part of my soul I had tucked away since last summer was suddenly illuminated, and I don’t know how to switch it back off. Don’t know if I want to, either.
“You’re going to have to tell me more about that one day.” I try to say it casually, but I think he hears it in my tone.
“Thinking about joining the family business once you become a Costa?” His tone is almost flirtatious, like he half expects me to say no, and half hopes I don’t. It has my pulse racing in a manner that is wildly inappropriate for the topic.
“Thinking about it.”
His eyes widen a bit, but he doesn’t have time to respond because Ana’s making her way back to the table. Her face is a little pale, and I’m immediately consumed with fear.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, putting the back of my hand against her forehead as she sits down. Her smile comes out as a grimace.
“I took the stupid antibiotics on an empty stomach this morning, like an idiot.” She leans away from her empty plate. “Do you have those ginger nausea pills?” I’m reaching into my bag before she even finishes the question.
“Yeah, of course. Did you get sick?” I ask, fishing through my bag for Ana’s meds.
“Ew, Ginny, no. If I got sick in a public restroom, I would have texted you.” She pops the ginger pills in her mouth and dry swallows, but I push my water at her.
“Drink, it’ll help.” She rolls her eyes at me but complies and then glances over at Charlie.
“Sorry, I’m kind of gross.”
I want to argue with her, tell her not to self-deprecate, but Charlie’s laugh cuts in.
“No problem, I got my appendix out at fourteen and acted like I had the plague for weeks. My sister nearly killed me, she was so annoyed. You’re not even scratching the surface of acceptable grossness.”
I toss him a thankful smile, rubbing small circles on the back of Ana’s neck like I used to do when she was little. It seems to help, but her face is still a bit pale, and Charlie takes it as his cue to distract her.
“Why’d you call her Ginny?”
Despite her furrowed brow, Ana cracks a smile.
“I couldn’t say Gwen when I was a baby. Something about the W sound that really tripped me up. So I called her Gin, and that turned into Ginny.” She turns toward me, her face relaxing a little. “I think I’m the only person who calls you that.”
I don’t know what parents feel like, but if it’s one tenth of the feeling I get when Ana says shit like this, I get why they think the sun shines out of their kids’ asses.
“Yeah, just you.” I squeeze her shoulder, breaking the contact with her when it seems the ginger has started to abate her nausea.
She picks up her juice and takes a tentative swallow.
“I like it. It fits you,” Charlie teases, winking at me.
I roll my eyes.
“Don’t get any ideas. That’s only for Ana.”
“I don’t know, maybe I’ll give him permission,” Ana quips, glancing at Charlie like they’re conspirators. “We’ll see how he does.”