Chapter 28
28
CHARLIE
“Selene!”
Selene pokes her head through the door of my office, somehow managing to look both beleaguered and admonishing. I don’t blame her. I’ve been an absolute terror this week and it’s only Tuesday.
“You rang, boss?”
I hold up my phone charger that is somehow in two separate pieces. “Why does my charger look like this?”
“I have no idea what you do with your things when you’re alone in this office, Charlie. Do you remember how many Nespresso machines we went through in the summer of 2018?”
At least four. Because I couldn’t figure out how to get the pods out of the drawer and ended up destroying the machine in an effort to effectively and responsibly dispose of the minuscule coffee containers.
I frown at the cord in my hands and my dead phone. Nova called twice during my last meeting and then my screen blinked out, a bright red battery symbol flashing as the proverbial ship went down. I sigh and slip both in my pocket, standing and reaching for my coat.
“It’s fine. I’m going to head out.” I glance at the clock. Nova is probably still at dinner with her family, but I can catch her after. “Could you hold the rest of my calls and defer them to later this week? Or maybe just tell people I drowned in a horrible waterskiing incident and I’m no longer available?”
Selene winces. “While that sounds like fun, you can’t.”
“I know,” I sigh. “I’m scary proficient on water skis.”
Selene’s lips tip up at the corners in a restrained smile. “You can’t head out.”
I pause halfway through pulling on my jacket. “Why?”
She bites her bottom lip.
“Why, Selene?” I’m whining and I’m not ashamed. “Why can’t you hold my calls?”
She steps farther into the room, hands raised like she’s trying to calm a deranged bear. It’s me. I am the deranged bear. “I can hold your calls, but you have an appointment on your calendar for this evening.”
“If it’s not at the empanada truck on the corner of my street, I am not interested.”
I want to go back to my house and call Nova. I want to hear the sound of her voice and convince myself everything that happened in Inglewild wasn’t a fever dream. I want to turn on an old black-and-white movie and fall asleep with her voice in my ear, talking to me about tattoo designs and the croissant of the day at Layla’s, and whatever the hell Jeremy is up to. I want to chase away this pressure in my chest with something good. I feel like she’s slipping out of my hands. I feel like maybe I never had a grip on her to start with.
“You RSVP’d for a charity gala tonight at the New York Public Library,” Selene says quickly. I drop my head back and groan at the ceiling. “Your tux is in the washroom.”
“I was wondering what it was doing in there,” I mumble, my eyes still closed.
“You only have to go for an hour.” She hesitates. “Maybe two. Bid in the auction and show that pretty face and then you can have some empanadas.”
“What is it a benefit for?”
“Seals, I think? Shit. Maybe a rainforest somewhere? I don’t know why you rich people do what you do.”
“Who is hosting?”
“Mr. Billings.”
I drag my hand down my face. “Of course he is.” Because the universe is hell-bent on punishing me for something this week.
I slip my coat off my shoulders and toss it back on my chair. I prop my hands on my hips and sigh at my desk. I’m so fucking tired. Tired of this place and this job and all the things I have to do to make everyone around me happy.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“That is literally my job description.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to find the well of patience and goodwill that usually isn’t so difficult to summon. “Can you please call Nova in about an hour and let her know my phone died? Tell her I’ll call her when I get back tonight.”
“I can do that,” Selene agrees. “I wanted to talk to her about my tattoo anyway. She said she’d design me something.”
I frown at Selene. “When did you talk to her?”
“Yesterday.” Selene wanders over to the other side of my office and turns on my coffee machine. She hits three buttons and espresso appears like magic in the mug I stole from Layla’s bakehouse. “She called here looking for you while you were in that Q4 planning meeting with the Holsfields. We talked.”
Great. Selene has officially talked to my girlfriend more this week than I have.
My brain skids to a stop.
Is Nova my girlfriend? I have no idea. We never discussed it. We said we felt more than business casual, but…we never discussed it.
Selene hands me my coffee. I stare at it.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
“Two hours,” Selene says in the most lackluster motivational speech I’ve ever heard. I have taught her absolutely nothing in the way of faking enthusiasm. “Two hours and you can go home.”
I spend one hour and twenty-three minutes playing nice and then I find the bar, get a drink, and park myself in an archive of architectural photographs. Music from the string quartet down the hall echoes and spins, muffled voices and the clinking of glasses twisting with the melody. I imagine Nova in her silver dress, a glass of champagne in her hand. Tattoos down the strong line of her back and her hair tumbling over her shoulders. She’d like this room with the color and the quiet. And I’d like to press her up against the shelves and taste the edge of her smile.
But she’s not here. It’s just me and a half-empty glass of too-expensive whiskey. I loosen my tie with a sigh and take a sip, enjoying the bite of smoke. I stretch out my neck and try to organize my slippery thoughts.
I’ll call her when I get back tonight. I’ll grab some empanadas from the truck on the street and I’ll call her. Maybe I can drive down this weekend if Selene rearranges some things. It’ll be quick, but it’ll be worth it. Nova is worth it.
We can talk. We can figure out what the hell we’re doing. I’ll tell her how I feel and maybe this thing between us won’t feel so fragile.
“I thought I saw you slip out.”
I turn toward the door and my father’s voice, tearing my attention away from a stack of crimson volumes that match the color of the flower on Nova’s chest. He strolls toward me in his tux, a matching glass of whiskey in his hand.
I wince but do my best to hide it. I feel like I’m always playing a part when I’m here, but with my dad it’s the ultimate performance. I rub my thumb against the flower on the inside of my wrist and tip my chin up. “Here I am.”
Of course he’s here. He has a gift for appearing when my mood is at its worst, ready to sour it further with his commentary or critique. Dark hair combed back, a streak of gray at his temples, the blue eyes we share crinkled in amusement. I am a carbon copy of him down to the shiny shoes.
I’ve never hated it as much as I do right now.
His steps falter as he walks over to me, a burp tucked into his fist. I frown as I take him in.
Eyes glassy with too much drink. Sweat beading on his upper lip. He has a smudge of pale pink lipstick on the collar of his shirt and a cloud of perfume sticks to him like a film. He claps me on the shoulder and loses his balance, his shoulder nudging into mine.
Maybe we’re not as alike as I thought.
“I didn’t think you’d make it,” he slurs. “Busy as you were with the farm life.” He snickers like he’s made a hilarious joke and waits for me to join him. I don’t. “No one could believe it when I told them.”
I pull myself out of his grip and put some space between us. I set my half-empty glass of liquor on the Returns desk. My craving for the numb relief of alcohol has disappeared.
“Told them what?”
“Where you were. What you were doing. You left New York for a tree farm,” he says, laughing again. “All of this—” He gestures around him. At the ornate art, the music, the bottomless alcohol, and the sheer amount of wealth, accumulated just down the hall. “For a town that probably doesn’t even have a dine-in restaurant—”
“They have several,” I mutter.
“—to play out some farm fantasy for a sister that isn’t even yours.” He drains the rest of his glass with both eyebrows raised. “You sure do find new and interesting ways to color the family name, Charles.”
“Well.” I rock back on my heels, both of my hands shoved deep in my tux pockets. There’s a fire in my chest that has nothing to do with alcohol that burns hotter the longer I look at him. This is who I’ve been craving approval from? “I’ve got you to keep up with, don’t I?
His eyebrows collapse in a heavy line, his face twisting in confusion. “What did you just say to me?”
I’ve always been the agreeable son, doing my best to meet the markers he’s set out for me. It’s like I said to Nova. I’m not sure he’s ever wanted me to truly meet them. He’d rather lord his power over me in a cloud of disappointment and watch me struggle to catch up. I guess it’s easier to feel better about your own shitshow life when you’re constantly putting other people down.
And I’m fucking tired.
“Which part would you like me to repeat?” I ask.
His eyes flash, his knuckles dragging across his mouth. “Watch yourself, Charles. Everything you have is because of me.”
“Everything I have is in spite of you,” I spit back, losing the grip I have on my temper. I can’t remember the last time I let myself get this angry. A match struck against all my rough edges. “The only things you’ve given me are an irrational desire to please people and a constant fucking headache. You don’t give a shit about our family. If you did, you wouldn’t have fucked your way through Lower Manhattan. You wouldn’t have embarrassed your wife so thoroughly she felt the need to leave the country. You wouldn’t have abandoned your daughter.”
“She’s not my daughter,” he scoffs.
“DNA results say different.”
I take another step closer to him, the flame in my chest catching and flaring bright. “You call me an embarrassment but you’re the one who’s been drinking yourself to incoherence at public functions. You’re the one who was removed from his position because of his behavior. You’ve made selfish choice after selfish choice, while I’ve been the one who’s been holding everything together.”
He sputters, cheeks red with rage. “You think you can talk to me like that?”
“I can talk to you however I want.” I cut him off. “I owe you nothing. The only thing you’ve given me worth a damn is my sister, and if you had it your way, I never would have known about her. But I’m grateful you were a deadbeat. I’m grateful you wanted nothing to do with her. She got to escape you, and she shines so bright because of it.”
He blinks at me, eyes blown wide. I stare at him and wait for regret to tug at me, but it never shows. There’s just the residual exhaustion from my anger. The taste of whiskey on the back of my tongue.
I stare at him and see nothing I need.
Not his approval and not his acceptance.
I study him from the top of his slicked-back hair to the tips of his scuffed shoes. All of it’s for show, without a lick of substance beneath. A sad, lonely man who doesn’t give a shit about anyone else.
Nova’s right. I’m nothing like him at all.
I push past him toward the door.
“I’ll expect an apology,” my dad calls.
I don’t bother looking over my shoulder. “You won’t get one.”
A breath gusts out of him. His laugh is disbelieving. “You walk out of this room without one and that’s the end of it. I won’t lift a finger to help you.”
Thank fucking god for that.
I adjust my cufflinks and keep walking toward the door.
“I look forward to it.”
?I reward myself with a soft pretzel from a street cart outside the venue, then two slices of pizza from the bodega on the corner of my street. I toss in a bag of gummy bears too, because I feel like celebrating.
I’m not disillusioned enough to think that one conversation will effectively change a lifetime of poor decision-making and narcissistic behavior, but I’m hopeful that what I said will have my father second-guessing the next time he attempts to yank on my strings. I’m tired of chasing after his acknowledgment. It’s no longer something I care to have.
I’ve taught myself how to be content with scraps. I’ve portioned out the things that make me happy in manageable pieces so that I can savor them for longer. I’ve treated my trips to Inglewild as a reward for good behavior, a hit of dopamine to get me through the rest of an otherwise lonely existence. I’ve allowed myself doses of happiness while I cling to it with two hands, terrified if I indulge too much, if I give too much of myself, I’ll be left standing without anything at all.
I’ve been doing that with Nova. I’ve allowed myself the sex and the teasing and the jokes while telling myself I can do without holding her hand in public. Kissing her on the cheek in the Inglewild grocery store checkout line. Telling her, out loud, how fucking proud I am of her and everything she’s accomplished. I’ve held myself in check and settled for less because I didn’t think I was worth more.
But now I’m cracked wide open, standing in the middle of my kitchen with my bow tie hanging loose around my neck, my hands on my hips, and all the things I’ve wanted to say but haven’t thundering around in my chest. I stare hard at the still-black screen of my phone on the wireless charger, a half-crumpled napkin from Matty’s right next to it, a delicate flower hand drawn at the edge. I’ve been carrying that stupid, slightly grease-stained napkin around with me everywhere like a goddamn talisman.
My phone blinks to life. Notifications cascade down the screen.
I ignore them.
I can be in Inglewild in four hours. Three if I’m liberal with traffic laws. I can sleep in Nova’s bed tonight. Press my mouth to hers and watch the way her eyes dance when I tell her I love her. That I might fuck it up and I might make mistakes, but I’ll always try my best to be exactly what she needs.
My hand is on my doorknob before I’ve thought about it, my keys in my fist and my bag of gummy bears shoved in the front pocket of my jacket. I’m buzzing with adrenaline, high on the confidence of a half-baked plan, powered by a street cart soft pretzel. I throw open my door and almost plow into the slim body on the other side of it.
I reach out and grab around the stranger’s middle, fingers spread wide against the flare of her hips and the silky, soft material of her dress. I know these hips. I know this dress. I know her smell, like leaves beneath my boots and apple cider. Fresh-spilled ink and the pot of lavender she won’t stop hiding her key under on her front porch.
Affection and disbelief tug at me from opposite ends as I stare down at Nova standing in my doorway, the same silver dress she wore to my sister’s wedding poured over her curves and flaring around her ankles. The deep cut in the front. My favorite red rose.
Her cute fucking frown as she stares up at me. Her hands clench in the front of my jacket, gummy bears spilling all over the floor.
I blink three times. It’s entirely possible I am hallucinating.
She tips her chin up at me and glares. “Where in the hell have you been?”