Chapter 6
CHARLIE
Of all the many tempting ideas running through my brain, not turning off at my rental cabin but instead just continuing to drive, heading straight for the ferry and the sanctuary of Gemma’s apartment (where I would be free to wallow for the rest of my foreseeable future in mortification) definitely felt like the best option.
That, or locking myself in said cabin with the express goal of burying myself under the very plaid covers of my lumberjack-style log bed and never facing the light of day again.
Instead, since, generally, I do have better judgment than the heinous lapse that has brought me to this horrifically nightmarish moment in my life, I settled for a long, scalding hot shower before tackling my daily yoga routine to (hopefully) take the edge off my impulse to curl up under the nearest rock and die.
Is yoga proving in the least bit effective at helping with the situation? Nope. Not even close.
Because ohmigod, why did I have to behave like the most mortifying, bizarre idiot on the planet and do the literal worst thing possible by full-on evacuating the room the moment I’d realized it actually really was Myles standing in front of me?
Why did I have to act like seeing him was a big deal at all?
It’s not like he’d think I’d come back to Riverside because of him.
Ohmigod, would he?
Even if I’m right about the reason I’d never heard from him again after we’d moved away…
No. He wouldn’t think that. Or, at least he wouldn’t have thought that. Not if I’d only behaved like a normal adult.
Ugghh.
It would have been so easy not to make everything weird. Because, now that I think about it rationally, doesn’t it make every kind of sense that someone would go back to a place they’d lived growing up to work as an adult? Nothing unusual about that.
Going and freaking out like the fifteen-year-old I was the last time I’d seen him though?
My stomach gives a sick, writhing churn of sheer humiliation.
That, there is no coming back from.
Well done, Charlie.
And why and how and why is Myles even here? What is he doing in Riverside, after years of posting pictures all around the world?
The obviousness of the answer crashes into me, so hard and so stupidly simple that it nearly knocks me right out of the plank pose I’d just pushed up into.
Myles has to have been coming back to Riverside for visits all along.
I don’t bother to lower myself down in any sort of controlled manner. Just crash onto my mat and bury my face in my arms. Because why did I never think of that?
His dad’s got to still be here in Riverside—something I’d neglected to give a second thought because the man is (or at least was) a consummate recluse. And even if I ever did encounter him, I doubt he’d recognize me.
But it’s absurdly obvious now that of course Myles has to have been coming back all this time to see him.
Uggghhh.
Clearly, this is not the kind of situation one scrubs away with practically boiling water or exercises out of oneself.
Which is how, three minutes later, I find myself curled up on the sofa, choking down my pride and dialing Gemma’s number, phone pressed against my forehead, eyes scrunched shut, because she’s going to laugh.
She’s going to laugh so damn hard, and it’s going to be so totally justified…
Thank god she answers on the third ring. If she hadn’t, I think I really might have just disintegrated in a state of sheer, liquified self-pity.
“Calling for rescue?” It’s the same way she’s answered the phone every time I’ve called her since she left from helping me unpack three days ago.
“Maybe?” I groan, letting myself tilt sideways, crashing with a soft thwump down on the sofa cushions.
“Charlie? What happened?” All the snark from a second ago is gone as she switches at lightning speed to protective Gemma mode.
“You know how I said Myles was somewhere in Southeast Asia?”
There’s a beat of silence on the other line, then, “Shut. The Fuck. Up. He’s there?”
I nod miserably against the cushion under my cheek. She can’t see, obviously, but really, was an answer even necessary?
It seems not, because, “Tell me everything. And don’t you dare tell me that you didn’t chew him out for being the world’s biggest asshat p-face. Because if you just rolled over and—”
“It’s sooo much worse than that,” I moan, cringing at the thought of explaining, even to Gemma.
I’ve started though, and if I stop now, I will (probably literally) never be allowed a moment’s peace from her until I finish the story.
“I didn’t say anything to him at all—except his name—because the moment I said it, it really clicked that I was actually seeing him, and that he saw me, and I just sort of panicked and ran out of the room like—like—”
And ohmigod, why?
Because now that I’m saying it out loud? What happened was bad when it happened. Bad in my head. But hearing how has to sound to Gemma? Ohmigod, bad doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface. Appalling. Abysmal. Sink into the floor and die levels of atrocious.
Oh, and those long seconds of silence emanating from my phone as I grind to a halt, brain all locked up with humiliation at reliving that moment? So totally not reassuring, it’s not even funny.
Then at last— “Like a total crazy person?”
Whelp, what else did I expect? Gemma does not sugar coat things.
“Why, Gemma?”
“Why are you a crazy person, Charlie? Well usually I’d say it’s—”
“Not what I meant, and you know it. Why did this have to happen?” Given the circumstances, mine is actually the far less useful of the two why questions; certainly the impossible to answer one of the pair, but whatever.
Gemma’s quiet for a beat, like she’s actually considering the answer before, in a dreamy, completely not hers voice, “Because it means that fate has brought the two of you back together, at this precise moment when you’re both ready—”
“Seriously?” I whine, burying my face in the sofa cushion.
“No, not seriously,” she tosses back at me, eyeroll audible in her tone, like she’s entertaining the possibility that I could have thought she was actually serious, not just begging her to stop giving me crap I am most definitely not up for at the moment.
“Charlie. Darling. The only man I’ll ever love—this happened because life is shitty and mean sometimes.
And because I told you going back to Riverside was the literal worst thing that you could do.
But did you listen? No. You did not. And so now, this has happened.
Do you know what’s next Charlie? Bears. Bears eating you, just like I told you they would. ”
Just like I know she knew would happen, there goes a smile, creeping across my face. Yes, maybe it’s miserable and tiny and all scrunched up because I’m still withering away with embarrassment inside, but not smiling at Gemma’s absurdities is impossible, so here I am.
Until— “Oh, and Charlie babe? If you’re not going to listen to me now and get out of the land of hillbilly trucks that nearly run you off the road when you’re innocently following the traffic laws and crossing an intersection when it’s your turn, and bears that will climb through your window and snatch you out of your bed, either to eat you, or because they want your bed back in their Goldilocks house, you’d better make sure you’re ready for next time.
Because in a town where everyone’s living in each other’s back pockets?
Unless he’s getting on a plane heading off to Timbuktu tonight, you’re going to be running into that asshat p-face again before he’s gone. ”
Gemma’s parting comment was obvious. Logical. A thought I’d definitely already had myself.
A thought that’s been filling me with equal parts terror and stupidly checked-out, fluttery warmth all morning.
It’s not like Myles is going to be back at the school today, so it totally wasn’t thoughts of him that made me take forever selecting an outfit and fussing over getting my hair to sit precisely the way I wanted it to.
He’d just dropped by to say hi to someone yesterday, and, by pure coincidence, wandered into what is now my room.
Which circles me around to… What if Gemma’s wrong and I don’t see him before he leaves? The half slice of plain toast I’d been attempting to choke down falls from my fingers onto my plate as yet another wave of leaden sickness squeezes my stomach.
As always while I’m eating (or in today’s case, attempting to eat) Cyril’s winding around my chair, purring so hard I can feel the vibrations against my ankles as he deposits a liberal dusting of fur along my pantlegs. I swear I go through more lint roller sheets than any other man alive.
Giving up on the remaining bites of my toast, I power up my laptop, taking slow sips of my tea that I’m hoping will settle my stomach before I pack up and head to the school.
There’s not a hope of putting thoughts of Myles out of my head, but maybe trying to water them down with something else will help pull me back together.
As I’d expected, my newly acquired work inbox is overflowing: notices about upcoming events, start of the semester schedule changes, an announcement for next week’s pep assembly, and on and on from there.
Like he knows I’ve finished eating and that the food left on my plate is bound for nowhere better than the trash, Cyril gives a loud, drawn out, wavering meow that pulls my attention away from my screen.
He’s sitting back on his haunches now, craning his neck as high toward me (and the table) as possible.
It’s his begging position—his new one, since his arthritis has stopped him from springing up into my lap to try to swipe the food right off my plate or out of my hand.
“Is this what you want, lovvie?” I pluck the remnant of toast off my plate, leaning down to offer it for Cyril’s inspection.
One sniff, and his purring manages to double in volume as he reaches up to bat it out of my hand before dropping down to the floor to crunch up the treat like it’s the best thing he’s ever eaten.
And just like that, my stomach starts to unknot. Nothing, not even Gemma’s ridiculousness, can cheer me up like Cyril.
“You’re a weird kitty,” I tell him when he glances up at me, his hope for another fragment of dry toast written all over his enormous blue-green eyes. “A weird, adorable, sweet, sweet kitty-boy.”
Letting out a chirp of agreement, he takes a break from sniffing around for any crumbs he might have missed to arch up against my hand as I stroke along his back.
“There’s no more though, lovvie. And you already had your breakfast.”
Unconvinced, he gives my shin a hopeful headbutt.
“No more, sweetheart.” Shaking my head, I offer up one last chin scratch before turning back to scanning through the list of unread emails, searching for any I need to deal with this morning before I head to my classroom. This by the way most definitely isn’t any flavor of stalling.
Lunch menus…delete.
Early release schedules and team rosters from the girls and boys’ basketball coaches…those can wait.
Rolls of butcher’s paper are missing from the art room…
And then my hand freezes on the track pad as my stomach gives an adrenaline-fueled kick and my vision narrows to the name my brain is frantically trying to make sense of seeing on the screen.
Marlow, Myles.
My mouth is as dry as the toast I just forced down, and my hand is literally shaking as I move the cursor over Myles’s name. He’d left the subject blank, because…of course he did.
Why put me out of my misery and give me any clue what to expect? Oh no, far better to leave me here to sweat and panic and have to actually open the message to know what it’s about.
Not that I don’t already have a pretty good guess…
The moment I click the email open, my eyes snap shut. It’s totally stupid, but there’s this ridiculous part of my brain that feels like maybe waiting just a few more seconds will make reading whatever he’s written less terrifying.
Surprise, surprise, it doesn’t work.
Four long, shuddery breaths, and I make myself pry open my eyes and read.
Charlie,
I understand why you don’t want anything to do with me.
Believe me, if I were you, I wouldn’t want to talk to me either.
I’ve spent a decade feeling like the asshole I am for not talking to you after you moved, and I’m sorry.
You don’t have to accept my apology, but since we’re going to be working together—
My eyes just about bug out of my head and my stomach does a weird combination of a miserable drop and idiotically joyful leap, because working together?!
That Myles is in Riverside for anything more than a short visit had never crossed my mind. Then again, neither had the possibility of him being here at all, so…
And he’s spent a decade feeling like an asshole? Obviously he just means the two or three times he’s actually thought about what happened. Not like, all the time. Not how I haven’t been able to get him out of my head…
But ohmigod, working together?
Shut up and read the damn email already, Charlie.
Heart pounding right up in my throat, I force my eyes back to the screen.
—since we’re going to be working together, I hope it helps, at least a little, to know that I would have told you this years ago if I hadn’t felt like it was too late to mean anything.
You were the best friend I’ve ever had, and you did not deserve what I did.
I’m not going to try to pretend to know how you felt when I didn’t answer your calls, but I know how I felt, and it sucked.
It hurt. I felt like shit then, and I feel like shit now, anytime I think about it.
Maybe I’m being an idiot and you couldn’t care less about all this, but either way, you need to know.
Not for me, but because you deserve to know.
You didn’t do anything to make me ghost you, and if I could go back and kick my teenage ass and change what happened, I’d do it.
I hope you’ve read all this, but I’d deserve it if you just deleted my email as soon as you saw it.
If you didn’t and you are still reading, just know that I won’t come bother you at work.
I won’t talk to you in the halls. I won’t make anything worse than what I’ve already done.
If you need anything from me, ask. I’ll be there to help in a heartbeat, but unless you ask, I’ll leave you alone.
Charlie, I’m sorry.
Myles