Chapter 15 #2
“What I’m trying to say is, I can’t go anywhere tonight,” I tell him, trying to make myself slow down and get my thoughts focused enough on what we’re actually talking about to make myself make at least some sense.
“But you’d be welcome to come over to Dad’s house.
I’m having a bunch of paint and a ladder and some other stuff delivered sometime between four and seven, and I have to be there to sign for it.
If you wanted to come hang out though, I could show you what I’ve done with the place so far.
The kitchen’s kinda torn apart right now, so whatever we have will be microwaved,” I wince, embarrassed. “But…”
“I could make something and bring it over?”
It’s impossible to hold back a grin. “Only if you’ll let me pay you back and make you dinner once I have my kitchen put back together. You like salmon? I’ve got a freezer full. And since I can’t contribute anything worthwhile to dinner tonight, I can send you home with some—”
He laughs, but it sounds uncomfortable again. “So you remember how you always used to give me crap about how I was a fussy city boy when we were kids?”
I groan, shaking my head. “Our backwoods salmon ain’t good enough for ya? Is that what yer tellin’ me?”
“Ohmigod.” He’s laughing for real now, and I love how it sounds. “You’re horrible, Myles.” His hands are over his face, and the way he peeks out from over his fingers is— Nope. I’m keeping those kinds of words and the weirdness they set off in my head out of my thoughts.
“Horribly funny maybe.”
“No comment.” He drops his hands with one final laugh.
“So you were saying what a fussy city boy you are and how you don’t like salmon, right?”
“It’s not that I don’t like salmon, I just don’t eat it. I’ve been vegan since I was nineteen.”
Well damn. Now I feel like an ass because this is obviously important to him, maybe even a bit of a sensitive subject, judging by that uncomfortable laugh just now, and here I was turning it into a joke.
“That’s honestly pretty awesome. Not fussy.
” I mean that so much more than I’d meant any of the crap I’d been giving him a second ago. “Why’d you get weird about telling me?”
“Because some people are bothered by people being vegan. They think it’s high maintenance or that I’ll be judgy or…”
“I’m not people, Charlie. I’m—” I catch myself just in time.
I’d been about to say, I’m your person.
I’m not though. He’s my person. And even when I might have once been his, he’s never called me that. “I’m me.”
And there’s that smile again. “So are you okay with pasta salad? I’ll put extra olives in it.” He sort of sing songs that last bit of his offer, making it clear he hasn’t forgotten that was my favorite part of any meal that could possibly involve olives.
“Only if you’re prepared to fight me for them.”
“You seriously want to spill our dinners all over your kitchen?” He leans in, planting his elbows on my desk in a pose that I’m not sure, but I think he might mean to look intimidating. “Cleaning that up took forever.”
“Because we were twelve and didn’t know how to clean.
” My smile’s got to be ridiculous as I lean closer to match his posture, close enough that I catch a hint of his fresh, rainwater and bergamot cologne.
There’s no way to hide how freaking much it means to me that he remembers some random thing like that.
“Do you remember your mom was staring at us like we’d lost our minds? ”
He’s laughing again, and the sound makes it impossible for me not to join him. “More because she totally thought we were actually mad at each other than anything else.”
“Mr. Marlow?”
Both of us look up at the interruption, and Charlie jolts upright from where he’d still been leaning in over my desk toward me as the two of us laughed.
It’s Leo, Rachel’s little brother, that’s standing in the doorway. As always, he looks glad to see me, but right now, maybe a bit embarrassed too. Like maybe he feels like he shouldn’t be here or he’s interrupting or something.
For some reason, I feel like I’m the one that’s been caught…not doing something I shouldn’t have been doing, but something I’d rather keep to myself.
“You ordered copies?” He’s the front office’s student aide during this period, and right now, he’s loaded up with a stack of papers, apparently making the rounds, delivering everyone’s print jobs.
“Behavior plan worksheets?” He prompts, holding a paperclipped pile out toward me when it takes me far longer than is normal to respond to his question.
Even though it had really been a rhetorical one anyway.
“I’ve got to go,” Charlie glances up at my clock.
It doesn’t matter that I know I’m seeing him after work, or that maybe that look on his face is more than a little regretful as he pushes his chair back from my desk.
I hate that he’s going already, just when things had been feeling so natural between us again. “Is five thirtyish good for you?”
No. Five thirtyish is not good for me. Not even close. Now is good for me.
Definitely not something I’m saying to him though.
“Yeah, five thirty’s perfect.”
Now, I’ve just got to keep myself from counting down the minutes until then. Which is, obviously, a perfectly normal feeling, given how much I’ve missed our friendship.