CHAPTER 37 Charlie
CHAPTER 37
Charlie
I t’s midmorning by the time I drive away from Rowan’s new-to-him but old money Montecito compound, and I have a lot to think about. I’ll need to stop by my house to change into work clothes before I go into the office. I darted out the door last night without throwing much more than loungewear into my gym bag. And I’ll probably have to work into the evening, because I’m starting so late.
Worth it, though.
Worth it to spend time with Rowan.
Rowan’s more than an addiction, like I thought before. He’s an essential part of me. We don’t say we’re addicted to oxygen or water or other natural needs.
The Pacific Ocean is on my right as I head down the coast toward Ventura. It’s a pretty stretch of coastline with a few islands offshore. World-class views for my now world-class boyfriend. A thought hits me out of nowhere: Since Rowan’s now a little prince in his castle, what if he doesn’t want me anymore? My throat constricts, and I chew on a knuckle.
Do I have some kind of caregiver complex? I liked the way Rowan looked in my jacket the first night I met him. I liked feeding him and making sure he was clean and warm. I liked buying him a phone and rescuing him from his crappy apartment.
Am I really a fucking daddy?
God, I hope not. I’m only twenty-nine. How can I be a daddy? They’re … older than me. Different.
But if Rowan no longer sees me as a daddy, will he still want me? Is he going on a new adventure and leaving me behind? Just like everyone else, riding off into the sunset with their perfect partners.
Then I remind myself: Ten years ago, I designed the exact life I have right now—or that I had before I met Rowan—and I managed to achieve most of it. But it didn’t make me happy.
What has made me happy was chasing Rowan around the manicured grounds of his estate, going bowling with him, and scowling at him while he ate all the Thai food I ordered. I’m happy taking care of him.
So what happens, now that he doesn’t need to be taken care of? When his real father swoops in and gives him everything he’s ever needed and so many things it would never have occurred to him to dream were possible? Now I feel … unnecessary.
Fuck this shit. I call him from my hands-free, not even caring that I’m being the needy one.
“Rowan?” I ask.
Rowan seems surprised to hear from me but reacts fast. “Hey, Daddy,” he coos. And something inside me rearranges itself, just like that.
“Hey,” I say, my voice husky.
“What’s wrong?” Rowan asks.
“How could you tell that something was wrong from one or two words?”
“Because I know you.”
The thing is, he does. I signal to get out of the fast lane. “I was driving away, and I was feeling bad, and rather than sulk, I figured I’d call you.”
“Why are you sulking?” he asks.
I tug at my hair. “In part because I miss you.”
He’s quiet for so long that I look at the display to see if the call dropped. “You do?” he finally asks in an awed voice.
“Definitely.”
“I miss you, too.”
I remind myself of all the vulnerability he’s shown me and try to follow his example. “And I guess I’m feeling rather irrelevant.”
“Why?” Rowan’s tone is one of genuine astonishment, which makes me feel better.
I tap my steering wheel. “Because you won’t need me anymore. Now that you have… everything.”
More silence, which I’m not sure how to interpret. Then Rowan says fiercely, “You listen, Charlie, and you listen well. I found you, and I’m not giving you up. I wouldn’t trade you for all this stuff from my new family.”
“I’m new, too,” I argue. Then I wince, because why am I arguing against what I want? Other than because that’s what I always do.
“But I chose you,” Rowan says. “I want you.”
“Okay,” I say.
“No, Charlie,” Rowan says more urgently. “I want you. It has nothing to do with need. It has to do with me wanting you in my life. You’re the only person I’ve ever clicked with like this. Don’t you feel it?”
My pulse pounds in my throat, and my nerve endings tingle. “Yeah, baby. I feel it, too.” I exhale. I needed him to say that.
I want to keep talking to him for the rest of my drive—the rest of the day, really—but I know that’s not a good idea. “I’m getting down into Ventura, and there’s more traffic,” I tell him.
“Then I’ll let you go, but know that even if this stuff changes me, it’s not going to change how I feel about you. It’s not going to change the fact that I want to be with you, and I want you to be happy. ”
I snort. “Tough for me to be happy when I’m headed to the office.”
“How would you make work better?”
“Make it more of what I want and less of what’s expected of me.”
“Right. Do that. Give it a try, at least. Think of it as a Christmas present to yourself.”
“Speaking of which … is there something you want? Something I can get you?” I ask, wondering what to give the man who can now have literally anything.
“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “I’ll think about it. What about you? You still have a cat on your list. Do you want one? Or is that going to go the way of your precise haircuts?”
I shrug. “I like cats. They seem to require the exact amount of attention that I’m willing to give. But don’t get me one yet. I want to be sure I’m going to be around to take proper care of it, and I have a feeling I’m going to be spending a lot of time on the road between Venice and Montecito.”
“I hope you do. And I hope I’m with you most of that time.”
“Me, too, baby.”
What Rowan said is cycling through my brain as I race into my house, tear off my jeans, and put on a suit, then turn around and head for work. I park in the garage and take the elevator to the fourteenth (thirteenth) floor.
I know who I need to talk to.
The Weston & Ramirez office is sleek, with a nice reception desk where Shelby is perched. The art on the wall behind him and down the halls celebrates LGBTQ+ milestones and events. Before I can talk myself out of it, I pause at his desk rather than waving and proceeding on my usual way to my office.
“Hey,” I say, shuffling my feet .
“Hi, Charlie,” Shelby says. He’s looking festive in a pair of candy cane suspenders over his white polo.
I roll my neck. “Is Noah here today?”
Shelby gives me a wide smile. “Yep. And he doesn’t have any appointments until later.”
“Cool, thanks.” I head down to Noah’s office, rap on the doorjamb, and take a seat when he invites me to do so.
“I want to talk to you about something,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek.
Noah gives me a sincere, worried look. “Sure. Of course. How can I help?”
I tap my knees with my fingertips, stare at the floor, and grimace. Then I look him in the eye. “I hate being a lawyer.”
Oddly, he doesn’t seem surprised. “I’m sorry you aren’t happy here.”
“It’s not anything to do with the firm.” I fidget. “You guys are amazing. This is the best law firm on the planet. But I don’t like the work. I don’t like dealing with clients who are rude or unreasonable or don’t pay their bills, and I don’t want to do this anymore.”
Noah’s expression is kind. “Charlie, we’d never want you to stay and keep doing work you hate. You know we’ll support you in whatever is right for you. Are you planning to transition to something else? What is it you’d like to do?”
“That’s the thing. I don’t know. The only thing I know I like doing are the videos with my brother.”
“Then do more of them and see where that goes. If you want to take some time off, do it. If you leave, we’ll miss you, but you need to do what you need to do. I never want anyone to be unhappy here. And even if you leave the firm, we’re still friends. You’ll still be friends with everyone here.”
I don’t know why I thought it would be so hard to tell him the truth. Now that I’ve done it, it’s a relief—this weight off not only my shoulders, but possibly his, too. This unspoken thing that was keeping me from being my authentic self. It’s true what they say: the truth shall set me free.
Kinda. It’s not that easy, though. “Still, I feel like I’d be making a mistake, throwing away all that schooling. All that money. The sunk costs are huge.”
Noah waves a hand. “There’s a reason they call it the sunk cost fallacy . Trying to keep doing what you’ve always done, just so you don’t lose your investment, is a bad idea. If it’s never going to make you happy, is it the right investment?”
“True.”
“And you’re never going to lose your investment in yourself. You can do what you like.”
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “I don’t have to do what I’ve been doing. Just because everyone expects me to be a lawyer doesn’t mean I have to stay one.”
Noah looks at me expectantly.
I can do anything.
“I don’t want to leave,” I say. “At least not yet. Not until I have a better idea what I want to do.”
“Take the time you need to figure it out. You can keep working, or you can take a sabbatical. What we want is for you to be happy, Charlie,” Noah says.
I can’t believe that tears are stinging my eyes. I never fucking cry. But something about his sincere concern makes me realize that I underestimated him. I thought he wanted more billable hours from me when he really cares about me as a person.
“I do know one thing: I want to stop working for jerks like Cormac Esmond.”
Noah grimaces. “I’ve never understood why we’ve kept him as a client. He’s more trouble than he’s worth. Drop him, dude. Let him find an attorney who’s better suited.”
Later in the day, when Cormac calls, I interrupt his rant right off the bat. “It sounds like Weston & Ramirez isn’t the right firm for you. I’ll send over a substitution of attorney.”
“What?” Cormac blurts. He starts sputtering, but I remain calm, even though I really want to tell him what a miserable excuse for a human being he is.
“This business relationship isn’t working out,” I say. “We need mutual trust. If you’re going to scream at me for protecting your interests in the best way I know how, then I can’t do my job properly. Either you sign the substitution, or I’ll file a motion to be relieved as counsel. Check your email in an hour.”
And then I hang up.
I think this is the first time I’ve ever hung up on a client.
I smile.
It might be the first time I’ve smiled at work in weeks.
Merry Christmas to me.