Chapter Twenty-Four
“Will you stay with Edie while I’m in Greenwich?” Simon asks while he’s attempting to rewrap Nora’s present. “The car gets
here at noon and I’ll be back by seven.”
“Why don’t you just take her?” Charlie asks.
Simon doesn’t have a good answer to that, except that it hadn’t occurred to him. He’s seeing his entire family in a few hours
and the idea of adding anything new to the mix feels impossible.
“Are you going somewhere?” Simon feels a little off-balance because Charlie usually narrates all his plans as the ideas occur
to him. Maybe I’ll go to the gym, how about I pick up dinner, do you need anything sent to the dry cleaner. “I didn’t mean to assume you’d babysit my dog.”
Charlie gives him a look that Simon can’t read. “I mean, I’ll go to the gym for an hour, probably. But I don’t have plans.
And I’ll babysit your dog whenever you want me to.”
“I didn’t check to see if the car service allows dogs.”
“What’s the name of the company?”
Charlie calls while Simon wrestles with the Scotch tape.
“They allow dogs.”
“Why are you pushing me to take Edie?” Simon asks. He’s already overwhelmed by knowing he’s about to see his family, by wrapping paper that rips too easily, by doubt over whether Nora’s going to like this jacket.
“You’re happier with her,” Charlie says. He’s said it before. “Calmer.”
It isn’t fair for Simon to immediately assume he’s being criticized, but he’s doing it anyway. His face is hot, his hands
sweaty, and he tears another piece of wrapping paper.
“People have emotional support dogs,” Charlie says.
Simon crushes the ruined wrapping paper into a ball. “She isn’t—”
“I know. But she helps, right?”
Simon doesn’t know how he thought Charlie could live with him for a week and not notice this. “Yes, but—”
But what? It would take nothing to bring the dog with him. It’s a garden party, not a sit-down dinner. Both his brothers and
both his parents have dogs, so Edie probably wouldn’t even be the only dog there. She would love meeting new people and smelling
new smells, and she’d love all the bits of food that people would undoubtedly slip her.
And he would feel better. He knows that. She’s a buffer between him and the rest of the world. Sometimes Simon simply talks
about her instead of attempting to navigate actual conversation. Sometimes people will talk about their own dogs, which Simon
is always happy to hear about. Worst-case scenario, she’s a get-out-of-jail-free card: Sorry, better see what the dog needs!
“It’s just—” Simon’s about to say that it’s just his family, but they both know there’s no just about it. He’s wrapped and rewrapped this present no fewer than four times—he isn’t exactly projecting normal at the moment.
What Charlie’s saying makes sense. Simon can either argue, or he can go along with it. His whole entire faulty brain wants
to argue.
Charlie hands Simon the scissors so he can trim another rectangle of wrapping paper, and doesn’t say a single thing as Simon
wraps the box again. When Simon’s done, Charlie takes the present away and puts it on the table by the door, which is just
as well because now Simon’s out of wrapping paper.
“I could come with you too,” Charlie says, his back to Simon.
“Why on earth would you want to do that?”
Charlie knocks his forehead into the frame of the mirror that hangs by the door. “Are you going to try to tell me it would
be worse with me there? I mean, maybe it would be. I don’t know your family. But would it be?”
“No,” Simon concedes.
“If you don’t want me there, that’s fine.” Charlie doesn’t sound like it would be fine, but he turns around, at least. “I
mean, I’m visiting my mom next month. I need to do that alone. Having you—or Alex, or anyone—with me would make it worse.
My feelings won’t be hurt if that’s what you need too.”
He kind of sounds like his feelings would be hurt, though.
When Simon’s anxious, he’s not great at figuring out what’s going on in other people’s heads. But he’s spent enough time with Charlie that he doesn’t even have
to do any deciphering. It’s all right there, out in the open.
Simon has this sense that if Charlie meets his family, he’ll know—know what exactly, Simon isn’t sure, except that Charlie will see Simon for the mess he is. All Simon’s weaknesses will be
right there, under a spotlight for Charlie to see.
“You’d probably like my family,” Simon forces himself to say. “Most people do.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know.” The point is that Charlie wants to make things better for Simon, and that’s a thought that Simon wants to push away
from himself as hard as he can. It’s worse than conceding that he could bring Edie.
What Charlie’s offering is no more than what Simon did by interfering with Dave. It’s not so different than all the little
things Simon did in Arizona to make Charlie feel less terrible. It’s less than what Charlie did by bringing Edie to New York.
They’ve spent weeks doing this, showing one another their weaknesses. Falling in love, probably, although that’s at the top
of the list of things Simon isn’t thinking about.
So, right now, he can ask Charlie for help, when it’s so clear that it’s what Charlie wants from him, and—and it doesn’t mean
that Simon’s clingy or pathetic. Or it does mean he’s a bit clingy and there’s nothing wrong with that, because Charlie already
knows.
“Nora would love to meet you,” Simon says.
“Yeah?”
“I should have asked you before.” It’s true, even though it feels all wrong in Simon’s mouth. “I think I don’t like asking
for things.”
“I don’t know how the fuck a man who can demand to read nutritional labels at restaurants can’t just ask his boyfriend to
go to a party with him,” Charlie says.
Simon should have asked Charlie to come with him, just like he should have asked Charlie to stay with him, instead of leaving Charlie guessing.
Charlie doesn’t seem upset, but maybe he should be. Simon feels like he’s been carelessly stingy.
Charlie’s face is pink, and it takes Simon a minute to rewind and figure out why. That’s the first time either of them has said boyfriend.
“I can ask a barista about the brand of oat milk because that’s her job and also I tip extremely well,” Simon says.
Charlie obviously wants to argue about every single syllable in that sentence, but instead he jams his hands in his pockets
and looks at the ceiling. “It’s my job. Just—let it be my job.”
Simon can hardly breathe. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
Simon feels wildly self-conscious rolling up to his brother’s house with a dog and a whole extra person, but there must be
a hundred people on the lawn, an entire flock of waiters, and a couple of men who look a lot like bodyguards. Nobody’s paying
attention to Simon.
“I should have written her a check,” Simon says, clutching the present. “That’s what people do for graduations. What was I
thinking?”
“Doesn’t look like this kid’s hurting for money,” Charlie observes, taking in the house, the crowd, the entire spectacle.
He’s right. “How rich is your family?”
“Everybody has a real job and nobody has a private jet.” These are crucial bits of information in Simon’s classification of
rich people, but Charlie looks like he’s ready to storm the winter palace. “Private school but not boarding school. Martha’s
Vineyard, not Dubai. Upper middle class, really, when you think about it,” he adds, mainly to get that vein in Charlie’s forehead
to do its thing.
Simon’s sister-in-law, Nora’s mother, greets them, and Simon goes through the motions of introducing Charlie and good to see you and you must be so proud and a couple of air kisses.
It’s more of the same with Simon’s oldest brother, who inflicts the usual hearty handshakes and back slaps.
George, who’s never seen Charlie in his life, unless you’re counting television screens—and Simon doubts he has much time these days for anything other than C-SPAN—greets Charlie like he’s never been so happy to meet anyone in his life.
Assuming someone on his staff has a news alert set for Simon’s name, he already knows precisely who Charlie is to Simon.
Simon’s fine with this part. It’s acting. Which doesn’t mean it’s fake—Simon means what he’s saying, mostly, but he needs
a layer between himself and the role. His brother is acting too.
When George crouches to let Edie sniff his hand, Simon has a dizzy little moment, remembering George showing him the right
way to greet a dog. That’s something he hasn’t thought about in a couple decades. It’s probably sweet, right? An older brother
teaching a preschooler how not to get mauled by strange dogs. Simon doesn’t know why he has that sorted in with the sad memories.
He doesn’t know why he has his entire family sorted in with the sad stuff.
Simon must be radiating bad vibes, because Charlie’s hand lands at the small of Simon’s back, and he’s close enough that Simon
can feel the heat coming off him. Or maybe Charlie just wanted to touch him. Either way, Charlie’s here.
George clocks it immediately. His grin somehow doubles. “Simon never brings anyone to meet us.”
Simon is about to perish, but Charlie just grins right back, wattage cranked all the way up, and says, “I guess I’m just that
lucky.” He pulls Simon a little closer. “Hey, babe, let’s go find somewhere to put this present.” A neat extraction.
Simon’s sister-in-law points them toward Nora.
It’s not like they’ve never met in person.
Simon does show his face at family events, at the rate of once every eighteen months or so, or however long it takes to forget just how unsettling these things are.
But when your relationship consists of words and images on a screen, the leap to face-to-face interaction isn’t always smooth.
Nora looks awkward enough for both of them, though. She’s wearing a pale-yellow dress that Simon would bet a literal million
dollars she didn’t pick out herself, her makeup looks both subdued and professionally applied, and there are no visible piercings