Chapter Thirteen
Charlotte was jolted awake by a loud buzzing. She looked at the clock on her nightstand. Three a.m. Knowing that whoever was out there wouldn’t be able to come inside unless someone buzzed them in, she rolled over and tried to get back to sleep.
The buzzing continued. “Who the hell …?” Charlotte put her pillow over her head to drown out the noise, but when it persisted, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stomped over to the intercom.
“I’m going to call the police if you don’t stop. People are trying to sleep.”
“Charlotte,” came a slurred voice. “It’s me.”
Grant?
“Grant, is that you?” she asked, her voice full of anger.
“Yeah, I need to talk with you,” he said.
“Go home, Grant. You’re too late.”
“Come on, Charlotte, let me in,” he pleaded.
“Go away, Grant.”
She returned to her bedroom, turned the radio on a classical station, put her earbuds in, and ignored the buzzing that went on for another half hour. Then another hour.
Unable to stand it any longer, she got up and went to the door. “All right! I’m coming!” she yelled. The hardwood floor felt icy beneath her bare feet, but her anger burned hot enough to keep her moving. How dare he intrude upon her night after such a wretched evening?
“Charlotte.” The voice was barely recognizable through the speaker. “It’s me, please.”
“I want you to go away,” she spat, her fury mounting. If he thought he could waltz in now and make up for his absence, he had another thing coming.
“Come on, Charlotte, please let me in,” he begged, his words slow and heavy.
“Go. Home. Now.” She enunciated each word, hoping he’d get the hint.
A moment of silence followed, the absence of noise making her heart race even faster. Had he finally gotten the message?
“Charlotte, I am sorry for not showing up, but I have a reason, please just let me explain.”
“Fine,” she spat, finally pressing the buzzer before one of her neighbors realized the disturbance was from someone she knew.
As she heard the outside door open, she took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself.
This was not how she had envisioned their evening together, but she wasn’t about to let him off the hook so easily.
She opened her apartment door waiting for him to come up. What she saw shocked her. Normally well-groomed, Grant looked like a bum from Skid Row.
Before he could get a word out, she held up her hand and cut him off. “Save it! You have no idea what I’ve been through tonight, and now you show up here, completely wasted?”
She could see the remorse in his eyes, but it did little to assuage her fury.
She fought the urge to slam the door in his face, knowing that part of her still cared for him, despite everything.
But as he stood there, swaying slightly on his feet, she couldn’t help but think that he deserved whatever wrath she had in store for him.
“Look, Charlotte, I made a mistake,” Grant began, raising his hands defensively. “I should have called, should have been here. Can we please just talk about this?”
“Talk?” The word erupted from her mouth like a volcanic explosion. “You want to talk now, after ignoring me all night? Why didn’t you call or text?”
Grant’s shoulders slumped, and for a brief moment, some of the fire in her heart flickered and died. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. He wasn’t worth the energy it took to be this angry, but she needed answers.
“Fine,” she said curtly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You have five minutes. Make it count.”
As he began to speak, Charlotte steeled herself for the confrontation, the storm of emotions still churning within her. All she wanted was the truth, and whatever came after that … well, only time would tell.
Grant stumbled through the doorway, his coat hanging off one shoulder. The scent of stale alcohol and cigarettes clung to him like an unwelcome second skin. His gaze wavered, seeking out Charlotte’s form in the dimly lit living room where she stood, her posture rigid with expectation.
“Charlotte,” he began, his words slurred around the edges, “I can explain.” He reached up to steady himself against the wall.
“Explain. Go.” She knew there was a coldness to her voice, but she couldn’t disguise it. She turned her back on him and went into the kitchen. They both needed some coffee.
“Look, I ran into an old friend on the train,” Grant said, following her. “Mike—he was a good friend from college—I hadn’t seen him since we graduated, and we … we just got to talking. And one thing led to another.”
“And then?” Charlotte’s voice sounding shrill to her own ears.
“Then, one drink turned into … more. We ended up hopping from one bar to another, just catching up, you know?” Grant’s explanation trailed off.
Charlotte went back to making the coffee. She could barely stand to look at him.
“An all-nighter, Charlotte,” he finally admitted. “It was never supposed to be an all-nighter.”
Grant’s hands trembled as he reached out to her, a plea shimmering in the depths of his bloodshot eyes. “Charlotte, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, the words barely audible. She saw his fingers curl around the edge of the kitchen table, gripping it as if it were a lifeline.
She stood motionless, her arms folded across her chest, her silhouette framed by the soft light spilling from the living room lamp. A frost seemed to seep into the air between them.
“Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it, Grant.
” Charlotte’s voice was steady, but there was a tremor of hurt beneath the controlled exterior.
“You made a promise. We had plans, and you …” Her gaze flickered away for a heartbeat, collecting the scattered pieces of her composure before locking back onto his face.
“You chose a night of drinking over us.” Maybe she’d read too much into the short time they’d spent together. There wasn’t an us.
She saw him swallow hard, then look down. The silence stretched taut, a chasm of unspoken pain and betrayal widening with each passing second.
Finally, he spoke. “Please,” Grant begged, fervent and raw. “I know I messed up, more than I can say. But please, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
The question hung in the air, a fragile offering laid bare in the quiet of their shared space. The rich aroma of coffee filled the kitchen, a familiar comfort that did little to ease the tension.
“You need to sober up before you go to work. Sit down, Grant,” she said, trying not to voice the indecision that knotted her stomach.
He hesitated for an instant before obeying, the scrape of the chair against the tile floor marking his movement. In the act of sitting, he seemed smaller somehow, less sure of himself than the man who had once promised her the world with a confidence she’d found irresistibly charming.
As the coffee pot sputtered its last, signaling readiness, Charlotte poured the dark liquid with a steady hand into two mugs.
She set one cup down in front of him, the small clink of ceramic on wood punctuating her internal debate.
The other she cradled between her palms, drawing warmth but not yet sipping.
Her eyes searched his face, trying to understand what happened.
“Feeling clearer?” she asked after he finished his first cup, her voice steady despite the churn of uncertainty within.
“Like a bell,” Grant replied, running a hand through his tousled hair. He looked up at her then, his eyes full of remorse. “Sorry about last night. I don’t usually—”
“Let’s not,” Charlotte interrupted, holding up a hand. She turned away from his gaze.
She poured herself another coffee and took a sip, buying time to gather her thoughts.
“Charlotte?” Grant’s voice held a note of concern now, an undercurrent of awareness that the ground between them was shifting.
“Grant, I …” She hesitated, the words catching like fabric on a nail. “I’m not sure where we stand, I don’t think I can do this.”
“Where we stand?” he echoed, confusion lacing his tone.
“Us,” she clarified, pressing her lips together as if the word itself was a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. “This, whatever this is.”
“Isn’t it just … life? Messy but real?” Grant offered tentatively, leaning against the back of his chair.
“Sometimes,” Charlotte conceded, allowing herself a halfhearted shrug. But her heart wasn’t in the acquiescence. She braced herself against the countertop, the cold granite grounding her resolve.
“Look, I need some space, Grant. To think.” Her words were firmer now, her decision solidifying like the coffee grounds settled at the bottom of her cup. She suspected he had an issue with too much alcohol. She recalled that he drank a lot on their two dinner dates.
“Space,” he murmured, nodding slowly. “Okay. Yeah, I get it.” But as he stood and gathered his jacket, Charlotte wasn’t so sure either of them did.
Charlotte watched the door click shut behind Grant, the sound echoing like a gavel in a courtroom.
With each receding footstep, a vision of her mother began to blossom behind her eyes, unbidden but sharp as glass.
Her mother’s face smeared with too much makeup, her cackling laugh when the men she would bring home made a sick joke.
Elsie always sided with whatever man, for the sake of a man’s fragile pride.
Charlotte didn’t want to end up like her mother.
All her hopes on a man to make her happy. She was not like her mother.
She shook her head, trying to dispel the image, but it clung to her like cobwebs.
The same pattern, the same trap, woven through generations; it was all there in the rearview mirror of her family’s history.
Charlotte always believed she’d steer clear, that she’d learned the signs by heart: CAUTION. DETOUR. DEAD END.
As the silence settled in the room like dust, Charlotte wrapped her arms around herself—a self-embrace that felt like armor.
Again, she thought of her mother’s laughter when she brought one of her many dates over.
It sickened her, as she knew it was all an act.
Her mother couldn’t live without the attention of a man.
Any man. It didn’t matter what they brought to the table. Men were like oxygen to her.
“History doesn’t have to repeat itself,” she whispered to the empty space where Grant’s presence still lingered. Her voice was steady, a declaration more than an affirmation.
“Never again,” she vowed, her reflection in the window nodding back at her, resolute.
She would not let a man ruin her life, not like the silent specters that haunted her lineage.
It was time to break the cycle, to build something new, something of her very own.
A sense of empowerment rose within her, quiet but fierce, like the first rays of dawn spilling over a horizon that promised no shadows, only light.
Feeling disgusted at her needy behavior, Charlotte washed the cups, rinsed out the coffee maker, then headed to the shower.