17. Charlie
As embarrassed as I felt at first, I’m still glad Troy came over to see how I was. He always did have a wonderful way of cheering me up with his wit and light humor.
My tears were more from frustration than anything else. I thought I’d managed to rid my life of Eddy Crowley. The audacity of the man to show up on my doorstep after everything he put me through—as well as his blatant lack of awareness that he had done anything wrong—frustrated the heck out of me.
I’m now standing in my bathroom, gazing at the reflection of the woman looking back at me. A lot has changed in ten years. I’m not the same girl Troy left behind. He wants to try again, and I can’t deny that I want it too. There is a part of me that’s scared, but that’s normal, right?
I mean, apart from the fact that Troy up and left without a word, I haven’t been in a relationship in over three years. I’ve gotten used to enjoying my own company, doing things without having to consider another person, living my own life on my own terms. Am I ready to give all that up?
Hearing about Troy’s return perturbed me, but over these last few weeks, he’s re-lit a fire in me. A fire I thought had been reduced to ashes a long time ago. But he’s returned with fresh kindling, and the sparks are flying. I take a deep breath in and then turn to the bathroom door. Troy is waiting for me in his truck, so, I suppose I should get a move on.
We travel through town to Troy’s new restaurant. I know where it is. I went there as a kid when it was still called Joey’s. But while I’m busy pretending to look out the window as we drive, my mind has wandered back to that tender kiss Troy gave me on the back porch, and the mere memory of it has butterflies doing the samba in my stomach.
It was wholly unexpected, but when he asked, I didn’t refuse. I didn’t want to. My defenses have slowly waned, and while my wall isn’t fully decimated, it’s now only three bricks high. But then, Troy could always put me at ease. I swore I wouldn’t let him back in, but even I have to admit that he’s not the same guy who left.
He’s more like the guy he was before but more mature. I’ll admit, I don’t think I ever knew the guy who left without telling me. I’ve never tried to find out. Is it worth digging that up now, after all this time?
No. Leave it alone. You were kids.
I suppose we were. I suppose I wasn’t just angry that he left. I was angry that I was made to go back to what my life was like before. Being there for Dad, looking after him and the house, like I always did. Troy spoiled me, in a way. He showed me what I was missing. If I hadn’t seen that, maybe my resentment toward him wouldn’t have been so strong.
But that’s all behind us now. If this is going to work, and I’m still not certain that it will, I can’t hang on to all of that.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Troy’s voice breaks into my thoughts.
I spin my head to look at him. “Oh, nothing.”
He gives me a discerning look, like he doesn’t believe a word of it, and then nods. “Right.”
“I don’t have to be thinking all the time,” I say. It’s a lie, of course. As far as I know, most women never stop thinking. It’s a curse. A ticker tape of constant verbosity, running around our heads like a gaggle of geese.
“You’re a woman,” he says, nearly plucking the thought from my mind. “Of course you do.”
We turn into a small side street and then take another left. Joey’s is sandwiched between a bar and a liquor store. But as we pull up outside, my eyes fly wide open as I see the elegant scroll of the sign that sits above the old diner. The Statesman.
“Wow,” I gasp, taking in the perfect combination of the silver color and the scrolling steel that surrounds it. “That’s beautiful.”
When Troy doesn’t say anything, I look over at him. He’s beaming from ear to ear. “You like it?” he says, clearly delighted that I do.
“Absolutely. It’s bold, yet understated and classy, all rolled into one.”
“Glad I can get such a compliment from such an esteemed interior decorator as yourself,” he says with a smirk, opening the door and jumping from the truck. After opening my door, he offers his hand. “Come on. Let me show you the inside.”
“You’ve been busy,” I say, gazing around at the transformed interior.
The last time I was here, there were red vinyl booths facing square tables. But all of those are gone. In their place, tables dressed with crisp white linen are surrounded by padded dining chairs.
“I’m getting rid of those,” Troy says, pointing to the chairs. “They were here when I bought the place, but they’re outdated.”
“Really?” I frown. “It must have been ages since I was last here, then. Do you remember the red booths?” I ask, walking further into the large open space of the dining area.
“Geez, you are going back.”
“I suppose I am. Dad only brought us here once. Mom was still alive, so that was a while ago.”
Taking my hand, Troy excitedly leads me behind the counter and into the huge kitchen. I can’t help but notice the gleaming appliances that run from one end to the other. “These are all new?”
“Yep,” he says, continuing to pull me onward. We walk through the kitchen, where he shows me a huge pantry and opens the back door to the yard at the rear.
“So…” He’s as excited as a child in an ice cream shop. “What do you think?”
We’re now back in the kitchen, and I can’t help but feel excited for him. Whatever he’s experiencing, it’s contagious. Maybe it’s that beaming smile or the buzz that I can sense emanating from him. In that moment, seeing him lit up like a Christmas tree, I truly feel so happy for him. He’s worked hard to get this far, and seeing his dream become a reality is more than ninety percent of the population will ever experience.
“I think you should be proud of all you’ve achieved so far, Troy. Truly, I do. All your hard work has paid off.”
He gives me a look like he’s surprised.
“What?” I shrug.
Clearly stumbling to find the right words, he says, “I… it’s just… well.”
“What?” I laugh.
He takes a breath and looks at me with the deepest intensity I’ve seen from him so far. “Thank you. That’s really what I want to say. Thank you. After what I did to you, your words mean a lot.”
“Can we set a new rule?” I reply.
His eyebrows work like he’s suspicious of what I’m about to say, but he concedes, anyway. “Sure. What’s the new rule?”
“Well, if we’re going to get a fresh start, I don’t think bringing the past up every five minutes is helpful, do you? So, new rule. The past is off the table.”
“Completely?” he gawks at me.
“Why is that a problem?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Because I’d like to believe there was some good stuff, too.”
I can’t deny that, can I? When we were together, I was happy. Truly happy. And I guess I’m being unrealistic to imagine that we can just wipe the slate entirely clean.
“Fine,” I concede. “But this huge boulder of regret you’re carrying is completely unnecessary, Troy. What happened was a long time ago.”
“I hurt you, Charlie. How am I supposed to forgive myself for that?”
“The real question is, how are we supposed to move forward if you can’t?” I counter.
Troy drops his head and looks at his feet. I can see that this is hard for him, but that doesn’t make my point any less true. I’m taking a chance as it is. I don’t want what happened between us hanging over our heads, or the weight of his guilt might destroy any chance we have before we even begin.
I step forward and take hold of his hand. “Hey.”
He lifts his head and looks down at me.
“I want us to give this another go. Isn’t that what you want?”
“You know it is,” he replies, his voice heavy. “I just can’t turn off feeling awful about what I did, Charlie. It’s not that easy.”
“Fair enough. I understand that. Can we at least make a pact that you try? If it takes time, that’s fine. But you have to try,” I say, gazing up at him pleadingly.
His eyes soften, and he nods his head. “All right. I promise I will try.” He smiles down at me then. “I don’t deserve you.”
Playfully, I scowl and slap his arm with my free hand. “You promised.”
He chuckles then, and lifting his two hands in surrender, he says, “All right. All right. I give up.”
Hooking his finger under my chin, he bends his head and brushes the lightest of kisses across my lips. It makes my breath catch in my throat, and I gasp and melt at the same time. When he steps back, he gazes at me tenderly, swooping a lock of my hair off my face.
“I still don’t deserve you.” Grinning, he jumps back before I can whack him again.
“I swear, if you’re not careful, I’ll use some of these brand-new utensils on your head.”
“That would give a whole new meaning to head chef.” He chuckles some more.
Lightly frustrated, but seeing the funny side, I shake my head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“You like that word. That’s the second time you’ve said that to me.”
“You ever think it’s because it’s true?” I counter.
“Maybe.” He shrugs with a grin.
We spend the next half hour walking through the restaurant while Troy tells me his vision of what he wants the layout to look like. He has ideas for colors, some of which I’m not too keen on, and I say so.
“Too much navy is going to overpower the interior. A medium blue will highlight the silver of your logo and the cutlery, but so will sea green, emerald green, and turquoise. You’ll still have that classic look you’re aiming for, but your customers won’t feel like they’re dining in an abyss.”
Troy takes a long look at me, as though he’s trying to figure something out. Then he says, “I want to hire you.”
“Pardon me?” I blurt.
“I’m being serious, Charlie. I’ve been trying to do this on my own, but my expertise is in the kitchen. If I want this to be a complete success, I need someone who knows what they’re doing. Clearly, that’s you.”
I’m not averse to the idea; I’m just completely taken aback. It’s been one of those days, right? One surprise after another.
“So? Will you do it?” Troy presses. “You’ll have full creative freedom. I won’t stand in the way of your suggestions.”
I take a deep breath in and let out a long sigh. Secretly, this is my dream. Never before have I been given such a blank canvas to work with, but more importantly than that, none of my previous clients have ever told me I could just do what I wanted. It really is a beautiful restaurant, and a vision is already forming in my mind.
“Charlie?” Troy says.
“All right,” I answer. “I’ll do it.”
I’m beaming with delight, and the next thing I know, Troy has lifted me in his arms and started swinging me around like I weigh nothing at all.
“Yes!” he exclaims. “Thank you.”
When he puts me down again, I say, “Don’t thank me yet. You have no idea what I have in mind.”
He looks the slightest bit perturbed. “But you’re going to tell me, right?”
I playfully skip toward the door, push it open, and step outside.
“Charlie?” I hear him call, but I’m too busy laughing to answer.