CHAPTER 4
JO
Friday came faster than Jo expected.
She spent the day at work trying not to think about the fact that Charlotte was seeing the firefighter again. The second date. The one that meant it was real.
First dates were nothing. Everyone went on first dates. First dates were just interviews with alcohol.
Second dates were different. Second dates meant you'd passed the interview. Second dates meant this might be real.
"You're frowning at your screen," Hunter said from the next desk over. "Did someone break the server again?"
"What? No. I'm fine."
"You don't look fine. You look like someone told you they're switching to a competitor's cloud service."
Jo forced her face into neutrality. "I'm fine. Just thinking."
"About...?"
"Nothing."
Hunter raised an eyebrow. He was the closest thing Jo had to a work friend, a fellow IT guy who'd been at the firm almost as long as she had. They'd bonded over a shared hatred of people who refused to update their software.
"Is this about Charlotte?" he asked.
Jo's stomach clenched. "Why would it be about Charlotte?"
"Because you've mentioned her three times today and you keep checking your phone like you're expecting a text."
"I have not mentioned her three times."
"'Charlotte says Malbec is a lazy wine choice.' 'Charlotte got in late last night.' 'Charlotte's seeing someone new.'" Hunter counted on his fingers. "Three times. Minimum."
Jo opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She hadn't realized she'd been talking about Charlotte that much. It was just... Charlotte was part of her life. Everything reminded her of Charlotte.
"She has a date tonight," Jo said finally. "Second one with the same person."
"The firefighter?"
"You remembered that?"
"You told me twice."
Jo winced. "Sorry. I don't mean to be annoying."
"You're not annoying. You're clearly working through it." Hunter leaned back in his chair. "Want to talk about it?"
"There's nothing to process. Charlotte's dating someone. That's great. I'm happy for her."
"You don't sound happy."
"I'm happy. I'm very happy." Jo made herself smile. "She deserves someone good."
Hunter held her gaze. He had that expression again, the one everyone wore lately. Like they were waiting for Jo to catch up.
"What?" Jo asked.
"Nothing. Just..." He shook his head. "Never mind. I'm sure you know what you're doing."
"I'm not doing anything."
"Exactly."
Before Jo could ask what that meant, her phone buzzed.
Charlotte: Heading out. Wish me luck.
Jo stared at the message. There it was again, that weird feeling in her chest. Like a hand pressing on her ribs from the inside.
Jo: you don't need luck. you've got this.
Charlotte: Easy for you to say.
Jo: it is easy for me to say. because i know you. you're amazing.
A pause. Then:
Charlotte: Thank you, Jo.
Jo: anytime
She put her phone down and went back to work. Or tried to. But her mind kept drifting. Charlotte getting ready for her date. Charlotte meeting the firefighter. Charlotte laughing at a joke, the real laugh that made her whole face change.
Charlotte kissing someone else goodnight.
Jo's fingers froze on the keyboard.
Where had that come from?
She shook it off and forced herself to focus. She had work to do. Charlotte was her friend. Charlotte's dating life was Charlotte's business. Jo was happy for her.
She was happy.
She had to be happy.
That night, Jo went home to an empty apartment and tried to watch their show alone.
It was wrong. Everything about it was wrong. The couch felt too big. The pauses where Charlotte would make comments felt like gaps in conversation. Jo kept reaching for the popcorn bowl that wasn't there.
She lasted one episode before turning it off.
Her phone sat on the coffee table. Silent. Charlotte was probably still on her date. Probably having a great time. Probably not thinking about Jo at all.
Which was fine. Charlotte should be focused on her date. That was the whole point of dating.
Jo picked up her phone, put it down, picked it up again.
This was ridiculous. She wasn't going to sit here staring at her phone like a teenager with a crush. She was a grown woman with a life. She had other friends. She had hobbies. She could do literally anything else.
She opened the dating app.
There were a few matches in her inbox. Men, mostly. A few women too. She'd set her preferences to "everyone" because she wasn't picky and she figured why not. She scrolled through the profiles without seeing them.
Tall guy who liked hiking. Too much teeth in his smile.
Brunette woman who worked in finance. Cold eyes.
Another guy who'd listed "entrepreneur" and "crypto" in his bio. Absolutely not.
None of them felt right. None of them felt like anything.
Jo closed the app.
Her phone buzzed.
Charlotte: Home.
Jo: !!!
Jo: how was it??
A pause. Longer than usual.
Charlotte: Good. Really good.
Pressure gathered behind Jo's ribs again, enough that she rubbed the heel of her hand over her sternum.
Jo: yeah? tell me everything.
Charlotte: She took me to that new cocktail place in Williamsburg. The one with the speakeasy entrance.
Jo: ooh fancy
Charlotte: The drinks were excellent. She's... easy to talk to. Interesting.
Jo: that's great! she sounds great!
Charlotte: She is.
Another pause. Jo stared at the screen, waiting for more. Charlotte usually texted in walls of text after dates, dissecting every moment, every comment, every potential red flag. But tonight the messages were sparse. Careful.
Jo: so... date three?
Charlotte: Maybe. Probably. She asked to see me next weekend.
Jo: charlotte! that's amazing!
Charlotte: Is it?
Jo: what do you mean? you said she's great. why wouldn't it be amazing?
A long pause. The typing indicator appeared, disappeared, appeared again.
Charlotte: I don't know. I'm just tired. Long week.
Jo: of course. get some sleep. we can talk tomorrow?
Charlotte: Tomorrow.
Jo: night lottie
Charlotte: Goodnight, Jo.
No heart emoji. Charlotte always sent one back.
Jo stared at the message for a long time.
I'm just tired, Charlotte had said. That made sense. It was late. She'd been on a date. She was probably exhausted.
But it felt off. The spare responses. The missing emoji. The Is it? sitting in the conversation like a question mark.
Jo put down her phone and lay back on the couch. The ceiling of her apartment was boring. Off-white, a crack in the corner she kept meaning to report to the super. She'd stared at this ceiling a thousand times.
Charlotte's ceiling was nicer. Higher, with original molding she'd spent hours restoring when she first moved in. Charlotte liked nice things. Appreciated quality. Noticed details that Jo walked past without seeing.
Jo noticed details about Charlotte, though.
How she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking.
How she held her wine glass, stem between two fingers, elegant without trying.
How her smile went sharp right before she said anything devastating, the verbal accuracy that made lesser people wither.
Why was she thinking about the way Charlotte smiled?
She knew how Charlotte smiled. She'd known since college. It wasn't new information.
But lately it felt different. Lately Jo kept cataloguing things. The slope of Charlotte's shoulders. The exact pitch of her laugh. How she said Josephina when she was teasing, drawing out each syllable like she was savoring it.
Jo pressed her hands to her eyes.
She was being weird. She was overtired. She needed to stop being weird.
Charlotte was dating someone. Someone nice. Someone with muscles and a good sense of humor and a job that involved saving lives. Someone who could give Charlotte all the things that had always been absent from Jo's own dating life.
This was good. Jo was happy for her.
She was happy.
She picked up her phone. Opened the text thread. Typed I miss you and stared at it until the letters blurred.
She deleted it, set the phone on her chest, and lay in the dark.
Sunday came. Sunday dinner.
Jo showed up early to help Grandma Ruth prep. It was their ritual, had been since Jo was old enough to hold a knife without cutting herself. Chopping vegetables, stirring soup, listening to Grandma's running commentary on the neighborhood gossip.
"Mrs. Patterson is getting a hip replacement," Grandma said. "Finally. I've been telling her for years."
"Good for Mrs. Patterson."
"And the Cohens are moving to Florida. Another one lost to the sun."
"Tragic."
"Don't be sarcastic." Grandma handed her another onion. "Where's Charlotte?"
Jo's knife paused. "She's coming. She texted."
"She's usually here by now."
"She had a busy week."
Grandma made a sound. A knowing sound. "The firefighter?"
"I told you about that?"
"You told everyone about that. Multiple times." Grandma's eyes were too sharp. "How do you feel about it?"
"Feel about what?"
"Charlotte dating someone seriously."
"I feel great. I'm happy for her." Jo resumed chopping. "She deserves someone who treats her well."
"Mm."
"What does 'mm' mean?"
"It means I'm your grandmother and I've known you your whole life." Grandma took the onions and added them to the pot. "It also means I think you're full of it."
"Grandma!"
"What? I'm old. I can say what I think." She stirred the soup. "You've been moping around for two weeks. You keep checking your phone. And you have a face like someone kicked your puppy."
"I don't have a puppy."
"Metaphorical puppy."
Jo set down the knife. "I'm not moping. I'm just... adjusting. Charlotte's always been around. If she's dating someone, she'll be around less. That's an adjustment."
"And how does that adjustment make you feel?"
"Fine. Normal. What else would I feel?"
Grandma studied her. Then she sighed and shook her head.
"Josephina. My sweet, oblivious girl."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing. Just an observation." She handed Jo a wooden spoon. "Taste this. Does it need more salt?"
Jo tasted the soup. Rich, salty, the paprika warm at the back of her throat. Perfect, like always. The kitchen smelled of onions, fresh bread, the lavender soap Grandma kept by the sink.
The door chimed. Valentina and her family came in, all chaos and noise, Lucy immediately demanding to help in the kitchen. Jo got caught up in the familiar rhythm of Sunday dinner: setting the table, pouring drinks, arguing with Valentina about whether the kids could have dessert before the meal.
Charlotte arrived twenty minutes late.
She looked different. Tired, maybe. Or distracted. She was wearing the blue dress Jo liked, the one that made her eyes look darker. But she wasn't smiling when she came in.
"Sorry I'm late," Charlotte said. "Work thing."
"On a Sunday?" Valentina asked.
"The Whitfield project doesn't care what day it is."
"Sit, sit." Grandma waved her to her usual seat. "You look thin. Are you eating?"
"I'm eating fine."
"She's always thin," Jo said. "That's just how she looks."
Charlotte's eyes met hers. The look held a second too long, though Jo couldn't say why. Then Charlotte smiled, and it was almost normal.
"Jo's right. I'm fine. Just tired."
She sat down. Next to Jo, where she always sat. Their elbows brushed as Charlotte reached for the bread.
"So," Valentina said, with that tone that meant she was about to be nosy. "How's the firefighter?"
Charlotte's jaw tightened. Jo filed it away without understanding it.
"Fine," Charlotte said. "We had a nice time."
"Nice time? That's all? Jo said you went to that speakeasy place in Williamsburg."
"I told you she went there?" Jo asked.
"You told everyone. Multiple times."
Jo's face heated. Charlotte's expression was unreadable.
"We had a nice time," Charlotte repeated. "I'm seeing her again next weekend."
Valentina's eyebrows rose. She looked between Charlotte and Jo with an expression Charlotte couldn't read. "Huh. Okay. Good for you."
"Val," Jo said warningly.
"What? I didn't say anything." Valentina took a sip of her wine. "I'm just surprised, that's all. I didn't think you were actually looking."
"Why wouldn't she be looking?" Jo asked.
Valentina gave Jo a long look. "No reason."
The table went quiet. Charlotte was very still beside Jo. Grandma Ruth was watching them both with that sharp, knowing expression.
"Charlotte can do whatever she wants," Jo said. "Including watching our show on the couch. That doesn't stop her from dating."
"No, of course not. I didn't mean..."
"Let's eat," Grandma said firmly. "The soup is getting cold."
The conversation moved on. Lucy demanded to tell everyone about her gymnastics class. Grandpa Isaac made his usual complaints about the soup. Valentina's husband talked about work.
But the evening never settled. Charlotte answered questions in neat little sentences and kept her attention on her soup. Every time their elbows brushed, Jo felt it all the way to her fingertips.
After dinner, on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, Jo caught Charlotte's arm.
"Hey. Are you okay?"
Charlotte looked at her. In the streetlight, her face was all shadows.
"I'm fine."
"You don't seem fine."
"I'm tired. Long week." Charlotte's smile was thin. "I'll see you Friday?"
"For our show?"
"If you want."
"Why wouldn't I want?"
Charlotte hesitated. Then she shook her head. "Never mind. I'm just being weird. I'll see you Friday."
She hugged Jo, brief and tight, her chin on Jo's shoulder for just a moment, and then she was gone, walking toward the subway.
Jo stood on the sidewalk and watched her go.
Charlotte's pulling away, she thought. And I don't know why.
Her phone buzzed.
Charlotte: Thank you for tonight.
Jo: you don't have to thank me. it's sunday dinner.
Charlotte: I know. Thank you anyway.
Jo stared at the message.
Thank you anyway. Like Charlotte thought she might not be welcome. Like she thought things might change.
Jo: always, lottie. always.
The heart emoji she sent back felt heavier than usual.