CHARLOTTE
Date five was a firefighter barbecue in Queens.
This was what progress looked like. This was moving forward. Meeting each other's people, integrating lives, building a life that wasn't just two women sitting across from each other in wine bars.
She smiled when people talked to her. Asked the right questions. Performed the version of herself that was suitable for first impressions.
She checked her phone. Three texts from Jo.
Jo: hey what time are you coming over for dinner tonight?
Jo: grandma made extra because she thinks you're too thin
Jo: which you're not by the way you look great
Charlotte stared at the messages. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.
She'd been planning to skip the barbecue. Had told herself Sunday dinner was non-negotiable, that Bianca would understand, that some things were sacred.
But Bianca had looked at her with those warm, hopeful eyes and said, "I really want you to meet my people. It would mean a lot to me."
And Charlotte had thought: This is what moving on looks like. This is what having a real relationship means. You make sacrifices. You show up for each other.
She typed back to Jo.
Charlotte: I can't make it tonight. I'm sorry.
The response came fast.
Jo: what? why?
Charlotte: I'm at an event with Bianca. Her firehouse is having a thing.
A pause. Longer than usual.
Jo: oh
Jo: okay
Jo: have fun!
The exclamation point looked forced. Charlotte knew Jo's texts well enough to read the subtext. The enthusiasm was manufactured.
Charlotte: I'm sorry. I know it's Sunday dinner.
Jo: no no it's fine! totally fine. you should be there. she's your girlfriend, right? this is what girlfriends do.
Charlotte stared at the word. Girlfriend. They hadn't used that word. It had only been five dates.
Charlotte: I don't know if we're using that word yet.
Jo: right sorry. your person. your date. whatever. point is, you should be there. don't worry about us.
Charlotte wanted to type: I always worry about you. You're what I think about when I should be thinking about other things.
Instead she sent: I'll make it up to you. Friday?
Jo: friday. for sure. have fun tonight.
Charlotte: Tell everyone I said hi.
Jo: will do
No heart emoji. Jo always sent the heart emoji.
Charlotte put her phone away and tried to focus on the barbecue.
The event was fine. Better than fine, probably, if Charlotte had been able to be present for it.
Bianca's coworkers were warm and welcoming, full of stories about Bianca's heroics that made Charlotte see her in a new light.
Smoke from the grill drifted across the yard, charred corn and mesquite and brown sugar glaze.
The late sun was warm on her arms, the beer going lukewarm in her hand.
But Charlotte kept checking her phone.
No new messages from Jo. Which made sense. Jo was at Sunday dinner. Jo was with her family. Jo was fine.
But normally Jo would text. Little updates throughout the evening. Lucy did another handstand. Grandpa told the Linda Potters story AGAIN. Valentina won't stop asking about you.
Nothing. Silence.
Charlotte told herself it was fine. Told herself Jo was just busy, just present, just not glued to her phone for once.
But it felt wrong. Like a gap in the fabric of how things were supposed to be.
"Hey." Bianca appeared at her elbow, warm and solid. "You okay? You've been quiet."
"I'm fine. Just a lot of new faces."
"Too many?"
"No. It's good. I'm just... processing."
Bianca studied her. Those dark eyes saw too much. Charlotte had noticed that about her. How she observed, catalogued, drew conclusions.
"You're distracted," Bianca said. "Or thinking about someone."
"I'm here."
"You're physically here. I'm not sure about the rest of you."
Charlotte looked at her. At this kind, patient woman who deserved better than someone whose mind was back at Ruth's table.
"I'm sorry," Charlotte said. "I'm not being fair to you."
"You're being honest. That's different." Bianca touched her arm. "I know this is new. I know you're not used to letting people in. But I'm patient. I can wait for you to figure out what you want."
The kindness of it made Charlotte's chest ache.
"What if I don't know what I want?" Charlotte asked.
"Then I guess we figure it out together." Bianca smiled. "Want to get out of here? There's a good diner nearby. We can get pie and you can tell me what's actually going on in that head of yours."
Charlotte should say yes. Should be grateful for someone who wanted to know her, who saw through the performance and asked anyway.
But all she could think about was Jo. Jo at Sunday dinner without her. Jo in Charlotte's empty chair.
"I'd like that," Charlotte said. "Thank you."
They went to the diner. They ate pie. Bianca told stories about her worst fires, her best rescues, the time she'd carried a two-hundred-pound man down six flights of stairs and thrown out her back for a week.
Charlotte tried to be present. Tried to listen, to engage, to be the person Bianca deserved.
But when her phone buzzed, her hand was on it instantly.
A photo from Jo. The family at the table, everyone smiling. Charlotte's chair, visible in the corner of the frame.
Charlotte's chair was empty.
Jo: we missed you
Charlotte stared at the photo. At her empty chair. At the family she'd chosen, the family that had chosen her, gathered around a table with a gap where she should be.
She'd missed Sunday dinner. She'd never missed Sunday dinner. Not once. Not for work, not for weather, not for anything.
And now she had. For this. For Bianca. For the attempt at moving on that felt more like running away.
"Charlotte?"
She looked up. Bianca was watching her, expression careful.
"Everything okay?"
"Fine. Just a photo from Jo."
"The best friend."
"Yes."
Bianca nodded slowly. "The one you're always texting. The one you watch your show with every Friday. The one whose family Sunday dinners you never miss."
"I missed today."
"I noticed."
Bianca's posture shifted. Her shoulders dropped, and her eyes went soft and sad.
"Charlotte," Bianca said. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yes."
"I think you're in love with her."
Charlotte froze. All the blood in her face rushed somewhere else, left her skin cold, her lips numb. She couldn't move.
"I don't..." she started, but her voice cracked on the denial. She couldn't finish it.
"It's okay." Bianca's voice was gentle. "I suspected since the first date. Maybe earlier. The way you talk about her. The way you smile when you text her. The way you looked at your phone just now, like that photo was the most important thing in the world."
"It's not... I don't..."
"Does she know?"
Charlotte closed her eyes. "No."
"Have you told her?"
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because she's straight." The words came out rough, painful. "Because she's my best friend. Because her family is my family and if I tell her and she doesn't... if she can't..."
"You'd lose everything."
"Yes."
Bianca said nothing. When Charlotte opened her eyes, there was no anger in her expression. Just understanding.
"That's a lot to carry," Bianca said. "For a long time."
"Years."
"Jesus."
"I'm sorry." Charlotte's voice was steady, barely. "I didn't mean to waste your time. I thought I could move on. I thought if I tried hard enough..."
"You're not wasting my time." Bianca reached across the table, covered Charlotte's hand with hers. "You're being human. You're trying. That's not nothing."
"It feels like nothing."
"It's not." Bianca squeezed her hand. "But I can't be your moving on. Not when you're still looking at her like that."
Charlotte felt her eyes sting. "I know."
"Does she really not know? After all this time?"
"She doesn't know anything. About herself or about me." Charlotte laughed, bitter. "She thinks we're best friends. She thinks that's all we are."
"Maybe it is."
"What?"
"Maybe she really doesn't feel it." Bianca's eyes were kind. "Or maybe she does, and she's just as scared as you are. There's no way to know until you tell her."
"I can't."
"You can." Bianca sat back. "You just choose not to. And I get it. The stakes are high. But Charlotte, carrying this for years more isn't going to make it easier. It's just going to make it heavier."
Charlotte didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to explain that she'd tried. That she'd spent years building walls, keeping herself safe, choosing friendship over the impossible.
That tonight, missing Sunday dinner, sitting in a diner with a woman who saw her too clearly. It felt like all those walls were starting to crack.
"I should go," Charlotte said.
"Okay."
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing." Bianca smiled, sad but genuine. "I knew what I was getting into. You're not subtle about the way you talk about her."
"I thought I was."
"You're really not." Bianca stood, dropped some bills on the table. "I'll drive you home. And Charlotte—for what it's worth—I hope she figures it out. You deserve someone who sees you the way you see her."
The drive home was quiet. Charlotte stared out the window and thought about empty chairs and photos and the way Jo's texts had gone sparse and wrong.
Outside her apartment, Bianca leaned over and kissed her cheek.
"Take care of yourself," Bianca said. "And tell her. Even if it blows up. Trust me—not knowing is worse."
Charlotte nodded. Couldn't speak.
She went upstairs to her empty apartment and sat in the dark and stared at the photo Jo had sent.
Her empty chair.
The family she was terrified of losing.
And Jo, just visible at the edge of the frame, looking at that empty chair with an expression that made Charlotte's chest hurt.