CHARLOTTE
JO
Jo hadn't slept more than three hours in a row all week.
So she was avoiding. And doing a terrible job of it.
Hunter found her at her desk on Tuesday, staring at her phone instead of working.
"You look like death," he said.
"Thanks."
"Seriously. When did you last sleep?"
"Define sleep."
He sat on the edge of her desk, ignoring her protests. "Okay. What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"Jo."
"It's nothing. I'm fine."
"You've been 'fine' for a week. You've skipped lunch three times. You haven't mentioned Charlotte once." He paused meaningfully. "That's like a record for you."
Jo flinched at the name. Hunter noticed.
"Ah," he said. "Charlotte."
"It's not..."
"What happened?"
"Nothing happened." Jo closed her eyes. "Everything happened. I don't know. I think I'm gay."
The words tumbled out. She'd never said them out loud before. Not to anyone except Grandma Ruth, and that conversation had been more implications than statements.
Hunter was quiet for a moment.
"Okay," he said. "And?"
"And what?"
"And you think you're gay. So what?"
Jo stared at him. "So what? I'm twenty-nine years old. I've dated men my whole life. I've never... I didn't know..."
"Some people figure it out later. That's not weird."
"It feels weird."
"Does it?" Hunter crossed his arms. "Or does it feel like everything finally makes sense?"
Jo couldn't answer that. Because the truth was, it did make sense.
All of it. The failed relationships with men, the numbness she'd mistaken for high standards, the Friday nights with Charlotte that had always been more than enough.
It made a terrible kind of sense, and underneath the relief was grief, sharp and sudden.
Grief for the years she'd spent not knowing.
For the version of herself who'd tried so hard to want the things she was supposed to want.
Looking at Charlotte since sophomore year without letting herself see what she'd been looking at all along.
"She broke up with the firefighter," Jo said quietly. "Charlotte. Last week."
"The one you hated?"
"I didn't hate her."
"You complained about her every day."
"I was... concerned. About Charlotte's well-being."
Hunter gave her a look.
"Okay, fine. Maybe I was jealous." Jo pressed her hands to her face. "I was so jealous I couldn't think straight. Which is ironic, considering."
"Have you told Charlotte? About the... revelation?"
"No. God, no." Jo's stomach lurched. "I can't tell Charlotte."
"Why not?"
"Because she's my best friend. Because she just got out of a relationship. Because I don't even know what I'm feeling, I just know it's..." She couldn't finish. Couldn't put words to the enormity of it.
"Jo." Hunter's voice was gentle. "You've been in love with her for years. Everyone knows."
"What?"
"It's not subtle, Jo. You light up when she texts. You look at her like she's the only person in any room you're ever in."
"I don't—"
"You do. We all see it. I figured you guys were just... private about it or something."
Jo laughed, but it came out broken. "We're not together. We've never been together. She's my best friend."
"And you're in love with her."
"Yes." The word felt like a confession. "I'm in love with her."
"So tell her."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because I'll lose her." Jo's voice cracked. "If I tell her and she doesn't feel the same—and why would she, I'm me and she's Charlotte—I lose everything. The friendship. The family dinners. The whole thing."
"Or," Hunter said slowly, "she feels the same way. And you've both been idiots since college."
Jo stared at him. "She doesn't feel the same way."
"How do you know?"
"I just—I know. She's never..."
"She's never what? Looked at you like you hung the moon? Organized her entire life around spending time with you? Stayed single for years while watching you fail at relationships with people who weren't her?"
Jo opened her mouth. Closed it.
"I'm just saying," Hunter continued. "Maybe you're not the only oblivious one here."
He left her to her thoughts.
That night, Jo went to Grandma Ruth's.
Not to the restaurant. To the apartment above it, where she'd grown up, where everything felt smaller and safer than the rest of the world.
Grandma was making tea when Jo arrived. Grandpa was in his chair with the newspaper. The apartment smelled like always: old books and cooking oil and lavender from the sachets Grandma kept in every drawer.
"You look terrible," Grandma said.
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"It's because it's true." She handed Jo a mug. "Sit. Talk to me."
Jo sat at the small kitchen table, cradling the mug like a lifeline.
"I'm in love with Charlotte," she said.
"I know, bubeleh."
"I mean—really in love with her. Not just..."
"I know." Grandma sat across from her. "I've known for years. We've all known."
"Then why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Some things you have to figure out for yourself." Grandma's eyes were soft. "You weren't ready to see it. Now you are."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"Tell her."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because she doesn't feel the same way."
Grandma made a sound. A skeptical, knowing sound.
"What?" Jo asked.
"That girl has been in love with you for years, Jo. The better part of a decade, if I had to guess."
Jo's whole body went cold. "What?"
"Charlotte. She's been mooning over you for years. She looks at you when you're not paying attention. Lights up every time you walk into a room. She's turned down every woman who asked her out because none of them were you."
"She dated Bianca."
"For five minutes. Because she was trying to move on." Grandma shook her head. "That girl has it bad, Jo. As bad as you do."
"That's not—you're making that up."
"I'm not making anything up. I have eyes." Grandma reached across the table, took Jo's hand. "You two have been dancing around each other for ten years. Everyone sees it. Everyone's been waiting for you to figure it out."
Jo's mind was reeling. Charlotte. In love with her. For years.
No. That wasn't right. Charlotte loved her the way best friends love each other. The Sunday dinners, the Friday nights, the way she always knew when Jo needed a bad movie and takeout instead of conversation. That was friendship. That was just Charlotte being Charlotte.
Except.
The way she looks at you when you're not paying attention.
She thought about Charlotte. About Charlotte's eyes tracking her across rooms. Charlotte smiling at her, the real smile, the one she didn't give to anyone else. Charlotte building her entire life around being close to Jo.
Oh god.
"She's never said anything," Jo whispered.
"Neither have you."
"But I didn't know..."
"Neither did she. That you'd feel the same." Grandma squeezed her hand. "She was protecting herself. Protecting the friendship. Same as you are now."
"But she—" Jo couldn't breathe. "She dated Bianca. She missed Sunday dinner for Bianca."
"And how did that feel?"
"Terrible."
"And why do you think she did it?"
"Because she liked Bianca?"
Grandma gave her a look. "Because she was trying to get over you, Jo. Because loving you was eating her alive, and she thought if she could just find someone else, maybe it would stop."
Jo's heart was pounding. Her whole understanding of the past decade was shifting, rearranging, becoming a new shape entirely.
Charlotte. In love with her. Holding it in for years. Watching Jo be oblivious and dense and incapable of seeing what was right in front of her.
"I've been such an idiot," Jo said.
"Yes."
"I've been hurting her. All this time. Without even knowing."
"Not on purpose," Grandma said softly. "But that girl has loved you quietly for a long time, bubeleh. Quiet love still costs something."
Jo stood. She didn't know what she was going to do, but she knew she couldn't sit here anymore. Couldn't stay in this small safe space when Charlotte was out there somewhere, probably thinking the worst.
"I have to go."
"Now?"
"Now. I have to... I need to..."
"Tell her."
"Yes." Jo grabbed her bag. "I have to tell her."
"Jo." Grandma caught her arm. "Be gentle. She's been carrying this for a long time. She'll be scared."
"I know."
"Don't mess it up."
"I'll try."
Grandma hugged her, tight and fierce, and then Jo was gone, out the door, down the stairs, into the night.
She was going to tell Charlotte.
She was going to tell Charlotte everything.
Except she couldn't do it over text. That was wrong. This needed to be in person, face to face, real.
But Charlotte was busy. Charlotte was working late on some project. Charlotte had been giving her space, because Jo had been pulling away, because Jo was an idiot who didn't deserve her.
Jo stood on the street outside her grandmother's building, the night air biting through her jacket, car horns and distant laughter drifting from the avenue. She tried to think.
She could go to Charlotte's apartment. Show up unannounced. Confess everything.
But what if Charlotte wasn't ready? What if she was tired, stressed, in the middle of work? What if Jo's confession made things worse instead of better?
You've been avoiding her for a week, she thought. You've been pulling away. She probably thinks you hate her.
Her phone buzzed.
Charlotte: Can we talk? Soon?
Jo stared at the message.
Jo: yes. definitely. when?
Charlotte: Tomorrow? Dinner?
Jo: i'll be there.
Charlotte: Thank you.
Thank you. Like Jo was doing her a favor by agreeing to see her. Like Charlotte thought she might say no.
Jo had done that. Had made Charlotte think their friendship was so fragile it might not survive a dinner.
I'm an idiot, she thought. A complete, total, oblivious idiot.
But tomorrow. Tomorrow she would fix this. Tomorrow she would tell Charlotte everything: the realization, the feelings, how she'd been stupid and blind and in love for years without knowing it.
Tomorrow would change everything.
For better or worse.