CHARLOTTE
She'd tried. Had gone through all the rituals: warm milk, chamomile tea, no screens after nine. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Jo's face. Jo pulling away. Jo making excuses. Jo's texts becoming shorter and sparser until they felt like messages from a stranger.
This was what it looked like when everything fell apart.
Jo's text sat on her phone. Tomorrow. Dinner.
It felt like a firing squad. Like the end of everything, scheduled for seven o'clock.
Charlotte knew what was coming. Jo would be kind about it, because Jo was always kind, but the message would be clear. I know how you feel. I don't feel the same. I think we need some space.
The friendship would survive, maybe. In some diminished form. Polite texts on birthdays. Occasional awkward brunches. The slow drift into acquaintanceship that Charlotte had watched happen to so many other people.
But the closeness would be gone. The Friday nights, the Sunday dinners, the way Jo called her Lottie like it was a private language only they spoke.
Charlotte would lose everything.
She was at her desk when her phone buzzed. Not Jo. Bianca.
Bianca: Hey. Heard through the grapevine that Jo's been acting weird. You okay?
Charlotte stared at the message. She hadn't talked to Bianca since the breakup. Had assumed that was the end of it.
Charlotte: Who told you?
Bianca: Sara. She ran into Jo's grandmother at the bodega. Apparently Jo's been "moping around like a kicked puppy." Direct quote.
Charlotte's chest ached. Jo, moping. Probably because of her.
Charlotte: She's been pulling away. I think she figured out how I feel.
Bianca: And?
Charlotte: And she's trying to figure out how to let me down easy.
Bianca: OR she's freaking out because she feels the same way.
Charlotte: She doesn't feel the same way.
Bianca: How do you know?
The same question everyone kept asking. Charlotte didn't have a good answer. She just knew. Had known for years. Jo was straight. Jo dated men. Jo saw Charlotte as a friend, nothing more.
Except Jo had never looked at any man like she looked at Charlotte. Had never lit up for anyone else, never felt that kick of joy when someone walked into a room. Had been viscerally jealous when Charlotte dated Bianca.
What if?
Charlotte shook her head. She couldn't let herself hope. Hope was dangerous. Hope was how you got hurt.
Charlotte: I know her.
Bianca: Maybe you don't know this part.
Bianca: Talk to her. Actually talk. Not whatever you're doing where you both dance around the obvious.
Charlotte: I'm seeing her tomorrow.
Bianca: Good. Be brave.
Easy for Bianca to say. Bianca wasn't the one who'd spent almost a decade holding a torch that was burning her down to ash.
But Bianca wasn't wrong either.
Charlotte put down her phone. Stared at the blueprint she'd been ignoring. Made a decision.
Tomorrow, she would tell Jo. Everything. Even if Jo already knew. Even if Jo was planning to end their friendship. Charlotte was done being careful.
It was enough. Either way, she needed to know.
She couldn't focus on work. Couldn't eat. Couldn't do anything but count the hours until dinner.
At five o'clock, she gave up pretending and went home. Showered. Changed three times, trying to find an outfit appropriate for "I'm about to confess years of unrequited love and probably lose my best friend."
She settled on black. Simple. Armor.
Her phone buzzed at six-thirty.
Jo: still on for dinner?
Charlotte: Yes.
Jo: your place? i can bring food
Charlotte: That works.
Jo: 7?
Charlotte: See you then.
She put down the phone. Her hands were shaking.
This is it, she thought. This is how it ends.
She rehearsed what she'd say. Jo, I need to talk to you. I know things have been weird, and I think I know why, and I need you to hear me out.
Too formal. Like a performance review.
I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you since college.
Too blunt. No runway. No context for the wreckage.
Remember when you fell asleep on my shoulder sophomore year? You woke up and you didn't move away. That's when I knew.
Too much. She couldn't lead with the most tender memory she had and then watch Jo's face turn to pity.
She paced. Kitchen to living room, living room to kitchen.
The candle she'd lit and blown out left a ghost of vanilla and wax in the air, faintly chemical underneath.
Outside, a siren dopplered past, and someone on the street below laughed, loud and careless, and Charlotte's life was about to change forever and the city didn't care.
She checked the clock. Six-fifty.
Her reflection caught her eye in the dark window. Black clothes, pale face, hollow eyes. She looked like someone standing on a ledge.
Bianca said be brave. So be brave.
Six fifty-three. Seven more minutes. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and counted her breaths.
The buzzer rang at exactly seven. Jo was never exactly on time. She was always early or late, never right when she said she'd be.
Charlotte buzzed her up. Stood in her apartment. Waited.
The knock came. Charlotte opened the door.
Jo stood in the hallway, holding a bag of takeout. She looked terrible: dark circles under her eyes, hair messier than usual, the kind of wrecked that came from not sleeping. The smell of rain clung to her jacket. Her sneakers were wet.
"Hi," Jo said. Her voice was small.
"Hi."
They stared at each other. The hallway light buzzed overhead, fluorescent and harsh, and Jo looked young and scared in it.
"Can I..." Jo gestured toward the apartment. "Should I come in?"
"Yes. Sorry." Charlotte stepped back. Her fingers were numb around the doorknob. "Come in."
Jo brushed past her, close enough that Charlotte caught the coconut of her shampoo underneath the rain. She set the food on the counter. Charlotte closed the door and pressed her back against it, just for a second, just to lean against it.
The apartment was too small. The air was too thick.
"Jo," Charlotte said.
"I need to talk to you," Jo said at the same time.
They both stopped. The refrigerator hummed. Rain tapped against the window behind the sink.
"You first," Charlotte said.
"No, you—"
"Jo."
"Charlotte."
They were standing too far apart. The length of the kitchen island between them, takeout bag sweating onto the marble, the smell of Thai basil sharp in the too-warm air.
"I can't do this," Charlotte said. The words scraped out of her. "The past week. The distance. You pulling away. I can't..."
"I'm sorry. I know I've been..."
"If you don't want to be around me anymore, just say it." Her voice cracked. "Just tell me. I'd rather know than this. This slow death of everything we've built."
"What? Charlotte, no—"
"I see how you've been looking at me. Like you're afraid of something. Like you figured it out and you don't know how to tell me." Tears burned behind her eyes. "I know, okay? I know I've been... that things have been..."
She stopped. Pressed her palms flat on the counter. The marble was cold against her skin, solid and real, and she held onto it because the floor was moving under her.
All those years. All those years of careful. All those years of swallowing every truth that mattered.
Bianca's voice in her head: Be brave.
Charlotte looked at Jo. At the dark circles under her eyes, the way her fingers were white-knuckled around the edge of the counter. At the person she'd loved for years, standing in her kitchen, looking as wrecked as Charlotte was.
If this was the end, Charlotte was going to end it with the truth.
"I'm in love with you," Charlotte said.
The words left her body with the force of a held breath. Her knees went liquid. Every sound in the apartment dropped away except her own pulse slamming in her ears.
Jo didn't move. Didn't breathe.
"I've been in love with you for years. I don't know exactly when it started.
I just know when I stopped being able to pretend it was only friendship.
" Now that she'd started, she couldn't stop.
Her hands shook against the counter. "I never said anything because I was terrified of losing you.
Because your family is my family, and if you didn't feel the same... "
"Charlotte—"
"I know you don't. I know." Her voice broke.
"I've known that for years and I've carried it anyway, and I would have kept carrying it forever if you'd just let things stay the way they were.
But you're pulling away and I'm losing you anyway, so you might as well know. You might as well know everything."
The kitchen was silent except for the rain.
Jo was staring at her. Mouth open. Eyes wide. Tears tracking down her cheeks.
Charlotte gripped the counter tighter. Her ribs ached from how hard her heart was hammering. She braced for the gentle words that would end her. I care about you so much. You're my best friend. I just don't feel that way.
"Charlotte." Jo's voice was barely audible. "Charlotte, stop."
Here it came. The kindness. The careful letdown.
"I've been pulling away," Jo said, "because I realized I'm in love with you too."
Charlotte's legs buckled.
Not a figure of speech. Her knees gave and she grabbed the counter edge, catching herself, the marble biting into her palms. The room had gone very bright and very quiet.
"What?" The word came out airless.
"I'm in love with you." Jo laughed, and it was wet, wrecked, almost hysterical. "I've been in love with you for years. I just didn't know. I was so oblivious, Charlotte. I didn't see it. I didn't understand why I felt the way I felt."
"You're..." Charlotte couldn't finish.
"And then you started dating Bianca and I was jealous. The kind of jealous that made me sick. And I finally understood."
Charlotte was shaking. Head to toe, full-body tremors she couldn't control. "You're in love with me."
"Yes."
"You."
"Yes."
"With me."
Jo crossed the room. Three steps and her hands were on Charlotte's face, fingers trembling against her jaw, thumbs brushing away tears Charlotte hadn't known were falling.
"Grandma told me," Jo said softly. "That you've been... that you feel..." Her eyes were bright, overflowing. "She said you've loved me for years. I didn't believe her. I couldn't believe anyone could love me that long and I never saw it."
Something in Charlotte finally gave. Years of bracing for this conversation, and Jo was touching her face like the answer had been yes all along.
"Since the night you fell asleep on my shoulder in the library," Charlotte whispered. "Since you woke up and smiled at me and I thought, oh. There you are."
Jo made a sound. Half-laugh, half-sob.
"I'm sorry," Jo said. "I'm sorry I didn't see it. I'm sorry I made you wait. I'm sorry I was so..."
"You weren't blind. You just weren't ready."
"I'm ready now." Jo's thumbs traced her cheekbones, slow and reverent. "I love you. I love you, and I'm sorry it took me so long to say it."
Charlotte stared at her. At Jo. At the person she'd loved through most of her adult life, standing in her kitchen, crying, saying the words Charlotte had given up ever hearing.
"Say it again," Charlotte whispered.
"I love you."
"Again."
"I love you, Lottie."
Charlotte kissed her.