Chapter 5
When Riley eventually returns, Charlotte has turned into a master of silence. Apparently she’d done something wrong, if it even has pissed off Gabi on Riley’s behalf. Now is really not the time to get into it, so she sticks to herself for the time being.
Nearing the end of the workshop, Rita instructs them all to carve their initials on the bottom of their work, so they are identifiable when removed from the kiln.
She explains that the hardening process takes about a week and their finished projects can be retrieved next weekend; Riley offers to collect them.
Charlotte is really ready to check out, go home, and sulk, so she doesn’t actually know how or why she still ends up in a bar an hour later—in her dirty clothes, nonetheless.
It’s probably Gabi’s art of persuasion, or her growling stomach and lack of food in the fridge at home.
Most of Lou’s friends are there, and they order fries and snacks for the table.
If ignoring Riley was a sport, Charlotte would be an olympic medalist by now, even though she does a sublime job of still watching her every move from her peripherals. The other woman’s behavior is more annoying than ever today.
It confirms Charlotte’s earlier fears however: that Riley had in fact expected something else, something more, and that she hadn’t handled the rejection well.
As she’s very deliberately not watching her talk to one of Lou’s other friends, laughing and swapping drinks, she wonders if that’s where she went wrong.
Maybe she hasn’t been clear enough about being straight from the start.
Maybe she’d taken their mutual provocations too far and unintentionally convinced Riley that there could be something more to it.
She really hadn’t meant to lead her on, so she can vaguely understand why her poor communication would upset both Riley and Gabi.
As soon as she’s had enough food, she decides it’s better for her to just leave; they’ll pick this up another time.
She grabs the last couple of fries from the basket, shoves them into her mouth and gets up to fetch her bag, but before she can announce her exit she feels a warm hand on her elbow.
When her gaze drifts up to see who the hand belongs to, she’s surprised to see Lou.
“Hey, Charlotte?”
Charlotte covers her mouth with her hand and chews quickly. “Hmm?”
“I just want to say that… I’m sorry about how things are going between you and Riley.
You know, I—I don’t want to meddle, really, but I do feel a little guilty for, you know, forcing you to work together.
And I feel that way about both of you, not just Riley because she’s my friend.
Maybe we made a mistake? I don’t know. I thought… I just wanted you to know.”
Charlotte tilts her head. She doesn’t know how much of the story Riley has told Lou, which means this conversation is happening on enemy territory until proven otherwise.
“Thank you, Lou,” she says suspiciously, micro-analyzing Lou’s words at lightning speed. When she doesn’t say anything else, Lou takes a deep breath.
“It’s just hate to see Riley upset. And I don’t know what happened exactly, because she won’t tell me, but I… Damn, I feel kinda powerless. I wish I could do something, for either of you. I don’t want it to be like this, Charlotte. I really don’t.”
So that means Riley hasn’t elaborated. Would she have done that to protect herself? Or to protect Charlotte? Assuming Lou isn’t lying, that is.
Charlotte gets so caught up in her own distrust, it takes her a while to notice Lou is fighting back tears.
“Oh, oh shit, Lou.” She drops her bag on her chair and wraps her fingers around Lou’s forearms. “Honey, no, please.” Realizing what’s really going on here—no scheming, no twisting the knife, just Lou being the victim of her behavior—she feels a pang of guilt.
“Listen. I have been a huge dingbat, but that’s not on you, okay?” God, how many more people is she going to affect by not being clear enough?
“Riley and I, we just have… incompatible personalities.” And sexual preferences, but let’s not go there right now.
Lou gives her a dry chuckle. “Incompatible personalities? That’s a very political way of saying neither of you will ever miss an opportunity to tear the other into pieces.”
“Oh, well,” Charlotte shrugs one shoulder. “Semantics. But really, this is an issue Riley and I will solve between ourselves. I’m sorry it affected your day, I really am.”
She can tell there’s a lot more Lou wants to say, but she decides to leave it there for now and nods. “Thanks,” she smiles. “Please try not to kill each other before the wedding. Afterwards, you can knock yourselves out.”
Charlotte exhales sharply through her nose. “Oh don’t you worry, we will,” she says, even though she isn’t too sure both of them will still have a pulse by the time they arrive in Mexico.
She gives Lou another friendly squeeze, and feels her phone buzz in her pocket. It’s a text from an unknown number.
'Charlotte, weird question, are you at Morrison’s right now?'
She frowns as she tries to make out who the sender is, but she doesn’t recognize the number.
'Who is this?' she texts back.
Within ten seconds, she receives a picture.
It’s Charlotte herself, in her current outfit, looking down at her phone.
It must’ve been taken moments ago. Confused, and a little frightened, she looks up in the direction of where the photographer must’ve been standing.
She sees nobody she recognizes, until she hears a male voice: “Charlotte!”
“Oh my god, Martin?” she says incredulously, when she finally recognizes the tall, blonde man trying to get her attention. “Hey!”
Martin walks toward her and the two embrace each other. “How are you? It’s been, like what, ten years? Fifteen?!” he says, clearly excited to see her.
“What are you doing here? Are you back from Ontario?” Charlotte steps back to really take him in. He hasn’t changed much; he just looks like an older version of when she saw him for the last time, which must have been a pretty hot minute ago.
“Just for the week, yes. Wow, I can’t believe this! Come on, I’ll get you a drink,” he says, gesturing at the bar. “Or actually—we’ll do shots first, like old times. Tequila, yeah?”
He looks at her with a naughty spark in his eyes.
From the corner of her eye, she sees Riley has clocked their interaction, hiding her face in her drink a little too obviously.
Charlotte considers it for a second and then places her hand on Martin’s bicep, guiding him away from the group as fast as possible, out of sight.
She’s not gonna let this get out of hand again.
She finds them two empty bar stools and sighs nervously. “Maybe no tequila. But I’ll have a beer with you. What brings you to town?” She holds up two fingers to the bartender, who nods and turns to get them their drinks.
As her ex-boyfriend starts telling her about his recent divorce, she soon finds herself zoning out.
Her eyes gloss over the features in his face, features she was once so captivated by.
His bright eyes and his strong jaw, things that haunted her for a long time after Martin had moved to a different country.
Her eyes dart to his full lips and before she knows it, she tries to remember what it was like to kiss them.
Martin realizes what she’s staring at, and starts grinning.
“So, are you married?”
Charlotte wakes up from her attempted trip down memory lane with a jolt. “M—married? No, Martin, I’m not married. You know I wouldn’t.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No, no boyfriend.”
“So… you’re single then?”
“Excellent deduction skills. Very astute.”
Martin shakes his head, laughs, and lifts up his beer. “Here’s to you, not having changed one bit. Feisty thing you always were.”
Charlotte mimics him by raising her glass too and taking a sip. She knows what he’s doing, and truth be told: she considers giving in. It’s been a while.
“Well, it seems like the universe is trying to tell us something,” Martin poses, a slight blush creeping up his face. “Like I said, I’m only here for the week, so…”
For the second time in two minutes, Charlotte feels herself staring at his lips.
And while she vaguely tries to remember what they felt like, what he felt like, his body flush to hers, tangled up between the sheets…
she can’t quite reach it. It’s like the memory is there, but someone’s messed with it.
She remembers their kissing, vividly at first, but then she feels like a rock drops in her stomach and the whole thing just feels off.
What was it like? She grunts inwardly. Come on, what did you like about him? What drew you to him? What turned you on?
She knows; she remembers all the answers, but she just doesn’t feel it. And not just here and now, so many years later—but not even in retrospect. She realizes she’d always been able to describe her feelings, but never to actually feel them.
She has to. She has to know, she has to feel. And so she places her glass down on the bar, grabs his collar with both hands and roughly pulls him in for a kiss.
It feels awkward since they’re both sitting down, so with her lips still on his, she lets herself slide off her stool and takes a step forward, in between his legs.
His hands land on her waist and she puts her own hands on his shoulders—which feels kind of awkward too, so she drops them to his biceps.
But no, that’s kind of uncomfortable. Where the hell do her hands go?
As the kiss deepens, she can feel Martin smile into it.
She pulls back to look at him, to try and reciprocate what he’s pouring into it, and smashes their mouths together again.
This time, she licks his lips and slips her tongue inside, desperately exploring his mouth like her own on-button might be in there.