9
Charm
By the third day without Ryan, I had become very good at having conversations with him that said absolutely nothing.
He tried anyway, and that was the part making it unbearable.
His first message had arrived before seven the morning after our fight, while I was still lying in bed wearing the shirt I had changed into after leaving his apartment and pretending sleep had happened at some point.
Ryan: Leaving for Flint. Roads are clear.
I stared at the message long enough for my screen to go dark, then woke it again and read the same six words as though something different might be hiding beneath them the second time.
There wasn’t an accusation. He didn’t ask whether I regretted coming over or tell me I had been unfair.
He simply did exactly what he had promised he would do.
He told me where he was going instead of disappearing.
I finally typed back.
Charm: Drive safe.
Ryan answered almost immediately.
Ryan: You okay?
My fingers hovered over the screen before I forced them to move.
Charm: Yep. Just tired.
The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then returned.
Ryan: You’re terrible at lying before coffee.
Any other morning, I would have sent him a picture of whichever coffee I had chosen and argued that caffeine had no relationship to my honesty. Instead, I put the phone facedown on the nightstand.
A few minutes later, it vibrated again.
Ryan: I meant what I said about giving you room. I’m not going to force a conversation. Just don’t disappear on me.
That message stayed unanswered for almost an hour because I couldn’t figure out how to tell him I wasn’t disappearing from him as much as hiding from everything he had made me see about myself.
Eventually, I managed a response.
Charm: I won’t.
Technically, I kept that promise. I answered when he texted, reacted to the picture of Briggs asleep against a bus window with his mouth hanging open, and told Ryan Professor Brown had assigned Tennyson when he asked about class.
When he sent me a photograph of some disgusting team dinner and asked whether the vegetables qualified as vegetables, I told him they looked boiled to death.
Every answer was polite enough to keep him from accusing me of ignoring him and empty enough to make sure he couldn’t reach me through them.
Ryan knew what I was doing.
He always fucking knew.
That first night, his name appeared across my screen while I was sitting cross-legged on the couch with the Spanish notebook open beside me. I watched the phone ring until it stopped, refusing to answer because hearing his voice would break through every defense I had spent the day building.
Thirty seconds later, my phone lit again.
Ryan: Too soon?
I pressed my lips together.
Charm: Studying. Sorry.
His answer took longer than usual.
Ryan: Okay. Goodnight, mi hada.
I cried after reading it, then got angry at myself for crying. That eventually became anger at Ryan because blaming the man who had done nothing wrong was easier than sitting with the reason his restraint still hurt so much.
On the second day, he tried less, and that hurt worse.
There was a morning text, a sarcastic complaint about Mateo leaving wet towels on hotel furniture, and sometime after lunch, another message appeared.
Ryan: I miss talking to you.
I read it in Professor Brown’s hallway with students moving around me and had to lock my phone before my face gave me away.
I missed him too.
I missed him in every stupid place he had inserted himself over the summer.
I missed sending him whatever thought crossed my mind because he never acted like I was bothering him.
I missed knowing somebody wanted the complete version of my day instead of the polished highlights.
I missed him opening my refrigerator and insulting everything inside it, his books spread across my table, and the way his hand always seemed to find mine without either of us discussing it first.
The worst part was how much I missed myself around him.
Ryan made me forget to monitor Charmagne Harlen sometimes.
Around him, I laughed too loudly before remembering I was supposed to lower my voice.
I argued before checking whether my opinion sounded intelligent enough.
I ate tacos out of foil while sitting on a kitchen counter and wore his clothes without worrying about what they did to the shape of my body.
I told him when something pissed me off and occasionally managed to decide what I wanted before asking what everybody else thought.
Then Ryan had pointed all of that out during our fight, and I had spent three days trying to decide whether I hated him for seeing it or loved him because he had.
By Wednesday morning, I still hadn’t answered his message about missing me.
The apartment reflected exactly how well I was handling that decision.
Two coffee cups sat on the table because I had made one the previous morning, forgotten where I put it, and made another.
A throw blanket had fallen partly onto the floor.
Professor Brown’s reading sat open beside three fashion magazines, and Ryan’s Spanish notebook rested in the middle of everything with his handwriting visible across the page.
Te extrano.
I had learned that one well enough.
The knock at my door came a little after eleven. I assumed it was a delivery until I looked through the peephole and saw my mother.
Every thought in my head detonated at once.
“Shit.”
I looked down at myself and felt panic spread before I had even opened the door.
I was still wearing a silk robe over shorts and a tank because I hadn’t showered yet.
My hair was twisted into a messy bun, my face was bare, and the apartment suddenly looked less like the completely ordinary space I had been sitting inside all morning and more like evidence that I was incapable of managing adulthood.
Crystal knocked again.
“Charmagne?”
“Just a second!”
I grabbed the blanket first and folded it over the back of the couch before realizing one of the coffee cups had left a faint ring on the table.
I picked up both cups, carried them toward the kitchen, noticed the fashion magazines weren’t stacked evenly, and doubled back to straighten them before remembering my mother was still standing outside.
“Charm?”
“I’m coming!”
I shoved the mugs into the sink, wiped the table with the sleeve of my robe, and stopped in the center of the apartment because the Spanish notebook was still open.
Ryan’s name wasn’t written anywhere on the page, but it felt like evidence anyway.
I closed it, hated myself for doing that, and immediately opened it again.
My mother knocked a third time.
I dragged a hand over my hair, tightened the robe around my waist, and opened the door wearing the smile I had learned years ago to produce before I was ready.
“Mom.”
Crystal kissed my cheek as she came inside. “I was nearby and thought I would surprise you.”
“You definitely did.”
She smiled and walked farther into the apartment while I closed the door behind her. Her eyes moved around the room, and that was all it took for every explanation to start spilling from my mouth.
“I was studying late last night. Brown assigned a ridiculous amount this week, and I haven’t showered yet because I wanted to finish the reading first. I normally don’t leave coffee cups sitting out, and the blanket only fell because I was—”
“Charmagne.”
I stopped.
My mother looked confused. “You don’t need to explain your blanket.”
I stared at her while Crystal walked toward the couch and picked up one of the magazines.
“I thought perhaps we could have lunch. There’s a new place downtown I’ve been wanting to try, and your father has meetings all afternoon.”
She kept talking, but I barely heard her because I was looking around my apartment instead.
The blanket was folded. Two cups sat in the sink. Books covered the coffee table because I had been reading them.
Nothing was wrong.
My mother hadn’t complained. She hadn’t criticized my robe, the apartment, my hair, or the fact that I wasn’t prepared to receive an unexpected visitor at eleven in the morning.
I had performed the entire panic for her before she had the opportunity to say anything.
The understanding moved through me so sharply that my stomach turned.
Ryan’s voice returned with humiliating clarity.
You’re constantly watching everybody else for signs that you fucked something up.
I looked down at my robe and imagined what would have happened if Ryan had shown up without warning and found me exactly like this.
He would have taken one look at the robe and smiled. Then he would have walked straight across the apartment, put his hands around my waist, and kissed me before I could explain why my hair was a mess.
He wouldn’t have inspected the coffee table.
He probably would have added another mug to it.
The thought made my throat tighten.
My mother was saying something about reservations when I interrupted her.
“Mom, I forgot I have plans.”
Crystal stopped talking, and my heart seemed to stop with her.
I had interrupted my mother.
“Oh.” She glanced toward the clock. “Today?”
“Yes, today.”
“What plans?”
My brain immediately started building an acceptable answer. School sounded responsible. Aura or Bliss would sound social without being concerning. An appointment could end the conversation entirely.
Then I recognized myself doing it again.
I drew in a breath. “I need to see someone.”
My mother’s expression sharpened with interest. “Who?”
“Someone important to me.”
The words scared me, but I said them anyway.
Crystal studied my face for a moment before looking toward my robe. “Can it wait until after lunch? You aren’t dressed yet.”
“No, it can’t.”
The answer terrified me even more than interrupting her had.
She blinked. “No?”
“I’m sorry you drove over, but I really do need to go.”
A faint line appeared between her brows. “Charmagne, I thought we could spend the afternoon together.”
“I know you did.”
“And whatever this is came up suddenly?”