Seat Mates

Chapter 14

My mom and I return to the hotel in time to change for cocktails. The out-of-town guests have begun arriving, and in the lobby friends and family greet one another with hugs and back slaps and handshakes. My mom dazzles in the center of a group congratulating her and is busy air-kissing friends. I sneak past unnoticed.

When I get to my floor, I beeline it for Charlie’s room and knock. I’m starting to get nervous about this charade we’ve planned, but after seeing everyone downstairs I’m more grateful than ever. Facing that crowd with someone next to me will make everything so much easier. I hope.

Charlie swings the door open and smiles when he sees it’s me. I ignore the little swoop in my stomach at the sight of him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until later,” he says. “What’s up?”

“We need to get our story straight,” I say, like we’re on the lam, running from the cops. “My mom interrogated me about our relationship at lunch, and I need to fill you in.”

“Sure. Come on in.”

He steps to the side, and I walk into a hotel room that is identical to mine, except for the fact that it looks almost unused.

He watches me as I look around myself. “Yes, Daisy. This is how people without mental health problems live in hotel rooms. Notice that you are able to walk freely across this room without fear of getting a pair of underwear wrapped around your ankle.”

“Hilarious.” I roll my eyes at him.

The bed is made, and his clothes and suitcase must be tucked neatly away, because the only personal belongings I see are his laptop and some papers spread out on the desk. On his nightstand is a half-full water glass, a prescription pill bottle, and a pair of folded eyeglasses.

He grins back at me as his eyes glimmer.

“You wear contacts?” I ask and then feel a little bit embarrassed. It’s very strange standing in the personal space of someone you hardly know. Seeing little glimpses of their private life. Things you don’t ordinarily learn until later. I feel like I’m snooping through his medicine cabinet.

“I’m afraid so,” he says. “These eyes just couldn’t handle law school.”

“I don’t blame them.”

A smile slides across his mouth. “I can’t say that I do, either.”

He leads me to the foot end of the bed where he sits and turns to face me. I’m sitting on a bed with Charlie. And he’s about to be my pretend date. Okay. This isn’t weird. And I don’t want to fall back into the bed with him. Not at all.

“Alright, so, game plan,” I say like a sports coach. “We met on an airplane.”

“A little on the nose there, Daisy. Did you tell her about calling me Beamer, too?

“No, I failed to mention that part.” I laugh. “But she knows you’re a lawyer, and that you’re from Denver.”

“Okay.” He nods along.

“We’ve been dating for six weeks.”

“Alright,” he says. “But you should know, eight weeks is my upper limit. I’m afraid of commitment. What else?”

“Nothing else, but I thought we should probably come up with some stuff so that if people ask us, we have the same answers. And… I should probably know a little bit about you.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” His face is totally relaxed, like this is completely normal.

“So,” I say like I'm interviewing him for a job, “tell me about yourself.”

He laughs. “There’s not much to tell. I’m a lawyer, which you already know. I grew up in Denver with my dad. I have a kid sister named Susan who raises cocker spaniels and has two daughters, Lucy and Ava.”

“Is she in Denver too?”

“Nope, she lives in San Francisco with her husband. He works in tech.”

“Okay. That's good for me to know. And Mom will approve of tech.”

He quirks a brow curiously at that remark, but lets it pass.

“What else?” He rubs his chin, thinking.

“What’s your favorite food? Your favorite color?” I ask.

“You think people are going to ask you what my favorite color is?” He looks at me skeptically.

“Okay, just food then.”

“Well, this is a pretty big question, Daisy. I’m not sure I can boil it down to just one thing.”

“You don’t have a favorite food?” I ask in disbelief. “My favorite food is easy: chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.”

“Well, isn’t that just adorable,” he says and boops my nose. My eyes cross where his finger landed. “You have the palate of a child.”

I roll my eyes although I’m smiling. “Do you at least have a favorite food genre ?”

He thinks for a minute. “French.”

“French?”

‘What’s wrong with French food?”

“There’s nothing wrong with French food, but… it’s just, like, the basis for all other Western food. You might as well say, ‘I like food.’”

“The Italians would take exception to that statement,” he says sagely.

“You don’t have like, something you ate as a kid a lot? Or like, something weird that you like to eat?”

“I like mustard on steak,” he offers.

“You’re a monster,” I say plainly.

“It’s good!” he protests through laughter as he rocks back. “No one ever believes me!” He shakes a fist at the heavens.

I cross my arms over my chest. “I absolutely do not believe you. Plus, not only do you eat innocent animals, but you put mustard on them.” I shake my head. “It’s a double insult.”

He’s laughing helplessly. “I guess it’s good that I already know you’re a vegetarian. And that you like ice cream.”

We swap notes—he went to college at the University of Colorado, Boulder. Same as me, but he was three years ahead, which means he’s twenty-nine. His dad has arthritis, and he visits his sister whenever he can, because it’s hard for her to travel with young girls. His favorite movie is Animal House , and he loves watching vintage episodes of Saturday Night Live .

I tell him about moving all over the country, that New York was always my favorite because it’s such a transient city that I felt like I belonged there. I talk about Cara and how she’s the one who chose me for friendship. It was like she singled me out and decided that we were going to be friends, and then we were. And the fact that she’s been such a support throughout the various stages of my life falling apart.

“Do you think anyone is going to bring up the…” He doesn’t finish the sentence.

“No, I highly doubt it. I’m sure everyone knows, but I can’t imagine anyone bringing it up.”

He nods. “Okay. But if they do, should I…?”

“Feign ignorance,” I say. “Make for an exit. Pretend I haven’t told you.”

He looks at me. “You did tell me.”

I pause for a minute. “I did. But that doesn’t count. I don’t know you. You’re like, just my vacation buddy.”

“You know I like mustard steak.”

“I do know that.” I start laughing again, “And I really wish I didn’t.”

“So, what’s a vacation buddy, anyway?”

I look at him, “You know what a vacation buddy is. It’s someone you make friends with on vacation, and then when vacation is over,” I shrug, “You Facebook-request them and you just sort of move on with your life, you know?”

He stills and looks at me. “Is that what you plan to do, Daisy? Are you going to Facebook-friend-request me?” He looks vaguely insulted. Like I just gave him a fake number.

I should probably tell him that I can’t find him on Facebook, but he really doesn’t need to know that I already tried to spy on his life.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I just assumed because…”

Why did I actually assume that we would disappear from each other’s lives back in Denver? We’ve been having fun. He took me out to meet his friend and made sure I got home safely. Surely he’s a friend worth hanging on to?

“Do you mean you want to be real friends?” I ask.

He lifts a shoulder. “I sort of thought that we might be real friends, yeah.”

He’s looking right into my eyes. They’re browner now, in the shadowy blue light of the room, soft and deep. My heart rate kicks up a notch in response. “Okay. Well, then, we’re friends,” I say and give him a little smile.

The corners of his mouth lift. “Good. I like making new friends.”

We look at each other in silence for a minute. I take a deep breath as a tingle runs up my spine at those words. Every interaction with him starts out easy and then begins to feel heavy, and my body won’t seem to stop reacting.

“Okay,” I say finally. “Well, I’m going to go get dressed.”

He checks his expensive watch. “There’s still an hour and a half before we need to be downstairs,” he says, confused.

“Ah shit, I’m running late,” I say and head for the door to the sound of him chuckling.

___________

When I get dressed this evening, I’m much calmer than I was yesterday, with the knowledge that I don’t have to do this alone tonight. Everyone is going to be looking at me, and I can only imagine what they’ll be thinking, about me, about Rob, about our parents. But I’ll have Charlie there, and I know beyond doubt that he will be in my corner, and if I need to escape, he’ll be there too.

I shower, wash, and condition my hair. I shave every inch of my body and exfoliate, and then moisturize. I blow dry my hair and then curl it so that it falls in loose waves around my face. I spend at least half an hour on my makeup, dabbing concealer and creating a smoky look that Cara agreed make my eyes look sexy and feline. Finally, I put on the underwear I bought for this evening. It doesn’t make sense to have bought special underwear, but I need every ounce of confidence I can get and wearing something expensive and sexy under my clothes won’t hurt. Then, I pull a deep red silk cocktail dress out of my closet (one of the items I carefully hung, as opposed to most of my other clothes) and step into it. It was selected for this evening because of its sophistication, but it wasn’t an option for the wedding, because there’s no way I could dance in it.

It’s narrow and cut just below my knees and has a slit up the side to give it a little oomph, and it has slender spaghetti straps that crisscross at the back. It’s undeniably sexy, and I hope I pull it off. I pair it with a pair of black stilettos and gold earrings, and I’m ready with five minutes to spare.

I can’t sit down, or the dress will crease, so I stand in the center of my room, clutching my little black bag in one hand, and wait. Charlie is due to be here any minute. I strain my ears to listen for any sounds coming from his side of the wall, but it’s silent. A group of people walk past in the hallway and their voices echo as laughter bounces from the walls. My nerves have been steadily increasing as I’ve gone through the process of getting myself ready. I feel like I’m about to walk into a court room as a defendant. My palms sweat, and I wipe them on the duvet cover of my bed. My speech for tonight is folded up on a piece of paper tucked into my bag, and I rehearse it in my head, over and over again, as my heart begins pounding. Then, after what feels like a lifetime, there’s a soft knock on the door. I walk across the room and open it.

Charlie is standing in the hallway waiting for me, wearing a sleek navy suit that’s cut so well I think it has to be custom. His shoulders are broad, his waist tapered. His legs are long and lean, except for, I can’t help but notice, very well-toned thighs.

“Hi.” I smile at him. “Thanks again for doing this.”

Charlie’s smile falls a little when he sees me, and I panic. The dress is awful. The makeup is wrong. I look like a hooker. He stares at me like he just got a piece of bad news. His eyes are dark and fixed on my face, then they sweep my body, and goosebumps rise everywhere they fall. The knot of his Adam's apple bobs up and down with a swallow. He gives his head a little shake, and his mouth turns into an easy lopsided grin.

“Wow, Daisy. You really are one. Hot. Bitch.”

“Oh my God, you heard that?” My whole body turns red with mortification. I bring my hands up to hide behind them, and then stop myself to save my makeup.

“Daisy, I think the President probably heard you all the way from the White House,” he says lightly and then laughs at my horrified expression.

“Why didn’t you tell me you heard?” I nearly gasp.

“I didn’t want to embarrass you,” he says, leaning against my door frame.

“But you wanted to embarrass me now?” In my head, I curse Cara for her relentless supportiveness.

He laughs easily, that damn dimple appearing on his right cheek. “Don’t worry, Mini. It was adorable listening to you hype yourself up. You ready to go?”

I nod and step forward, letting the door click shut behind me.

Charlie leads me down the hallway, his hand on my lower back in that way of his, and as we ride the elevator down, he sees my hands tremble.

“Deep breaths, Mini. You got this,” he says, looking at me seriously, “I’m going to be right here the whole time, okay? And if you need to get out just say something weird. Like, say banana.”

“Banana?” I give him a sideways look.

“Yeah, like a code word. If you say banana, I know we need to get you out of there.”

I grin at him, getting into the idea, “Okay. Banana it is.”

We step out of the elevators and walk across the lobby to the hotel bar, which has been closed for tonight. Corded off with a red velvet rope and a sign that tells us there is a private event in progress. A man in a hotel uniform checks our names against a list, like there’s a risk that people might try to crash this thing.

This is a society wedding. It’s not going to be a small and cozy affair. The space is already crowded with guests. I recognize Rob’s aunts and uncles catching up while holding drinks, and people I’ve never seen before stand in tight circles talking and laughing. There must be at least fifty people here already, maybe more. If this is the rehearsal dinner, what will the wedding be like?

A woman with a champagne-colored lace dress and matching heels tilts her head together with a woman in black as they share a joke. Their jewels glimmer in the soft light. Everyone has a cocktail glass in hand, and servers mill about carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres. Charlie grabs a piece of shrimp toast and pops it into his mouth, flashing me a grin. He’s so relaxed in nearly every situation, it seems. The only time I’ve seen him be really serious is when he’s looking at his work.

As we move through the room, his hand doesn’t leave my back, and it’s a warm, comforting presence that keeps my legs from falling out from under me. We order drinks—champagne for me, a martini straight up for him, and stand facing each other.

“I don’t know what to say to anyone,” I whisper.

He dips his head towards mine. “Well, then, it’s good you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he whispers back with a raised eyebrow. His breath is minty and clean, with just a hint of the alcohol from his drink.

“You really do look beautiful, Daisy. I’m sorry I didn’t say so earlier. I shouldn’t have joked with you then.”

My eyes raise to his, locking in place. “I do?”

“Stunning,” he says, and my heart leaps up into my throat while my stomach feels like I’m on a rollercoaster.

Right then, Rob and Gabby walk into the room. Gabby is elegant in a robin’s-egg blue cocktail dress that matches Rob’s tie. The color suits her blond hair and brings out her tan. Rob’s eyes meet mine, and then widen a bit at Charlie by my side. They dart away as Gabby says something and he nods at her, and they go to the bar.

“Daisy.” Rob’s uncle from Connecticut approaches. He’s a big-time hedge fund manager who commutes into the city every day. His hair has thinned out more since the last time I saw him, and he’s a bit thicker around the middle. His black suit jacket is open, and he’s holding a glass of dark liquor with an ice cube floating in it. “It’s been a while.” He takes my hand and, to my dismay, leans over and kisses it. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

“Hi, Uncle Jack,” I say, and then feel awkward, because Uncle Jack is what he told me to call him when Rob and I were still a couple and I’m not sure that I’m really entitled to that name anymore. And I have no idea how Jack feels about my mom, and the relationship between his brother and my mom, but he’s here, so he must be supportive of his brother, at least.

That’s why Rob is here, I’m certain. Rob is here to support his father. He hates what happened, maybe even more than me. He grew up in a home with two loving parents who doted on one another, and when the affair happened and then the divorce, he was utterly devastated. Gutted. The rug was pulled out from under him. This was something he’d never experienced before, whereas I was raised getting used to moving from one thing to the next, both figuratively and literally. It came as a shock to me, but I was brought up handling shocks, sudden departures, disruptions. Before he finally broke things off between us, he’d told me that it felt like he’d lost his whole childhood. That everything had been a lie. But Rob is nothing if not loyal to his family, and he and his dad were close. Eventually, I suppose, he found a way to move forward with him, just like I did with my mom.

“Who’s your friend?” Uncle Jack’s eyes shift to Charlie next to me.

“Charles Bond.” Charlie proffers his hand, and the two men give a firm shake. “Daisy’s boyfriend.”

Boyfriend? We hadn't actually agreed on that particular title. I thought we were just going with “date.”

Then, Charlie wraps his arm around me and gives my shoulder a squeeze, pulling me into him so that my shoulder is tucked snugly under his. From the corner of my eye, I see Rob look our way, his eyebrows dipped together curiously. Smug satisfaction sparks through me at that look, and I place my hand on Charlie’s chest in intimate affection.

“Charlie works in contract law,” I say. “He’s in and out of DC a lot.” It comes out rather more proudly than I expected, but why not? Charlie is obviously successful, and he’s handsome as the devil himself. Why not indulge in feeling proud to have him by my side tonight, even if it’s just for show?

Mom and Michael come in, and everyone turns to them in greeting. The happy couple smiles and hold hands, and then Michael takes her by the waist and tilts her backwards and dips her into a kiss, and the room breaks into a round of applause. Someone wolf-whistles from the back corner. My mother is flushed, and her eyes are bright. She’s stunning in a floor-length ivory slip dress that hugs her body and displays her Pilates-toned figure to its greatest advantage.

Charlie shifts so that he stands behind me and brushes his fingers up my arms with a little nudge so that I’m tipped back against him. The top of my head is at his cheekbone. The heat of his chest, firm and broad, sinks into my body. “You okay?” he asks softly into my ear and his breath skates along the side of my neck. My own breath comes with a shudder, and my thighs squeeze together at the pleasure of his closeness. My mom and Michael and this whole uncomfortable evening seem to vanish for just a moment. My awareness narrows, my vision clouds, until all I feel, all I can think about is Charlie holding me by my arms, his finger brushing up and down in delicate strokes, his steady, strong body behind mine. Static fills my ears as his smell envelops me—the blend of warm spices and soap.

I nod my head, though the pleasure coursing through me has made me limp and rubbery all over, and I worry the nod might be more of a bobble. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I reply.

We mill about, making small talk as relations approach and congratulate me—as if the truth of what has happened isn’t known by everyone in the room—and strangers introduce themselves and ask the same questions over and over again: what do you do for a living? How do you like Denver? Aren’t you just so thrilled for your mom?

The last question hits like a barb each time it comes. As though they aren’t perfectly aware of how my mother met Michael. Perhaps some of them aren’t, but gossip like this rarely stays put for long, and I would be shocked if there wasn’t a buzz of it floating around right now, discreetly shared behind hands and cocktail napkins.

Throughout the evening, Charlie never stops touching me. He keeps his hand around my shoulder, he brushes my back with light fingertips, he slides his fingers down to lace with mine. He’s the picture of well-mannered congeniality, happily introducing himself, making people laugh with his charming demeanor. At one point, while talking to a woman named Carol who is leaning into him and touching his arm, he traces the length of my spine, down to the place where my dress meets my lower back, causing me to shiver so hard I’m sure he notices, and Carol looks at me with envy written all over her face.

Eventually, as my mom circulates with Michael, greeting and thanking guests, she makes her way over to Charlie and me, holding a half-finished glass of wine in her left hand. Her engagement ring is displayed to full sparkling effect.

“You must be Charlie,” she says with a charming smile. “Daisy has told me so much about you. I’m thrilled to finally be meeting you.”

I’ve told her exactly three things about Charlie, but my mom knows what she’s doing at a party. She’s an expert in the art of both flattery and small talk.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Ms. Thomas,” Charlie says politely. “And congratulations. I know Daisy is just thrilled for you both.”

“Is that right? Oh, I’m so glad to hear that.” A surprising flicker of relief passes through her eyes. As though she doubted what I might have told Charlie about her.

“Michael,” Michael says somewhat gruffly. I wonder if seeing me next to someone besides his son is strange for him. If he feels any remorse for how things unfolded after his affair with my mother came to light. I’ve only spoken to my mom about it, and even then, it was very broad strokes. It was clear that Rob and I weren’t going to stand in the way of her happiness, and she’d been convinced that it didn’t need to stand in the way of Rob and me either.

“So, Daisy tells me you’re an attorney,” Mom says.

“That’s right. Contract law. Very boring.” Charlie nods.

“Well, the world needs lawyers,” Michael says.

“Very true,” Mom says. “And it’s a great profession. Very cerebral. I can’t imagine that I’d ever understand all those complicated documents.” She titters sweetly.

“I’m sure you’d do just fine, Ms. Thomas. They put you through the wringer in law school, but after that it turns into routine.”

“Oh, I can’t imagine that being the case. I’m sure you find your work fascinating.”

“It has its moments,” Charlie concedes. “What do you do for a living, Michael?”

“Michael is chief surgeon at the Potomac Center for Oncology,” Mom says proudly. “He’s very in demand.”

Michael swallows uncomfortably and adjusts his tie. “Oncology surgeons tend to be in demand, unfortunately.”

“Oh.” Mom swats his arm playfully. “Well, of course they are, and it’s very sad, but Michael is the best. There’s even a waiting list . ”

“Your patients must be very grateful,” Charlie answers.

Finally, after my second glass of champagne, the cocktail portion of the evening winds down, and we are ushered into a fleet of sleek limousines that will whisk us downtown. Charlie and I slide in along the black leather seats, smooth on the backs of my legs, opposite an older couple with coordinated outfits and matching white hair.

“Walter.” The man nods at us by way of greeting. He has an enormous, full mustache over his upper lip.

“And I’m Peg.” The woman holds her hand out, palm down, like she’s expecting me to bring my lips to it, and I take it awkwardly and sort of bob it up and down in a limp handshake.

“Classy event. Really classy,” Walter keeps repeating. “I mean, this is class. The way it’s supposed to be done.”

Peg nods along with Walter. “What a gorgeous night. And Diane looks so stunning in that dress. I can’t wait to see what she wears tomorrow. And the flowers! I’m sure the flowers are going to be spectacular.”

“It’s gonna be a doozy,” Walter says, like he’s talking about an incoming hurricane. “Nothing like what kids are doing nowadays, with all those things in tents and cottages. Do you remember Katherine’s wedding, Peg?”

“Oh, how could I forget?” Peg exclaims.

“I was slopping around in mud up to my ankles. A bunch of hippie nonsense, if you ask me.” Walter turns to us. “Katherine’s our niece. She married a forest ranger. Can you believe it? Making a living wandering around the forest? No career for a man.”

Charlie and I both stare at them as they go on like this, and then Charlie turns to me and widens his eyes in quiet acknowledgement that we are both thinking about what an asshole Walter is.

“So, how do the two of you know Mike and Diane?” Peg asks us, as Walter mutters on under his breath about all the class.

“I’m Diane’s daughter, Daisy.”

Walter’s eyes cut to mine. “You’re Diane’s daughter?”

“I am.” I shift uncomfortably on the leather seat.

“Well,” Peg says on a breath. “Congratulations, Daisy. Your mother is a lovely woman.”

I smile at her.

“I’m Charles,” Charlie offers, “Daisy’s boyfriend.”

Walter shakes his hand across the expanse of the limo. “Good to meet you, Charles.”

“Likewise,” Charlie says.

“So, Daisy,” Peg says, “Diane has mentioned that you live out in Colorado. What do you do there?”

I take a breath, and there’s a moment’s hesitation as I consider lying. There’s no way Walter and Peg will be impressed by my choice of career. “I work for a non-profit dedicated to wildlife conservation.”

Walter frowns.

“Well, isn’t that just lovely,” Peg says politely. “Isn’t that lovely, Walter?”

“A job like that must not pay well,” he says through the frown.

“I do alright,” I say, not that it’s any of his business.

“And what do you do, Charles?” Walter looks to Charlie, like he’s waiting for him to reassure us all that he’s going to be the breadwinner.

“I’m a yoga instructor,” Charlie says happily.

My head swivels as I stare at him in astonishment. His eyes have that sparkling sheen they get when he’s about to really mess with someone. The same look he had on the airplane with me.

“Really?” Peg’s eyes widen with fascination, and Walter’s frown deepens. With his great big mustache, his face is beginning to look startlingly like a walrus. The effect is somewhat disconcerting.

“Oh yeah, I love it!” Charlie nods enthusiastically. “I started off in law school—my father wanted me to be a corporate attorney. You know how fathers are.” He laughs. “But I took my first yoga class, and I tell you, it changed. My. Life. I actually felt my third eye open. ”

Charlie makes a motion with his hand to demonstrate how an eye opens.

“Third eye,” Walter says flatly.

“I do some yoga at a studio in the city,” Peg says. “It’s great for flexibility.”

“You’re telling me!” Charlie quips. “So, anyway, after my third eye opened, I started meditating and found a guru who helped me balance my chakra, and I just knew that this was my calling. So I dropped out of law school. I was so close too. In my third year. Top of my class. But when the universe calls, you just can’t ignore it, you know?”

I’m gripping my handbag and struggling not to laugh, and Walter is now rubbing at the corner of his mouth in agitation. “Your father couldn’t have been too pleased about that.”

“Oh no! It turns out, my dad loves it. You should see his downward dog! He can get his legs behind his head!”

“He can?” Peg says, leaning forward in interest.

“He’s very advanced,” Charlie says.

“Is that how the two of you met? Was Daisy in your yoga class?” Peg asks.

“Oh no. Although Daisy is very flexible too,” He gives Peg a wink, and she blushes. “No, I actually went on an ayahuasca retreat—”

“What is that?” Peg interjects, rapt.

“It’s a sort of hallucinogenic tea,” Charlie answers smoothly. “Very good for the spirit.”

“Drugs,” Walter grunts.

Charlie continues, undeterred. “When I was in the sweat lodge, after the tea, an enormous bear appeared and told me that he was my spirit guide. So, then I knew without a doubt what I had to do.”

Walter’s frown has turned into a scowl, and he’s gone from walrus to English bulldog. “What was that?”

“I had to start doing everything I could to protect the bears,” he says sincerely. “And so when I turned twenty-five and I came into my trust fund, I donated it to Daisy’s nonprofit, and that’s how we met. They invited me to an event at a local park, and Daisy was there, and her aura was so full of kindness. I fell in love with her on the spot.”

“You… donated… your trust fund?” Walter is aghast at the notion.

“The whole kit and caboodle,” Charlie says, pleased with himself. He reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze.

“How do the two of you live?” Walter wants to know.

“Just like everyone else,” Charlie says. “But I have to admit, Daisy is the real breadwinner in our household, which is fine, because I’m committed to being a stay-at-home dad when the time comes.” He turns to me. “Right, sweetheart?”

I take up the story gamely, deeply invested in this now. “Oh, that’s right. I would never leave my job, and Charlie is just so nurturing.” I give them a dreamy look.

“Well, I think it’s lovely that the two of you found each other. What a unique story,” Peg says.

“A stay-at-home dad.” Walter is struggling. His mouth wavering between a frown and a grimace. Walrus and bulldog.

“I can’t wait,” Charlie says. “I keep trying to convince Daisy that we should shift to communal living.”

He’s really running away with this now, and I can see the story unspooling in his eyes. “Really start living with nature, you know? Pool our resources with other families. I mean, we are both so dedicated to bears, and there’s this encampment in the mountains…”

“Encampment.” It appears Walter has resorted to just repeating things that Charlie says.

“And I would love to start growing our own food,” Charlie finishes. “So, what do you do, Walter?”

My lips are trembling with the effort it takes not to laugh at Walter’s facial expressions. He’s cycling through various shades of color—white to red, back to white again.

“Walter works in finance,” Peg says kindly when Walter fails to answer. “But what the two of you are doing is lovely.”

“Is it?” Walter says.

“It is, Walter,” Peg says firmly. “Can’t you see? They’re soul mates .”

“We are actually,” Charlie replies with confidence. “Our root chakras are so aligned that sometimes they feel like they’ve merged.”

“Oh, honey.” Peg turns to Walter. “Maybe we should work on our chakras!”

Walter looks at his wife with alarm. “There’s nothing wrong with our chakras, dear. Our chakras are perfectly fine as they are.”

“Are you sure? We’ve never looked into it.” She tilts her head in thought.

“I’m very sure,” Walter barks. “My chakra is exceptional. Best chakra out there.”

“If you’re interested, I can give you a blessing,” Charlie offers, and then scratches his chin. “Although I’m not qualified yet. Maybe you should see my guru. I can give you his card.” He starts patting his breast pockets theatrically.

“That won’t be necessary,” Walter says at the same time Peg exclaims, “Oh, I would love that, Charles! You’re so kind!”

“Ah,” he says with disappointment in his voice, “I don’t have his card on me.”

“Thank goodness,” Walter mumbles, relieved.

“Oh.” Peg’s face falls. “Well, maybe tomorrow.”

Charlie nods. “Yes. Definitely tomorrow. Come and find me. I’ll be up at dawn engaging in my gratitude ritual to Mother Gaia, so you can just ask the hotel for my room and knock on my door.”

I’m trembling with suppressed mirth now, and Charlie squeezes my hand again, begging me not to give him up.

“I’ll be with him, of course,” I say. “We both like to greet the sun with a gratitude ritual and a micro-dose.”

Charlie looks over at me like I’m a genius. “That’s right. We mix it into our tea.”

“A micro-dose?” Peg asks while Walter looks alarmed.

“Mushrooms,” I say. “The magic kind.”

“We collect them in the forest,” Charlie adds with enthusiasm. “It gives you a nice boost, and it helps us maintain our enlightenment and connection to the Goddess while we’re in the city, away from nature.”

“That’s fascinating,” Peg says, intrigued. “Could maybe we try some—”

“Peg,” Walter cuts her off. “We’re not taking magic mushrooms.”

Peg’s face falls, and I feel a little bit sorry for her. Maybe Peg should try some magic mushrooms. Not that I ever have. But still. She might like it.

At that moment, the limo comes to a stop, and when the driver opens the door, Walter drags Peg out while she scrambles to scribble her number on an old receipt that she pulled from her purse to pass on to Charlie.

When Walter has gotten Peg out of the car to safety, I finally release the gut-splitting laughter I’ve been holding in, and Charlie is hunched over, his shoulders shaking.

I turn to him. “Oh my God, where did that come from?”

He’s laughing harder now. “I don’t know.” He’s shaking his head, talking through bouts of laughter. “Walter just seemed like such a prick. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Did you see his face when Peg wanted to deal with their chakras?” I’m crying and holding my fingers under my eyes so my mascara doesn’t run.

“And the mushrooms!” Charlie falls back on the seat. “You’re completely brilliant. She wants to do them with Walter!”

“Oh,” I gasp. “Poor Walter.”

As our laughter fades, I look at Charlie and his face grows serious as he looks back at me. “Thank you for that,” I say sincerely.

“You needed it,” Charlie says. “You looked so uncomfortable when you told them what you do for a living.”

“It’s kind of hard when I know all of these people disapprove.”

“Why would you think they disapprove?”

“All these people are all about money,” I say, rubbing the satin of my clutch with a thumb. The smooth texture is soothing against my anxiety.

“You should be proud of what you do, Daisy. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. People like Walter should feel ashamed. Finance is just about the least helpful profession I can think of, short of oil baron.”

“I bet Walter would love to be an oil baron.”

“It’s what keeps him up at night. He never struck oil.”

“What if we’re seated next to them at dinner?” I ask, suddenly worried.

Charlie shrugs a shoulder, unconcerned. “Then I guess you’re dating a yogi.”

I laugh at the idea that Peg might get the chance to interview Charlie some more about his psychedelic experiences, and Charlie takes my hand and helps me out of the car. My ankles wobble a little when my four-and-a-half inch heels hit the pavement, and he steadies me by my shoulders. “You got it?” he asks.

“Got it,” I say.

“You’re really determined not to be mini tonight.”

Usually the jokes about my small stature grate on me, but Charlie is so genuinely kind that I know his jokes aren’t mean-spirited. I smile and shoot him a wink. “Well, I was planning on looking into people’s faces tonight, so it’s really more a matter of practicality.”

He grins and leads me into the restaurant.

We’re on the twelfth floor, and tall glass windows give us a panoramic view of the city. The Washington Monument is visible, its white marble lit up like a beacon.

The entire restaurant has been closed for this event, and the guests are grouped at round tables spread out through the room.

We’re seated across from Rob and Gabby, of course, because my mother seems hell-bent on making us all embrace each other, and we’re joined by Rob’s cousin Tyler and his wife Astrid.

Rob shifts in his seat uncomfortably when Charlie pulls my chair out across from him.

“I’m Gabby,” Gabby says to Charlie as she checks him out.

“Charlie,” he replies. “I’m Daisy’s boyfriend.”

My stomach flips again at the terminology, and I smile across the table at Rob whose eyes have lit in alarm. “You didn’t say you have a boyfriend.”

“It’s newish,” I answer.

“Daisy’s a terrific girl,” Charlie says and takes my hand on top of the tablecloth.

Rob’s eyes dart there and then back to the two of us, and Gabby grabs Rob’s hand too.

“How did you meet?” Rob asks. He’s already said more to me tonight than he has during the entirety of the weekend thus far.

“On an airplane,” Charlie answers, like we rehearsed. “She was crocheting a baby blanket for her best friend.” I glance over at Charlie, surprised that he remembers that it’s crochet, not knitting, and what I was making.

“Cara had a baby?” Rob asks, surprised.

“She’s three months along,” I say with pleasure.

“That’s exciting,” Rob says with genuine interest. “Does she know the sex?”

I shake my head. “No, she wants it to be a surprise. I can’t wait to be an aunt, though. It’s going to be amazing.”

Charlie’s hand has crept up my arm until it’s lying across the back of my chair, and he gives my shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

“Daisy is going to be a terrific aunt,” Charlie says. “I can’t imagine how loved that baby is going to be.”

“She’s very warm.” Rob nods and his eyes have a strange sort of far-off look. Like he’s not really here anymore.

“Rob is also so affectionate,” Gabby says, “He’s always doting on babies out in public.”

“Is he?” I ask. I’ve personally never seen Rob dote on a baby, but maybe he does. I haven’t spoken to him in a year. Maybe he turned into a baby person. I suddenly realize I don’t really care one way or the other.

“Oh yeah,” Gabby says, “a totally natural nurturer. Molly is obsessed with him.”

“Molly?” Charlie asks.

“My dog.”

“I thought you said Molly tried to bite him?” I ask.

“She did,” Rob says. “And she still sits on the other side of the room when I come over.”

Gabby presses her lips together.

“Our dog is a jerk too,” Astrid says, jumping into the conversation.

“Molly isn’t a jerk. She’s just shy,” Gabby says defensively.

“Our dog tries to bite people’s ankles when they come into the house,” Astrid tells her. “We put this collar on her that squirts her in the face with water whenever she barks.”

Gabby looks taken aback. “They make those?”

“Oh, they make everything for pets,” Tyler says. “You can get a vest thing that gives your dog a back massage.”

“That’s kind of cool,” Charlie says, suddenly interested. “My dad has this really old arthritic Blue Tick Hound. Maybe I’ll get him one. My dad has a massage chair so the two of them can sit there together getting massages.”

The table laughs.

“Well, I would never squirt Molly with water,” Gabby says with disapproval in her voice.

The air of amicability that was forming around us floats away like fog lifting.

“Anyway, dogs are great,” Tyler says finally. And everyone agrees on that, at least.

Wedge salads are carried out on large trays by servers wearing tuxedos.

I pick the bacon off mine carefully and slide it to the side of the plate. “Any takers?” I ask the table at large.

All hands shoot up, but Charlie has already snatched the plate and is shoveling the bacon onto his own.

“Boyfriend perk,” Charlie declares, and I try to keep the flush down at his words.

“The kitchen must have forgotten not to put bacon on yours.” Astrid makes a sad face.

“So.” Tyler looks over at Gabby. “What do you do out in Denver?”

“I’m an influencer,” she says in the same tone one would reference a totally normal job. Like, I’m an accountant.

Astrid stops her fork mid-air. “Wait. You mean, like, a social media influencer?”

“Yep,” Gabby says happily.

“What’s an influencer?” Tyler asks.

“An influencer,” Astrid says, “is the best job in the world. You just take pictures of your life and then companies give you money.”

Gabby laughs. “It’s actually not as great as it seems.”

“It’s really not,” Rob says, but not in irritation. More like in support. “She puts a ton of work into it.”

“How did you start doing it?” Astrid asks.

“I still don’t understand,” Tyler says.

Gabby’s eyes tick over to Tyler. “Basically, I have a lot of followers on Instagram and a few other social media platforms, and because I have so much reach, companies will sponsor me to post about their products, or to feature them in whatever I’m doing.”

“Like a celebrity?” Tyler says in disbelief.

“I’m not a celebrity,” Gabby protests, just as Astrid says, “Exactly like that.”

“How did it start?” Charlie asks, his curiosity piqued.

“Well,” Gabby begins, “I had this blog about traveling as a single woman. And it started to get some followers, and I opened an Instagram account to catalogue pictures from my trips. And then it just started to pick up some steam, and now”—she shrugs her shoulders—“I started getting approached for sponsorships and deals and stuff, and I was able to quit my job and start doing it full-time. And I include other things too—like lifestyle stuff and home décor.”

“Are you going to be posting about this?” Astrid asks with excitement. Her salad has been completely abandoned in her fascination. Tyler looks like he still doesn’t quite get that this can actually be a career.

“No.” Gabby looks at Rob affectionately. “This is private.”

Rob smiles at her and his arm reaches over under the table, and I know he’s holding her hand. Charlie gives my knee a squeeze that’s meant to be supportive but sends sparks way up to the tops of my thighs.

“That is just… so cool,” Astrid says.

“What were you doing before you became an… influencer?” Tyler asks carefully, like he’s testing out this new word on his tongue.

“I worked in brand merchandising. I helped companies create identities that consumers could easily understand and hopefully be interested in.”

“Well, you must have been good at it,” Astrid says. “You made yourself into a brand!”

Tyler’s brow is furrowed. “How many followers do you have on Instagram?”

“A million,” Rob replies before Gabby can answer. “She has a million goddamn followers.”

Gabby blushes deeply, like she’s sort of embarrassed or shy. Something tells me that, in a different world, I might like Gabby. She’s explained this whole thing without sounding conceited at all. But instead of being gracious, I shove a giant piece of iceberg lettuce into my mouth and munch like a cow.

Astrid continues asking Gabby about all the places she’s been. A list I could probably recite from memory because I’ve obviously read all her blog posts and examined every picture in detail.

And then the main course arrives.

A large steak is placed in front of me, with a side of green beans and potatoes. I look at the plate with disappointment. My mom knows very well that I don’t eat meat, but she refuses to acknowledge it. She thinks it’s too hippie-ish of me and has told me she’d prefer it if I ate meat. Everyone’s eyes land on my plate, and without saying anything, Charlie scoots his plate over to mine and slides all of his vegetables and potatoes next to the giant hunk of beef.

My heart does a little squeeze, and I look at him with gratitude.

As the table conversation continues, Charlie repeats all the pertinent details about his life for the hundredth time this evening. Questions are peppered in politely between the continued interrogation of Gabby’s career. He’s being exceptionally patient, and I wonder again at the fact that he’s doing this for me. Being the guest at a wedding where you know exactly no one is horrible. I’ve done it before, and it’s painful making the same small talk over and over again. And he’s going to have repeat it all tomorrow.

Dinner is coming to a close, and it will be time to give my toast soon. I’m full of green beans and mashed potatoes, and Charlie has eaten his entire steak and half of mine. Servers mill about, removing empty dinner plates and refilling wine and water glasses. I check my purse, hung on the back of my chair by its little gold chain, for my speech. It’s folded up in the side pocket meant to hold a credit card. The creases in the paper are soft from me folding and unfolding it so many times to go over it, committing it to memory.

I agonized over this. Over what I was going to say. My mom asked me to talk at the wedding, but I begged her not to force me. I’m okay in small groups, even if I have a tendency to doubt and second-guess myself, but public speaking isn’t my forte, and the thought of standing up in a ballroom, congratulating my mother, when everyone knows what happened—knows my humiliation and the fact that Rob and I split before we became stepsiblings—was a measure too far. She guilted me until I compromised on the rehearsal dinner, and that seemed to satisfy her. I had no idea that the rehearsal dinner would occupy an entire restaurant.

“You got this.” Charlie leans in and whispers in my ear. “I’m here. I have you.”

“Banana,” I whisper back and he looks at me seriously and raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah? Banana?”

I smile and shake my head. “Just kidding. Look at me go.” I give him a weak half-smile, feigning confidence that I don’t feel.

And then, when all the plates have been cleared, I stand and tap my knife against my water glass so that it chimes through the space. It takes some doing, but the hum of conversation softens, and one by one, heads swivel towards me.

Okay , I tell myself as my heart kicks its heels into my chest, I can do this.

I smooth my skirt with damp hands. My knees tremble with nerves, my kneecaps twitching, but I take a shuddering breath, and begin.

“Mom,” I say, and my mother looks at me with bright, expectant eyes. She holds a tissue in her hand at the ready.

“For my entire life, it’s just been you and me. You’re not just my mom, you’re my best friend. You took me to the beach and built sandcastles with me. You were there when I learned to ride a bike.”

This is accurate—my mom was there, though it was my nanny Violet who went running down the street after me.

“When I grew into adulthood, you taught me to be a lady.”

My mother’s eyes glisten as I go on. “We moved around when I was growing up—a lot. But I never felt like I didn’t have a home. Because you were my home. I knew that, as long as we were together, it didn’t matter where we were, because you were there. And you were what mattered.”

The words are coming to me through the haze of nerves, despite the hundred eyes on me and my legs that haven’t stopped trembling.

“When you fell in love with Michael, it wasn’t easy for me.”

A twinge of apprehension passes over her face now. Her lips tip down just a little, barely perceptible, but I know her every expression so well I almost see them before they happen. This one is disapproval. Her grip tightens on her tissue. “Because,” I say, “I’ve never had to share you.”

Her tiny frown vanishes.

“But now you’ve found the love of your life, and I’m so happy for you.”

My throat starts to close. The lies I’ve dreamed up—forced myself to believe—are choking me. I’m happy that she’s happy. But like this? Deep down, I wish I’d never introduced her to Rob’s parents. Not because Rob and I necessarily should have ended up married, but because what happened was just so unfair to us. The emotion on my face is real as a tear escapes and trickles down my right cheek, but it’s not joy. It’s something complicated that I have yet to fully untangle.

“Michael.” My eyes slide over to him. “You’re like a father to me.”

A father-in-law , I can practically hear everyone having the same thought, and I hope the blotchy redness I know is creeping up my neck isn’t too obvious in the soft light of the dining room.

“And I know you’ll take good care of my mom.” And then I give him a theatrically threatening look. “ You better .”

A light rumbling of laughter arrives on cue.

“But I have no doubt that the two of you will be very happy together, and that makes me happy. I love you both. And I wish you all the joy in the world.”

I raise my glass as the dinner guests clap their hands, and then we all drink a toast to my mother and soon-to-be stepfather.

My mom is smiling at me through tears, and she gives me a little nod of approval.

I take my seat with shaking breaths and a brow that’s now damp from the stress, and Charlie’s arm is right there, sliding around my shoulders, pulling me into him. “That was perfect, Daisy.” He whispers into my ear in a low voice, “Be proud of yourself.”

The tension in my body drains out of me in a rush like a dam that’s burst, and I relax into him, letting my head fall sideways onto his shoulder as his hand glides up and down my arm in calming strokes. I sigh a release of anxiety.

Rob is looking at me with resentment written in his eyes that sends ice crystals through my limbs. As though he didn’t make the same decision that I did—to be here and support our parents, even if we didn’t want to. When Mom invited me to the wedding and I was hedging, desperately trying to think of a way to get out of it, a way to put my foot down and say no, she told me that Rob was coming.

“He’s supporting his father,” she’d said firmly. “Life is complicated, Daisy. Things happen, and you can’t hold on to resentment. I know you’re not happy, but Michael and I love each other, and you should be there for me. I’m your mother. ”

“I know, Mom,” I’d pleaded. “But it’s just been such a hard year already.”

My mother had scoffed at that. “Don’t make this about you, Daisy. This is important. It’s my wedding. I need you to be there for me.”

I’d said nothing, but sighed heavily, already knowing what the outcome of the conversation was going to be.

“Can you imagine how I’ll feel if Rob is there for his father, and my only daughter chooses not to show up? How… humiliating that will be?”

And that had done it. Picturing my mom, sad and bereft, because of me. Because I had disappointed her. I had finally agreed, and that afternoon I had put my RSVP in the mail.

But right now, Rob doesn’t seem to be remembering any of that. The fact that his father was half of the equation that made this whole thing happen. He’s looking at me like I’ve just betrayed him. Like I’m the woman who broke up his parents’ marriage and took his childhood from him.

Charlie continues stroking my arm and then releases me, and shifts his hand to mine, which he grips and doesn’t let go even though it’s clammy. He turns his hand so that our fingers lace, and when I turn to the side, he’s looking at me with affection in his eyes. Tenderness. And Rob vanishes. The wedding vanishes. The room we’re sitting in, and all the people fall away as I lose myself in those hazel eyes that hold mine with such ease.

Dessert is served—dark chocolate cake with raspberry sauce—and I eat all of it because even after a pile of green beans I’m still hungry, and when I’m finished, I steal bites from Charlie’s plate. He swats my fork with his playfully before he relents. As soon as it’s socially acceptable to leave, I look at Charlie and say, “Let’s banana split.”

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” he answers back smoothly, and I grin at him, slaphappy from the adrenaline mixed with dopamine that this is one more night in the books.

“Thanks for being here,” I say.

“Of course.”

“I guess I’m glad you’re not a sundae driver after all.” I elbow him in the ribs.

“Oh my God, Daisy.” He slaps a hand over his forehead. “Did you really just say that?”

“I bet you can’t top that!”

“Oh no.” He grimaces even as he smiles. “It’s painful.”

I chuckle. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

“Don’t be. We’re partners in cream now.” He’s wearing a mischievous grin, and my eyes light as he joins the game.

“Yes! That was a good one!”

We’re in the elevator now with a group who are staring at us as we grin stupidly at each other. “ Ice cream at your puns,” I say.

“Weak,” Charlie replies, goading me. “Everyone knows the ice cream pun.”

“Aw, come on, it wasn’t that bad.” I make flirty eyes at him.

“Nope. I don’t play flavorites .” He shakes his head seriously. “You’re going to have to go back to sundae school.”

A man next to us winces. The puns are so bad they are making the people around us shifty.

“No fair! I used sundae already.” I look up at his face, and he’s laughing lightly.

“Don’t push me, Mini. I cone do this all day.”

The elevator dings at the ground floor, and everyone files out ahead of us. The wincing man glances over his shoulder at us with concern, like perhaps the two of us should be seen by a professional.

My head falls back in laughter, and I’m so giddy I don’t even think about it when I’m the one who grabs Charlie by the hand and pulls him out onto the dark street.

“I don’t want to go back,” I say.

“Is that so? Another round of shots at the bar for you, Mini? More Brain Damage?”

“ Nooo . No Brain Damage ever again. Let’s walk,” I say and then stumble dangerously over an uneven edge in the concrete sidewalk.

Charlie gives my high heels a dubious look.

“Or let’s sit,” I offer.

“Alright. Are you hungry? All you had for dinner was green beans.”

“Ugh, I know. But no, I’m fine. I ate all my cake, and half of yours, remember?”

He laughs at that. “I figured you needed the calories more than I do. I’m surprised your mom didn’t make a note about your dietary preferences.”

“I’m not,” I say. “She doesn’t approve of vegetarians.”

He holds my hand as we head over to a nearby bench, near a patch of grass. “No offense, Daisy, but your mom is kind of a piece of work.”

I am a little bit offended, actually. I can be very defensive about my mom. It’s my kryptonite. But I ignore it, because what he said is true, and because I trust him.

“I know,” I say. “But she loves me.”

“I believe you,” he says, “but she still served you a steak dinner.”

“She did indeed.” I sigh. “She’s just… who she is, I guess. I have to pick my battles with her.”

He nods as we sit down, and he wraps his arm around me and pulls me into him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. As though the boyfriend game is still going on. I lay my head back on his shoulder and look up at the buildings of downtown DC.

“What made you decide to come this weekend?” he asks softly.

I take a breath. How to explain my relationship with my mother? The way I’m so protective of her, and feel such a strong need to please her?

“She’s my only family,” I answer truthfully, and I tell him about her past, my dad who’s not in the picture.

“Sometimes I think that after my dad left, she just didn’t know who she was anymore. Maybe she never knew who she was. She came from this dirt-poor family, and then when she made it to the place she wanted to be, she was rejected. But she had me, and I think when I was a child, she needed me as much as I needed her.”

We look at each other as I explain these truths to him. The sorts of inner thoughts I only share with myself, that are saved for nighttime when I can’t sleep, and I’ve had another phone call from my mom who has expectations of me that I just can’t meet and I don’t understand.

How did I grow up to become such a different person from her? Why did I end up being this girl who ran from her mother and her whole lifestyle? Who moved to a part of the country where her only family would never live, and who refuses to accept the trust fund that sits untouched, waiting?

“You know, though, that she can’t expect you to always be there, right? You’re the child in the relationship. It’s great that you’re there for her. I really admire it. But she’s the adult.”

I sigh. “I know that. But part of me feels sorry for her. She’s been through so much.”

“So have you, Daisy,” he says.

We’re quiet for a moment. It’s a comfortable silence, and I take the time to enjoy his warmth and the feeling of his body around mine.

“I grew up poor,” Charlie says, shocking me.

“You did?”

He nods quietly.

“But you said your dad has a place in Vail.”

“My dad’s ‘place in Vail’ is really just a one-room cabin off I-70 that you can only get to on foot. He built it with his own two hands on a postage stamp of land that he inherited when I was a teenager from a great-uncle who died. It’s sort of a fluke.”

“Why did you let me think you were wealthy?” I ask, confused.

The night is cool around us, and the humidity has collapsed into fog. The streetlamps carry a halo of light around them as it refracts off the water in the air. This part of the city is quiet now. The offices are closed, and the few pedestrians that pass us walk dogs who sniff at the patch of grass by our bench and do their business, and then carry on.

He sucks his teeth for a second before answering my question. “I’ve always been sensitive about being poor, I guess. When I was a kid, I got made fun of for wearing off-brand clothes. You know, like sneakers with four stripes, instead of the Adidas three? And of course, that’s not so bad. Kids always get made fun of for one thing or another. But my dad was really stubborn about not being ashamed of it. He worked hard—he’s in construction—but my mom’s cancer put us into a mountain of debt, and we never seemed to be able to get ahead. We lost the house and moved into a trailer when I was ten, and he only recently managed to pay that off and sell it and get into an apartment. I tried to buy him an actual house—like the one we lived in when I was born—but he wasn’t having it.

“Anyway, before the house was gone, we spent a winter without heat, but we had a wood-burning stove, and my dad chopped wood every day to keep it running, and we all camped out in the living room at night. Susan and I slept on the sofa, head to foot, and my dad slept in his recliner.

“I never got to go to the dentist, and when I was sixteen I had a tooth that started hurting, and the pain just got worse and worse until my dad finally took me to the dentist and I ended up having a root canal done. My dad had to ask his sister for money, and then insisted on paying her back every cent.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, shaking my head.

“Don’t be,” he says. “It was harder on Susan than it was on me. She never got to wear the types of clothes all the other girls were wearing, and some of her friends took pity on her and gave her their castoffs. Of course, my dad had no idea what he was doing with a girl in the house. I remember once”—he’s chuckling at the memory—“she got sent home from school with a note that she needed a bath, because her hair was such a rat’s nest there’d been a lollypop stick stuck in there that no one had noticed. My dad just cut her hair off, like really short. Like, I’m talking he put a bowl on her head and cut it.”

“Oh my God!” I exclaim. “Poor Susan!”

“She hated him for it. She still gives him shit whenever she’s home. But it’s all fine now. The three of us are close.”

I feel abashed now, for complaining to him about how I grew up. I never had to worry about food on the table or having a warm bed at night.

“Anyway, when I got to college, I picked the first field that I thought I could be good at that would make a lot of money. And I’m terrible at math.” He shudders a little. “So I became a lawyer.”

“And that’s why you drive a douchey BMW and wear a fancy watch?”

He laughs. “I guess I have a weakness for nice things. I spent so long wanting things that we couldn’t afford that I just went for it when I finally could.” He looks at me. “Do you find it horribly cringey?”

I don’t have to think about the answer. “No. If you were actually the guy I thought you were at first, it would be cringey, but not on you. You’re too nice. And you deserve it, after all that.”

“I’ve never really talked to anyone about this before,” he says.

“I’ve never told anyone besides Cara about what my mom did,” I reply.

He pulls me in closer to him, his arm tight around me. “I like how small you are.”

“Oh God, not this again,” I grumble.

“No, I mean it! You just fit right in here,” He jiggles his arm to display how nicely I really do fit up against him. I tuck my head in, just under his chin, and inhale his smell. And then I turn my head into him and outright sniff him.

“Body odor?” he asks as he chuckles at me sniffing around his throat like a badger.

“No. The opposite. Whatever you wear smells so good.”

“I don’t wear anything.”

I stop and lean back with my hands on his chest, which is exceptionally firm. “You don’t wear anything?” I squint at him in suspicion.

He shakes his head, his arm still around me, like he wants to suck me back into him. “Nope.” He laughs at my expression. “This is just what I smell like.”

“ Stoppp ,” I whine at him. “It’s not fair!”

He laughs again, a full, hearty laugh, his face open and relaxed. “What’s not fair now, Daisy?”

“You can’t just smell this good. It’s not fair to the rest of us! You can’t just walk around the world smelling like that and expect people to think it’s fine.”

“I thought you liked it?” he says as he chuckles.

“I do! That’s exactly the problem. Maybe if it were a cologne or something then I could say, ‘Well, he has really good-smelling cologne’, but instead I have to say ‘He’s really good-smelling.’”

Charlie is looking at me with eyes I haven’t seen before. They are serious, and maybe a bit apprehensive. I’ve scared him. I sniffed around too much.

“Daisy,” he says softly.

“Yeah?”

He swallows like he’s nervous. “I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

My whole body seizes, and at the flinch he begins to release me, but I stop him, putting my hand over his, where it sits at my hip.

“No.” I give my head a flustered shake. “I mean, not ‘no.’ I mean, don’t let go.”

“O… kay?”

“I mean, I’d like it if you kissed me.”

His eyes darken with pleasure. He uses his long arm to pull me back to him, into that space in which I fit so nicely. My heart thunders in my ears, and the butterflies in my stomach are throwing a fit. Every nerve ending in my body is on high alert, and when his hand slides up my back I shiver.

Things are moving in slow motion, and I want them to speed up so I can finally feel the lips I’ve been staring at since I first saw him up close, but I also want this moment to never end. To be right on the cusp of this forever. To feel this anticipation and yearning and to live inside the heavy look in his eyes as they drop to my mouth.

His other hand slides up and brushes my jaw, tilting my head back. And then his lips meet mine in a gentle slide. They’re soft. Just as soft as they look. As soft as I imagined they would be, and a little whimper finds its way out of my mouth as he leans in and his tongue brushes mine.

He’s a mix of sweet and bitter, chocolate cake and strong gin, but not in a bad way. In a way that makes heat pool between my legs and makes me want to climb up his body so I can get him more firmly in my grasp.

I run my hand up the back of his head, and the kiss deepens with the slide of tongues as we taste one another, exploring. His breaths quicken through his nose, so that they are nearly as fast as my own, and he runs a finger under the delicate strap of my dress. “This thing was driving me crazy all night,” he says against my lips.

“My dress?” I managed to say between a shifting of our mouths.

“What the dress is hiding.” He delves back to my mouth again, and we break apart just long enough for him to add, “And showing.”

It’s good we’re sitting because I’m too weak to stand.

He slides a hand up my thigh, gripping me, his fingers digging into my flesh, and I want to straddle him, but we’re on a park bench in the middle of the city, and despite the overwhelming lust that’s making it hard to think, there’s still a thread of restraint holding me together. So I keep kissing him and kissing him, until my mouth is bruised, and my skin feels chafed from the stubble of his evening beard.

He kisses down my neck, all the way to my clavicle, and my head tilts back as I stifle a moan.

“Oh God, Charlie,” I breathe.

“I know,” he says, “God, I know. I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I saw that stupid purple suitcase.”

I giggle helplessly. “Why didn’t you then?” I ask as I pant, and he teases my throat with his tongue.

“ Mmpph ,” he replies into my skin.

“What?”

He wanders up to find my mouth again, and I shut up because he tastes so damn good and my head is swimming.

“There wasn’t a good time,” he says when we finally break apart.

“What about after dinner that first night?” I’m nuzzled into him firmly now, smelling him again, and he’s rubbing his hands up my arms and down the ridge of my spine, and running his fingers lightly under the fabric at the back of my dress, sending sparks shooting all over my body.

“You’d been drinking. And you were alone in a hotel, and it just didn’t seem appropriate.”

I think my chest might burst, and I’ll die right on this city bench. “So that explains last night too.”

“Yes, it definitely does,” he says as he kisses the top of my head. “But God, watching you dance and laugh and tease the hell out of Mark, who thinks you’re a smoke show, by the way, made me want to drag you back to the hotel flung over my shoulder.”

I know I was drunk, but I still wish he had done it. But Charlie would never have done it, because he’s a good guy , and that makes things even better.

A cab comes down the street with its light on. The first car that’s passed in five minutes, and Charlie leaps up to hail it. We slide into the backseat, and he pulls me back into him and we make out on the whole ride back to the hotel.

We walk into the hotel lobby with our hands entwined, fingers laced, and his thumb strokes mine, up and down, in slow circles.

The lobby is blessedly empty, although some members of the rehearsal dinner cackle at the bar, their laughter echoing out across the marble.

“Come on.” Charlie guides me towards the elevators.

We walk down the corridor, and my body shivers. Every place he touches me catches fire, and when the doors to the elevator open and he ushers me in, touching my back, sliding his hand down until it brushes the top of my underwear, I shiver. My nipples tighten in anticipation.

I want more of Charlie. I want his hands all over my body. I want to taste him and smell him and feel him all at the same time. I want to hear his breath hitch with pleasure and agony. I want to know what he likes, if he’s soft or rough. Some part of me seems to know that whatever his style is, it’ll be mine too.

When the elevator doors close with a thump, then a snick, Charlie turns me and presses me against the wall. Heavy relief courses through me when his mouth lands on mine, eager and hard, nearly aggressive. Our breaths mingle as he devours me, sucking on my bottom lip, grazing me with his teeth. His hands wander, sliding up from my hips, across my breasts and sensitized nipples. I gasp at the surge of pleasure, and then I hitch my leg up shamelessly, grateful for the slit in my dress. I run my hands up strong, lean biceps, and wrap them around his neck, fisting my hands in the soft, curling hair at his nape. He groans into my mouth, and he grips my thigh as I press myself into him. Like it’s nothing, he takes me by my backside and lifts me until I’m in the air, pinned between him and the wall. When he rotates his hips forward, I can feel him through his slacks, rocking into me at the same moment he lowers his head to my throat, nipping and sucking and utterly torturing me.

The elevator doors open, and we paint a pretty picture, me splayed against the wall, and Charlie pinning me there, our noses brushing and lips still grazing each other, reluctant to break apart. He presses his forehead against mine for a moment, his breath fast and heavy, before releasing me. I slide to the ground slowly, every inch of my body moving against his, and when he kisses my forehead, I feel him smell my hair.

“I like your smell too,” he murmurs, and the vibration of his voice sends a long tingle down the length of my spine.

We walk down the hallway, hand in hand. I’m dreaming. Floating. I’m imagining undoing the buttons of his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders, and the tension of the moment when he unzips the back of my dress. When we get to our doors, sitting chastely next to one another, he watches me swipe my card. His eyes are so dark they might as well be black. I push the door open and step backwards into it. Charlie doesn’t move. His hand still grips mine, and he pulls me back into him, his feet planted firmly in the doorway, and glides his hand down my back.

“I had a really good time tonight, Daisy.”

“So did I,” I breathe as I lean into him and let my lips brush his.

His nose bumps mine, and he turns his head back and forth, doing it again. It almost feels more intimate than all the groping.

I step back again and, again, try to pull him with me.

He shakes his head with a small rueful smile. “I can’t, Daisy.”

My heart falls down into my stomach. “You can’t.”

He must see my insecurity transforming my face, because he rushes to add, “I want to. God, I really want to.” He runs a hand through the dark hair that I want so badly to have my own fingers in. “But I can’t. I just…it’s better if we wait.”

I swallow, confused, but I nod. “Okay. That’s okay.”

I step forward, and he kisses me again, tenderly. Soft kisses that make promises he can’t, or won’t, keep, and then he lets me go.

“Good night, Daisy,” he says, and goes to his own door, where I watch as he swipes his card and disappears inside.