Chapter Five
conversationalist
My birthday party is in two days, so today has just been helping Cass pick everything up and take it to her now freshly painted apartment.
It's 4:30 p.m. now, and I’m at the airport picking my mom up. To say I’m excited is an understatement. I miss my mom so much. I don't know if that's normal. I know most kids end up despising their parents, but not me. My mom is my best friend, and living far away from her has been tough.
I’ve thought about moving closer, but I love it here. My mom has made a home for herself by the beach, and although she says she loves it, I just know she’d love it here more.
I’m standing in the airport holding a big ass sign that says ‘MOM’ on it, with a picture of her and me. It's extremely cheesy, but it’s perfect.
I hold the sign up as I see people start unloading down the escalator, and search all the heads until I see her.
She beams as soon as she sees me, and starts yelling, “Charlie! Oh my god, look at you!”
I take in my mom as she makes her way to me. Her hair is still as long and wild as I remember and as silver as the north star. Her face, obviously, has aged some. But she's still my beautiful mom.
She pulls me in for a tight hug, and I can barely breathe.
“Mom stop, I haven't changed that much.” I shrug off her comment, like it doesn't make me feel good about myself.
“Your hair is so long! Look at this.” She grabs my hair in her hand. “It’s touching your ass!”
“I haven't cut it in years, so I’m not surprised.” I laugh. “Come on, the cab is waiting outside.”
I grab her bags for her, and I’m not at all surprised at how heavy they are.
“Jesus mom, did you pack for an entire month?”
She smiles, and throws her arm around me. “You can never be too prepared.” she lets me go, and grabs my hand, “I’m starving. Let's go to dinner. My treat.”
“So tell me, what's new in your life? How's the shop?” she asks before taking a bite of her steak tacos.
“The shop is really good actually. I’ve had a few people bring in some good things over the past few weeks.”
She nods her head while chewing, “Does that clown guy still come in? What was his name again?”
“Mr Reeves.” I answer with a mouth full of corn salsa.
“Yes him, I love hearing about him and his clowns.”
“He’s a character. What about you? What's new with you?” I ask.
She takes a sip of her margarita, then says, “Oh you know me. Nothing new on my end. I joined a crochet club. It's not big, just a few local girls. We get together on Fridays at one of our houses and make blankets and whatever else. It's very therapeutic.”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, and my mom instantly looks appalled.
She holds up a finger, “Speaking of,” she leans down and grabs one of her bags, opening it.
She hands me a large bag that's wrapped poorly, and I don't know how she fit it in there.
“What is this?” I ask her while smiling.
“Oh just open it.” she laughs.
I open the bag, pulling tissue paper out, then I see a large crochet ball. What is this.
“Come on, don't just stare at it, pull it out.” she says when she sees me staring at it.
As I pull it out, it unfolds on to my lap. It’s a chunky cardigan full of greens, and oranges, and some brown and black.
“Mom, did you make this?” I ask, holding it up with an amazed smile.
“I did. The first one I’ve made and I just knew you had to have it.”
“This is amazing.” I say as I stand to try it on.
I pull the cardigan on, and I instantly feel like I’m in a warm hug. It even smells like her.
“I love it, thank you mom.”
She gives me a hug, “You’re welcome sweetie.”
As the night goes on, I give her updates about Cass, and tell her about Nathaniel, then she asks the question I’ve been dreading.
“So, are you seeing anyone?”
“Mom...” I set my drink down and give her that look that says stop without actually saying it.
“What? It's been a year since..”
“I know how long it's been.” I interrupt her. “Believe me, I know.”
She holds her hands up in defense mode. “I’m sorry. I was just curious if there's been anyone who’s caught your eye yet, that’s all.”
Logan's broad shoulders, and scruffy face pop into my head, but I quickly shove that image away.
“Well, there hasn't been. Now that that's settled, new topic.”
She rolls her eyes at me.“So stubborn. You get that from me you know? Your dad always said I was as stubborn as a mule. I guess it's only fitting that that's the trait you got from me.”
My heart tightens at the mention of him. My dad. He passed away when I was young, and I don't really remember him. Mainly because my mom doesn't like to talk about him, or even mention him really, unless she has had some sort of alcohol. Which tonight she’s had quite a bit.
I never pry, or try to ask questions, because that's her heartache.
She remembers him.
She remembers his face, his hands, and his laugh.
I only know what he looked like, really.
So I don't pry. I don't make her talk about it, because it hurts her more than it hurts me.
“We should get home, it’s getting late and taxis stop at 10 here.” I tell her.
“You're probably right sweetie.” She waves the waitress over, and hands her her card to pay the bill.
“Thank you for dinner, mom.”
“Of course sweetie. It’s the least I can do since you are letting me stay with you.”
Once we're back at my place, I show mom the guest bedroom where she’ll be sleeping, then I head to the bathroom to shower and get ready for bed.
We both meet in the living room, in our pjs, and needing some coffee.
Don't ask me why; but drinking coffee before bed has become a weird comfort thing of mine. Something about the smell so late at night just sets the tone for sleep.
“I see you took something else after me,” my mom says as she sits at my dining table.
“I don't understand why it's so relaxing.” I tell her, holding up my cup. “Want some?”
“As long as it’s not decaf.” she says.
‘Oh god no. That stuff is a disgrace to the coffee world.”
“Amen.”
I hand her a cup, and pour the warm liquid into it.
“There's cream and sugar, too, if you want some.”
She shakes her head, “No thank you. I’ve actually become fond of drinking it black. Not sure why.”
I giggle to myself, my mind once again on Logan.
I genuinely don't understand it. I’ve only met this guy a couple of times, yet here I am, constantly being reminded of him.
I still feel bad that I never replied to his text the other night. I didn't intentionally do it. I originally just wanted to think of how to reply, but then it went on for so long, I felt like it would be weird to reply so long after he sent it.
“Where'd you just go?” my mom says, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Oh, sorry, I was just thinking about black coffee. I’ll never understand how anyone drinks that.”
She starts defending her black coffee drinking habits, naming off all of the reasons why she now prefers black coffee over coffee with creamer.
“Maybe one day my taste buds will mature, and I’ll be able to drink it. But for now, I’ll stick with my cream and sugar.”
She laughs, and we clink mugs.
Both of us finish our coffee, then head to bed.
I’m lying in my bed, scrolling on my phone, and guilt starts to tug at me the more I stare at my phone.
I pull up his number, which I didn't even save, and type up a text.
I read it once, twice, three times, then delete it.
Setting my phone down on my nightstand, I try my best not to think about texting him, and how horrible of a person it makes me to ignore him like this. Maybe I’ll end up running into him tomorrow, and I can lamely apologize in person.
I doze to the sound of rain hitting my window, and dream of black coffee and superman.
The next morning, I wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs.
“Wow, home cooked breakfast? Is this going to be a normal thing, or are we taking turns?” I tease, and I hear my mothers laugh before I even make it to the kitchen.
“Probably not an everyday thing, but I do love cooking breakfast. It helps give a good start to my day. Sit, I made coffee too.”
“This all looks amazing. Thank you.” I tell her as I take a hefty bite of scrambled eggs.
“Oh my god these are amazing. Much better than I remember.” I tease.
“Funny.” she throws back. “I learned that if you put cream cheese in with the eggs while they cook, it makes them super creamy.”
“Why couldn't you have learned this when I was growing up?” I joke, and she throws a piece of bacon at me.
“So, what are you getting into today?” she asks as she sits across from me.
“Well, I have to go to the shop for a little while today. I have someone bringing me quilts? I honestly don't know. After that, I don't think anything. Cassie won’t let me come over because she doesn’t want me to see the decorations yet, so I guess I’ll just come home, maybe we can watch a movie or something?”
She nods, “That sounds like fun. I still have to go birthday shopping, so I’ll do that today while you work, then meet you here.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We finish breakfast, then I go and get ready for work. I toss on a flowy dress, and the cardigan my mom made me, then grab a claw clip and put my hair half up. It's nice out today, and I feel like looking nice for a change.
I tell my mom bye, and that I’ll see her later, then I start my walk.
I stop in and grab my morning coffee, like usual, and as I’m heading out the door, I smack into a hard wall.
Only this time, I know it's not a wall.
“Logan.” I say, looking up smiling, trying to hide my embarrassment. That's twice now. Two times I’ve run into him. “I’m sorry. I didn't see you.”
“That seems to be a habit of yours.” he says, and the only way I can tell he’s teasing is because the right side of his mouth twitches up.
“You didn't spill your coffee, did you?” he asks, assessing me. I watch as his eyes linger over my dress, taking in how I look today. I’m not sure what it is, but the way his gaze lingers makes my skin hot; in a good way, I think.
“No, no I didn't spill.” I answer him, clearing my throat.
His eyes dart up to mine, and I swear I see his cheeks flush pink.
“You.. You look amazing today, Charlie.” he tells me, and his cheeks darken more.
“Oh.” I smooth out my dress, and look down at myself like I forgot what I was wearing. “Thank you. I just tossed it on this morning.”
He makes a deep humming sound in the back of his throat, and I'm not entirely sure what it means.
“Well, I should get going. I have to open my store.”
“Oh, right.” he says, holding the door open for me to pass through.
Once we’re outside, he says, “Care if I walk with you? I’m meeting someone in that direction, and I think it would be weird if I just walked behind you.” he laughs, and I find myself laughing with him.
“Of course you can.” I say.
We walk a couple minutes, and I can feel the tension pulling between us. I know he wants to ask about me not replying to his text, and I know I should say something. But what do I even say?
A minute later, I look over at him.
God he's huge. And not like big bellied or overly muscular.. Just.. big . His arms are huge, his chest and shoulders are broad, and he’s so tall.
Taking a breath, I finally say, “I’m sorry.”
He turns and looks at me, his eyebrows pinching in that way that they do a lot when I speak.
“For not replying to your text.” I clarify.
He mouths the word ‘Oh’, and nods his head, but doesnt say anything, letting me finish.
“I planned on it. But to be completely honest, I’m not good at that.”
“At texting?” he asks, with a teasing tone to his voice.
“At conversation.” I roll my eyes at him. “If you haven't noticed, I’m not very good when it comes to socializing. Especially texting. But I did plan on replying, then I let it go too long and thought it would be weird.”
He laughs, and the sound warms me.
“Ok, first of all, you don't have to apologize for not replying, I wasn't expecting anything, I just wanted to make sure you knew your package was safe.. Two, I think you're very good at conversations. I’d even say I enjoy our conversations. No matter how brief they are. Or how chaotic.”
I blink, looking away from him.
I can't think straight if I keep looking at him.
“Oh. Ok then.” is all I manage to say.
This is the conversation he enjoys?
“Ok then.” he mimics, and there's a slight smile on his lips that hasn't left.
Great, now I'm looking at his lips.
Before I can look away, I catch him watching me.
Watching me, watch his lips.
“Well here we are.” I say in the most awkward way possible, and point to my store.
“Here we are.” he repeats, then adds, “So you really own this?”
I nod, a genuine smile growing on my lips as I look up at my Charlie’s Antiques sign hanging above the door.
“I do own it. She’s all mine.” I say, still smiling up at my store. “You know, a lot of people don’t understand my love for antiques and old things, but I love it. Each piece has its own story, and its own life that it lived before it made its way to me. I just want to be able to offer these unique pieces to our small town.”
I turn to face him, and find him watching me, his arms crossed, and a look on his face that I can't read. I suddenly feel very self conscious about sharing that.
I clear my throat, “Well, I should get in there. And you should get to your friend.” I tell him, suddenly remembering he said he was meeting somebody.
He blinks, then looks towards the cafe down the road. “Right. Well, thanks for the walk.”
“And the amazing conversation.” I add with a wink.
“And the amazing conversation.” he repeats.
I walk into the store, turning to switch my sign to open, and I can't help but watch him. Watch this man who came out of nowhere, and is making me feel things I don't want to feel.
And all I can think, is I don't know how to navigate this.