She broke off, seeming flustered. “God, I don’t even know what I mean.But if anything, you made me feel inadequate. Because I was.”
What? Was she crazy? Charli would have the upper hand no matter what. She was a desirable, smart, and sexy woman. After all, it had been eight months since our last contact, and she dived right in for the kill. No small talk, zip.
Wasn’t that what I craved?
“You’re too analytical, Charli. Life isn’t like an editing job where all the t’s have to be crossed or the i’s dotted. It’s like a mix tape, a compilation of all the best hits, some slow and others fast. Some songs aren’t your favorite, but mixed with the others they make a great album. It’s all in the placement.”
Charli sighed and gave me an earnest look. “I wanted you to know that I wanted you foryou. But I couldn’t express it in a way that wouldn’t come out awful or rude. And now you’ve gone and changed yourself, and I can’t ever make peace with that. I can’t let you know how I felt and how I agonized over not showing up. Not without it sounding like a lie.”
She shoved her hair behind her ear, and I noticed something else new.
Right below her earlobe, on the smooth slope of her neck, sat a small tattoo. A symbol. I couldn’t concentrate on that thought because for the first time in months, I allowed myself to breathe. One word—agonized—and I was breathing easy.
She agonized over me, and while that should make me uneasy or ashamed, it didn’t. Some twisted sense of pride washed over me at the mere fact she’d been thinking of me.
“Hearing that makes me feel better, seriously. So much better that you considered me.” I couldn’t let her hang all the guilt on her own shoulders, though. “But this whole thing wasn’t entirely about you. I needed to feel good about myself and so I changed my appearance, but not who I am. I’m still happy Layton. Happier and healthier, that’s true, but the same.”
Charli focused on her glass. “Well, I was in a bad place, not liking my job, obsessing over appearances. Now I’m in a happier space too,” she said slowly, and then raised her eyes to mine. “A lot of it has to do with you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I went home after running out of the hotel and spent two days in bed. No running or spinning. No drinking with friends. Just working from bed and thinking. I’d turned into a shell of a person, a drone on a path of self-destruction. I hated who I was, and I decided to make changes.”
She took the last sip of her drink and I swallowed the dregs of my beer.
“Want to get a table,” I asked, “so you don’t have to rush in telling me everything?”
“Um, do you still eat burgers?” Her cheeks were as red as her cashmere sweater.
“You betcha. I’m dying for one.” I pinched her cheek. “I’m not a waif.”
We stood and asked for a table. The hostess looked me up and down, hungry in a way I wished Charli was. Being dismissed was not one of the things I missed about being fat.
We were shown to a corner table in front of a large picture window. The table had a graceful lily in a bud vase, and Sinatra played softly in the background. A runner brought sparkling water and slices of lemons and limes. I poured us each a glass and sipped mine, allowing the bubbles to clear my throat. It was clogged with a mixture of frustration and hope.
“So, tell me more,” I said. “I haven’t seen you since last summer. I want to hear it all. Your days in bed and how you’re not a drone, because you look fucking fabulous. Not that you looked bad before, but whatever you’re doing now, it looks great on you.” I let it all hang out there.
Charli took a deep breath and met my eyes. “Well, I didn’t like running from you, but it was too heavy, too much for me to handle. I left home at sixteen and a half for school. I always knew I didn’t want to trade everything in like my mom, but I also wanted passion, heat. Crap, I didn’t know what I wanted. Back in your hotel room, I realized I wanted you, but I was so far away from what I wanted for me. My career wasn’t what I wanted, and well, you weren’t the type of person I ever imagined myself being with.”
Her hair had grown out. Layers still framed her face, but it was longer, more feminine. For the briefest of moments, she looked fragile.
“Sounds like you did a lot of soul-searching,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “I don’t know if I’ve ever done that much.”
She laughed and her giggle filled the restaurant, overshadowing Sinatra, which was close to impossible.
“Yeah, well, about that. I had some savings, plus some money I had from my dad’s insurance when he died, and I quit my job. It probably sounds pretty spoiled, but I think he would’ve wanted me happy. At least, I picture him wanting that. And so I spent the summer and fall sitting in coffee shops, writing ... and thinking.”
“Sounds pretty awesome—”
I got cut off by the server who rattled off a few specials, touting the burger of the night—Wagyu beef with fried onions and wasabi mayo on an onion brioche.
“I’ll give you a few minutes, but drinks? A refresher?”
“Another cosmo?” I asked Charli, wanting this asshole to go away. When she nodded, I said, “Cosmo and an Amstel Light.”
I wasn’t driving and I was being bad with a burger, so why not drink a bit?
“That’s why I didn’t e-mail or anything for a few months. I had to get my life together. And then by the time I did, the words escaped me in what to say. I figured you’d moved on.”
