She’s eyeing me knowingly. “It’s interesting that in one of the roles, you wanted to be was girlfriend.”
“Don’t think I haven’t been deconstructingthatfor the past twenty-four hours.” Crap. I really was going to have to call my therapist, wasn’t I? “What’s the deal with his family?”
Emma crosses her legs and shrugs one shoulder. “I only met his grandfather a few times. He was a very severe man, the type who talks to children as if they’re business associates. Nana always said he wasn’t worth the air it would take to curse him, but I remember Lincoln’s dad being down-to-earth. Always smiling, always friendly. I don’t know much about the split, only that his mom moved back here with Reed and Darcy, and Lincoln stayed in the UK with his dad. After that, I barely saw him, not until the party last year.”
God, I have so many questions. Reed had been equal parts welcoming and cold, and while Astrid had been a delight, there was a clear distance between her and Lincoln I wanted to understand.
I hate the thought that I’ll never see her again.
A knock at my door gets me off the couch, signaling treats have arrived.
When I answer it, I’m not at all surprised to find Charlie there, bags in hand. “Oh, cute,” I joke over my shoulder. “You got a new personal assistant.” Although it might as well be true. They started out slinging insults to each other, but eventually they became a team.
I want that. I’ve always wanted it. Deeply, with every fiber.
“Jealous?” Charlie winks.
“Not in a million years.” Except I am. A little. Not about Charlie—God, no— but having someone rock up when I need them? Yeah, I’ll take some of that.
I take the treasure out of his hands, ushering him inside. “Hey, you quit without having anything lined up. Weren’t you worried?”
I leave him the spot beside Emma on the sofa, sinking back onto the floor, leaning against the TV unit opposite them. He slots in perfectly beside her, his worn dark jeans beside her candy pink leggings, their edges clicking into place.
There’s gray under his trimmed nails, stubborn oil that won’t be scrubbed off. Last week he almost floated out of his bones when I asked about the 1978 Datsun he was rebuilding at work.
What I would give to have purpose like that.
Charlie shakes his head. “Not really.”
“That’s not entirely true.” Emma nudges his knee with her foot, which he catches and starts rubbing. I split the food between us, piling extra cheese on my plate.
“Okay,” he admits. “I was a little worried, but I’ve always found my feet. You got a payout, right?”
“A small one,” I confirm.
He nods. “Yeah, that helps. So maybe take some time, if you can. I know what it’s like to keep going, rain or shine. Starts to feel like if you stop?—”
“Everything’ll fall apart,” I finish for him.
“Exactly, but if you don’t stop now, when will you?” It’s a good point.
Above us, Hania stops, starts again. It’s getting better. Now there are at least two and a half blind mice. I should take her some hand cream tomorrow; her fingers will be aching.
Charlie picked well. The food smells and tastes delicious, and a comfortable silence settles as we all eat, Hania’s practice serving as background music.
Back in college, it was all about moving out. Getting my own place. Then a car, covering my student loans, eating better, finding a good hairdresser, and being able to make appointmentsin advance. Seeing a dentist more than once a decade.
Now it’s like there are more downsides than ups. Working until I’m exhausted, followed by an ocean of guilt if I’m not making the most of every spare minute. Check in with my mom, pay my bills, be a good friend, eventually read a non-fiction book instead of doom scrolling first thing in the morning. Take my vitamins.
Sometimes life feels like free labor.
“Every time I think of going back to doc control, it’s like I’ve eaten bad sushi. I can’t tell if that’s because I’m over it all or because I can’t stomach jumping back in so fast. I know I was decent at it. Maybe not as fabulous as you two?—”
“You’re brilliant,” Emma cuts in. “Don’t you dare suggest otherwise.”
And okay, I am. I just like hearing her say it sometimes, with all the indignant fury she carries. It’s nice. Charlie is smiling like he knows exactly how I feel, and yeah, he would.
“I just keep thinking, maybe I’ve hitched my wagon to the wrong horse. I won’t ever be able to do anything else.”
