Chapter Eleven
The car vibrated as it idled at the curb of Bekah’s address. Turn it off, walk up the sidewalk, ring the bell, make conversation, be a normal person. Charlotte took several deep breaths, working up the nerve to go do exactly what she had repeated to herself during the little pep talk. Though she’d been sitting there for five minutes already and hadn’t made it any further than drumming her thumbs on the steering wheel.
If she couldn’t even get through a girl’s night with her coworkers, how was she going to get through a date with Trey? Hell, how would she be able to make it through each day in the position she’d just decided she would take?
Charlotte banged her forehead against the steering wheel. Frustration with herself festered in her gut like two-week-old Chinese food. She wanted to be able to go up to that apartment and hang out like one of the girls so bad. Friends weren’t something that came easily to Charlotte, and Bekah and Mira had been so insistent that they wanted her there. So why couldn’t Charlotte force herself out of the car?
She tried doing the same visualization tactic from earlier in the day with Trey, but each time she pictured the worst-case scenario, bile rose in her stomach until her throat literally ached with the acidic taste.
A car beeped behind her, scaring her half to death. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, she saw Mira climbing out of her Honda Fit with a big duffel bag in one hand. The sophisticated woman strode up to Charlotte’s car, opened the passenger seat, and sat herself down without invitation.
“So, you’re here. You going to come in?” Mira spoke gently, but the challenge was clear. If Charlotte wussed out now, it wouldn’t just be her own secret shame. Mira would know. Would witness it.
Charlotte would never be able to look her coworker in the eye again. “Yes?” The doubt in her voice annoyed her. She could be strong. She’d proved it at work this week. “I mean, yes, I’m coming in.”
She reached into the backseat, pulling out the overnight bag she’d packed her pajamas and toothbrush in.
“Awesome, let’s go. Chris has been wine blocking me, because he thinks it will interfere with the meds I was on after the hospital. But I’ve been off all of them for weeks. Man is out of his mind.” Mira laughed and shook her head, but you’d have to be dead not to all see the love painted on her face.
“Yeah, he’s out of his mind for you. Must be nice to have someone that obsessed with you.” The very millisecond the words left her mouth Charlotte wished she could grab them in her hands and stuff them back in her lips. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think before I said that. Of course, someone being obsessed with you isn’t a good thing. I meant he loves you. Not that he’s obsessed with you like your stalker. I don't think having a stalker would be a good thing.”
Mira grabbed Charlotte’s arm, stopping her in the middle of the sidewalk and cutting off her stream of words. “Hey, I knew you didn’t mean it like that. You’re right. Chris is obsessed with me, in a totally healthy, loving way.”
Despite her comforting words, Charlotte replayed the poor word choice in her head over and over again until the idiotic statement echoed through her brain endlessly. Mira chatted away next to her, but none of the words penetrated Charlotte’s embarrassment.
“Charlotte, this is it.” Mira tugged at Charlotte’s shirt, directing her into the front door of a tall apartment complex.
A man in a crisp uniform held the door open for them, giving a slight bow and murmuring a stiff greeting. This place was a far cry from Charlotte’s converted apartment in an old Victorian house. There was no way Bekah could rent even a closet in this building on a night reporter’s salary.
Charlotte gaped on the marble floors, gilded trim, and cavernous ceilings as they walked through the lobby, checked in at security, and made their way to the elevator.
“Yeah, your face is pretty much exactly how I felt walking in here the first time,” Mira chuckled. “Bekah’s parents are very well off. Her dad owns this building.”
Nodding, she tried to reign in her awe at the pristine surroundings. Even the elevator doors were a pristine and gleaming gold.
As soon as the doors slid open, Bekah’s bubbly smile greeted them. She wore silk pajama pants, and a cotton cami with a built-in bra that was doing nothing to actually hold up Bekah’s voluptuous chest.
“Squeee! I’m so excited. I need this in the worst way.” Grabbing both their hands, Bekah dragged them three doors down to her apartment. It wasn't as big as Charlotte had thought it would be, but still a good deal larger than her own place. The main living area had an open concept, with a large island separating the kitchen from the entertainment room. Bekah pointed out where the powder room was, as well as her own room and the guest room. “But tonight, we are going to glamp it in the T.V. room. I have air mattresses ready to go, pillows galore, and I figured we can pretend to roast marshmallows over the pretend fireplace, but really we’ll have to nuke ‘em.”
Mira laughed and chatted with Bekah easily, while Charlotte stood stiff in the middle of the living room rolling onto the outsides of her feet and back, her fingers clutching at the handles of her overnight bag. “This place is amazing.” The words blurted out of her mouth, obviously a desperate attempt for anything resembling a normal comment.
Bekah huffed and rolled her eyes. “Ugh, I guess. It so isn’t me, though. My dad made me move in here after everything happened…” Trailing off it became obvious see was talking about everything that had happened with Mira. “I would much rather still be living in my funky apartment on the South Side. But, no one crosses Daddy, so here I am.”
Now that Charlotte took a closer look, it became obvious that this place held next to nothing of her vibrant coworker. The walls were white, kitchen cabinets white, countertops grey and white marble. Even the gleaming chrome tables were devoid of color. But you could see pops of Bekah here and there. Flaming red pillows, turquoise throw blankets, flowers bursting with color on every surface. It was obvious she had done what she could.
“Okay, so why don't you two get changed into your PJs, and I’ll pour the wine.”
Charlotte cleared her suddenly dry throat, and both the reporters turned to glance at her. “Um, I’m not a good drinker. Could I just have water?”
“No. You are having at least one glass of wine.” Before Charlotte could resist, Bekah barreled on, as was her tendency. “But I promise to make it a small one, and then you can switch to some mocktails I made sure to have on hand. But you need to loosen up a little my chick-a-dee.” In two steps Bekah reached Charlotte’s side and pinched her cheek. With a swat to Charlotte’s butt, Bekah sent her off down the hall to change.
The master bathroom was insanely huge, bigger than Charlotte’s kitchen. But there were far too many reflective surfaces with the huge mirror behind the double sinks and the polished chrome everywhere. Charlotte quickly changed into her flannel PJs which covered everything from her ankles to her neck. Even her hands were covered in the long sleeves. When she emerged from the bathroom, it was to find Bekah and Mira sitting on the couch with wine glasses in hand. Mira wore capri leggings with a cami, and Bekah wore little sleep shorts and a t-shirt. Next to them Charlotte looked positively Amish in her big flannels.
“Here is your wine. Just half a glass, don’t worry. I ordered the whole menu off the China Tea House menu, and I have three flavors of Ben & Jerry’s, and enough cheese and crackers to feed an army.” Excitement radiated off Bekah like a beacon, and Charlotte found she couldn’t help but feed off that energy a little.
Her heart still raced, and the thought of saying something beyond dumb made her palms sweat where they clutched her sleeves, but she was also strangely proud for stepping outside her safe little world.
“So, you were just a little excited about tonight, huh Beks?” Mira chuckled at their coworker, obviously loving the woman’s open joy.
