She pulls out my desk chair and sits, threading her hands together and then sticking them under her legs. Her posture is tense, her shoulders hugging her neck.
My knees feel weak and I back up until I hit the bed, then sink onto the mattress. Charlie’s chest rises and falls slowly with deep breaths.
“I invited my parents to my next show,” she says.
“What?”
“My next show. It’s in Nashville, at this tiny coffee shop in the Gulch. No big deal, really.”
My eyes widen. “Charlie. Wow. It is. It’s a gigantic deal.”
She shrugs. “Anyway, I told my parents about it, about writing songs and . . . well, how everything I want to do with music has very little to do with four-part harmony and chorales.”
I laugh. “And?”
“They were excited. My dad even . . .” She grins. “My dad even ran upstairs to my room and grabbed my guitar. Asked me to play him and my mom something I wrote.”
“Did you?”
She nods. “But I didn’t sing it. Just hummed.”
I smile. “Well. Baby steps, right?”
“Yeah. Anyway, they’re going to come to the show.”
“Charlie.” She lifts her head to look at me, her expression all nervousness and eager for approval. “That’s awesome.”
“I’m still kind of freaking out about it. I mean, you know my songs. They’re—”
“They’re you.”
She sighs and drags a hand through her hair, but nods.
“I’m proud of you,” I say quietly. “Really proud of you.”
Her gaze meets mine. “I knew you would be. And I’m going to talk to my parents about”—?she waves a hand down her body, covered in plaid and black jeans—?“well, all of this. Me. I just need some time.”
“Of course you do. That’s a huge thing.”
“Yeah, it is, but I’m ready to do it. Or I’m getting there. And there’s something else I need to tell you.”
“Okay.”
She blows out a long breath. “I lied to you.”
“What?”
“I asked you to tell the truth, to be brave, but I haven’t told the truth and I haven’t been brave. I guess talking to my parents about my music was a step, but there’s more.”
“What . . . what did you lie about?” A cold rush of fear fills my veins, because I don’t think I can take any more lies. I don’t think I can handle another person I love more than anything telling me they’re full of shit.
She doesn’t answer at first. In fact, she doesn’t answer for a long time. Just breathes slowly and evenly. Finally, she gets up and comes over to the bed, tucking one leg underneath her while she sits and takes both of my hands in hers.
“I love you, Mara.”
“I know you do.”
“No, you don’t. I really love you. I’m in love with you. I never wanted to break up. I only agreed because I could tell you were freaking out and I didn’t know what to say to change your mind. And, yeah, part of me thought that if I fought you on it, I’d lose you as a friend, too. But, Mara, nothing can change this.” She waves her hand between us. “We know that now. It’s okay to be both best friends and together. It’s okay to not be together too, but that’s not what I want.”
