Guess we’re diving right in, then.
I rub the back of my neck, not looking away from her. I’m not hiding from this anymore, and I need to live in the aftermath of my choices, even all this time later.
“At first, I was just…” I search for the words. “I wanted you to like my friends, and I wanted them to like you.”
“Bliss?” she cuts in with a scoff. I don’t bite back. Charlie is allowed her anger, her reactions. They’re all justified, and I don’t blame her. If anything, I deserve the venom.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Even her. I figured, if you knew that anything had happened between Marisa and me, there was no way we could just hang out, you know? And I didn’t think you’d be okay with me hanging out with her on my own. I figured that we’d only just got together, so it wouldn’t hurt if I just told you later.”
Charlie presses her mouth together, face hard. “But you didn’t.”
“No,” I agree. “I got scared of losing you, and then…” I blow out a breath between my lips. “And then I just forgot.”
Her smile is small and humorless. “It’s funny how you can forget something that devastated me so completely.”
Her words land like a physical blow, and my eyes fall shut as I absorb the hit. When I lift my lashes again, I lock my eyes with hers. “I’m sorry, Charlie.” My voice is rough, and I hope she hears the sincerity. “I have no excuses for…anyof it. I just…I fucked up so badly, and you were the one who paid the price for it all.”
Charlie’s jaw firms as she looks away. “Barrett told me about Bliss. That she got fired and couldn’t get another job.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Not sure where she is now. She was harassing me for a while. That’s, uh, why I got a new number.”
Her mouth parts at that, her eyes wide with shock. “What was she saying?”
I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “Threats, mostly. Said I’d ruined her life, so she was going to ruin mine. Mentioned you a couple of times.” Her eyes go even wider, and I rush to reassure her. “I gave it all to the cops. There wasn’t much they could do, but they told her if she didn’t knock it off, they’d have her up on harassment charges. And they kept everything as evidence.” I try to smile, but it’s weak. I tell her about the ambush with Corey and Amber, finishing with, “I haven’t heard a peep since. Word’s out that she might’ve left town.”
“I’m not sure what I expected,” Charlie says, almost to herself, “but it wasn’t that.” She has a large gulp of wine before asking, “So, you got her fired, right? What happened to Callum?”
“He lost his job too,” I murmur. “It was the only time he stepped a foot out of line, and he didn’t kick up a fuss like Bliss, so he wasn’t blacklisted. Last I heard, he’s with a family law firm over on Anderson.”
Charlie nods, mouth pursed. “Still don’t understand how they could do that to Marisa.” She sighs softly, tipping her head to the side. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know.”
She blinks rapidly and then leans forward, piercing me with a glare. “How could you not know?”
“Marisa left town about three weeks after the party, Charlie. She quit her job, and she hasn’t been back since.Won’t take our calls and hasn’t messaged us. We only knew where she was because she told Jack.” I grimace. “She also wasn’t my priority, you know? It fucking sucks what happened to her, but…” I trail off when she winces, looking away, but I see an opening, and I take it. “Charlie, I’ll never ask forgiveness for what I did because that would be about trying to make myself feel better, and I don’t ever deserve that. None of it was a reflection of you.”
Her eyes are too bright, and she ducks her head, hiding behind her hair. “Who was it a reflection of, then?”
I take a risk, reaching across the table and grabbing her hand in mine. I squeeze her, telling her firmly, “Me, Charlie. But I’m working on that. I want you to know that.”
My mother walksbeside me quietly, her eyes focused on each store we pass, her brow furrowed. We’ve been shopping for the better part of two hours, looking for some presents for my dad’s birthday.
It’s been a week since my drinks with Charlie, and I haven’t heard from her since. I messaged her the next day, thanking her for meeting with me. She sent me a thumbs-up, although I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.
“How’s therapy?” Mom suddenly asks, and I grimace, looking at her.
“Don’t we have an unspoken rule that we’re not talking about that?” I complain. “It feels like sharing a diary after I’ve written in it.”
Her mouth twitches, eyes skittering away from mine. “Got lots of experience with diary writing, do you?”
“You know what I mean,” I mutter. She makes a lowsound of amusement, but lets the silence settle back in. After a moment, keeping my focus ahead of us, I say carefully, “Do you think you’ll try therapy? Gran seemed pretty keen on you going.”
I see her shoulders go tense out of the corner of my eye. “There’s nothing wrong with me to need therapy,” she says sharply.
I bob my head, coming to a stop. She gets a few steps ahead before turning to look at me with a frown.
“You saying there’s something wrong with me, then?” I ask, and she blanches.
