“When did she get sober?” Simon asks, because he thinks that might be the real issue here.
“When she turned thirty. I was in eighth grade.” He scrubs a hand over his beard. “I lived with her the last two years of high school, then she moved back to Utah and I stayed in Phoenix. She met Brad.”
And Charlie startedOut Therethe same year his sister was born. Simon can only imagine what it was like for Charlie to see his mother settle down and raise a baby in a house with a pool and a lawn and what appears to be a tastefully appointed guest bedroom, when Charlie had just come out of a very different kind of childhood.
“I’m happy for them,” Charlie says. He sounds painfully honest. “But, like.”
“I know.”
“Sorry, I’m not fun tonight.”
“Well, I’m never fun, so.”
“Being here makes me remember the shitty things. And I think that when I’m around, my mom remembers the shitty things too. But what are we supposed to do? Ilikemy mom. I like seeing her. I like seeing Haley. Fuck’s sake, Simon, I even like Brad.”
Maybe this is why Simon is able to let his guard down around Charlie. They’re both coming from a place of unbelonging. Simon’s dealt with that feeling of being perpetually outside by turning everything inward and protecting it with the only armor he could find. Charlie learned how to make everyone like him, how to make sure he always belongs.
“I think you’re doing great,” Simon says.
“Thanks,” Charlie mumbles. He’s slumped low enough on the bed that he’s basically talking into his shirt. “They all want to meet you.”
Simon offered to come this time, when he realized how Charlie felt about this trip. “Anytime,” he says. Maybe he’ll convince Charlie to stay at a hotel. Maybe he’ll stay in the guest room of a suburban house with what seems to be inspirational text art on the nightstand.
“I can’t be this shitty to anyone else,” Charlie says. “Everyone else needs to think I’m fine or they’ll worry I’m off the wagon, or, like, hate me.”
Simon gets a greedy little thrill at the idea that he has this part of Charlie all to himself, but he reins it in.
“First, you aren’t being shitty to me. You’re upset. That’s not the same thing. Second, it hasn’t really occurred to me to worry that you’re going to start drinking,” he says, because he doesn’t think Charlie would have thrown in that sentence if he didn’t want to talk about it. “You’ve handled it for six years. That doesn’t mean I think it’s easy for you. I just—” He doesn’t know how to communicate that he thinks this is Charlie’s business, without implying that he’s washing his hands of it. “So, if you told me that you trust me to manage my anxiety, I’d change the locks. But—something like that? I... believe in you?” He manages not to make any air quotes whatsoever.
“Wow. Gross,” Charlie says, but he looks pleased, so Simon hopes he got that right enough.
For the rest of the week, they talk every night, their conversations steadily decreasing in grumpiness and unprocessed feelings. At one point, a little girl with light brown hair appears on the screen, only long enough to wave and run.
When Simon picks Charlie up at the airport, he brings Edie because obviously she’ll improve anyone’s mental state. Charlie gets into the car and goes quiet and fidgety right away.
Simon drives them to Charlie’s house, entering the code on the keypad himself and turning on the lights. The house somehow feels emptier than it ever has, abandoned, like Charlie’s been away for months. Charlie sprawls on the sofa, taking up enough space that Simon has to pretty much plant himself on top of him.
“Sorry,” Charlie says, his eyes shut. Simon doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. Charlie probably doesn’t know either. One of his hands is on Simon’s back, heavy enough to hold him in place.
“I missed you,” Simon says, because it’s true and he hasn’t said so yet, even if the fact that he’s burrowed himself into Charlie’s chest might have made it obvious.
“You probably liked having some space.”
They’ve established a few times that Simon doesn’t want space. Space is Simon’s enemy, and Charlie knows it, so this is just Charlie asking for reassurance.
“God no,” Simon says, his lips moving against Charlie’s T-shirt. “I complained to Jamie until he suddenly remembered something he had to do in San Diego for a few days.” This is a slight exaggeration. Jamie probably did have something to do in San Diego, but Simon’s not imagining the way he ran for his car like a fugitive fleeing police dogs.
Charlie starts laughing, always cheered by stories of Simon being embarrassing. “Does that mean your house is empty?”
Simon can’t imagine who else Charlie thinks would be atSimon’s house. “Sure. Want to come over?” he asks, assuming this is what Charlie’s getting at.
Charlie’s quiet, still except for his fingers tracing circles on Simon’s lower back. “I kind of hate it here. I mean. Not all the time. But right now it’s empty, and tonight...”
“I wasn’t going to leave you alone,” Simon says, a little offended. He brought Edie’s bed and some dog food. “But please come to my place. I have ingredients for you to make smoothies, and I bought a few extra of those bath sheets you like.” He was going to bring the bath sheets to Charlie’s, but he’s getting the feeling that isn’t the right move at all. “And I want you to come over, so you should, just to make me happy.”
“Yeah?” Charlie sounds perfectly casual. Only his hand, tightening on Simon’s hip, gives anything away.
For Charlie, being welcomed into someone’s home—being asked, being wanted—might mean something different than it does for most people. Simon thinks about Charlie sitting at the kitchen counter of Simon’s sublet, nervously waiting for an invitation to stay overnight. Or, later, waiting for Simon to ask him to change his flight and stay a few more days. Simon feels like his heart is being run over by a car.
