Simon gets it together and lifts his head up so he can see Charlie’s face. “I gave you the code to the door and cleared out half the garage for your car. I don’t keep enormous canisters of bespoke protein powder in my kitchen for just anyone.”
“Did you get the chocolate flavor?”
“Obviously.” He slips a hand into Charlie’s pocket and pulls out his phone, then shoves it toward Charlie’s face. “It’s your turn to pick where we order dinner from.”
“Why do you look like you’re about to cry?”
“A trick of the light. An optical illusion. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“I can’t get up if you don’t let go of me.”
“Sounds fake.”
Charlie gets to his feet, hauling Simon along with him.
Only later, after they’ve had dinner and watched an unmemorable movie, and Charlie’s unpacked his suitcase directly into Simon’s washing machine, does Charlie start to unwind. The grumpiness and prickliness gradually slough off.
“Thank you,” Charlie says, low, grabbing Simon’s arm as they’re passing one another in the kitchen. “Nobody’s ever done this for me before.”
Simon doesn’t know exactly what Charlie means, but he’s probably referring to how Simon basically grafted himself onto Charlie’s body for a few hours.
“I want you to have what you need,” Simon says. “Because when I think of you not having what you need, I feel—” His voice is wobbly and he takes a minute to steady himself, his fingers hooked tight in the belt loops of Charlie’s jeans. “The idea of you being eight or twelve and not knowing whether there’s a place where you belong or a person who’s going to take care of you—that’s the worst thing I can think of, okay? Is this too much? I don’t need to emote all over you.”
Charlie uses Simon’s arm to reel him in, close enough that Simon doesn’t have to make eye contact anymore. “You. Uh. You can keep going,” Charlie says. There’s a hint of a question in there, the faintest doubt, like maybe Simon won’t keep going, like there’s any universe where Simon isn’t going to do whatever Charlie asks right now.
“Is this because you want me to say nice things or because you want to hear me embarrass myself?”
“Yes,” Charlie says.
“Look. I’m glad I get to know this side of you. This part of you is worth knowing. I think you don’t know that.” Simon would like to hide right now, but he can’t, so he buries his face in Charlie’s neck. “And that part of you deserves a place to belong and be looked after.”Thank you for letting me do that, is what he’s supposed to say. “And if you think I’m letting anyone else do that,” he says instead, “you’re out of your fucking mind.”
Maybe he got it right, because Charlie lets out a sound that’s almost a laugh, and his arms tighten around Simon.
“I didn’t realize she was pregnant,” Simon says about an hour and a half into Petra’s wedding, when he finally realizes what’s going on with her dress.
“She said so in the group chat,” Alex says from the seat next to him. “Like five hundred times. She has a registry.”
“We got her crib sheets from that linen place all your podcasts are obsessed with,” Charlie says.
The vows portion of the event is over, thank God, because even Charlie’s arm, steady on the back of Simon’s chair, isn’t enough to make the spectacle of people voluntarily crying in public something Simon wants to experience.
He says as much to Alex as they’re eating tiny little pastry things the waiters are bringing around on trays.
“You’re a dick,” she points out. “But, like, same.”
“I love weddings,” Charlie says.
Alex boos him, so Simon doesn’t have to.
They’re at a giant house on the beach that gets rented out for weddings. Petra’s new husband has approximately five million family members and they’re all here. An elderly Filipino woman called Simon handsome, so Simon thinks Petra’s married up.
“It’s an excuse for dressing up,” Charlie says. He’s wearing a suit that looks like it was tailored by someone who knew what they were doing. “And dancing.”
It’s true: people are, unfortunately, dancing. Charlie raises an eyebrow and tips his head to the dance floor.
“I can be obvious and slutty standing perfectly still,” Simon says. “It’s a gift. Dance with Alex.”
Charlie’s driving home, so Simon takes a flute of champagne from the next tray that passes by. He puts on his migraine glasses, even though he knows it’s going to make him look like an asshole, but there’s too much happening at this party, lighting-wise.
