Simon hauls himself out of bed and into the shower. Twenty-five minutes later, they’re in the elevator, Charlie holding Edie’sleash because Simon can be generous like that. While Simon was in the shower, Charlie put on jeans and an actual honest-to-God linen shirt, which he mostly ruins by wearing it over something that came out of a T-shirt cannon, but the look is overall more than acceptable.
“Stress shopping really works for you,” Simon observes.
“So close to a compliment. And yet,” Charlie says, but he looks pleased.
When they get to the restaurant, it’s eight o’clock, already dark. The tables on the sidewalk are lit with candles and strings of lights, and the mood is more overtly romantic than it seemed in daylight. Simon’s embarrassed, but it’s not like he can say, “Sorry, change of plans, I’m not sure the vibe of this restaurant exactly matches the vibe of our relationship, if it even is a relationship, so let’s find someplace else.”
The hostess recognizes them and they get a table right away. Simon might feel bad about it, if he were a much better person, and if Charlie weren’t twitching with hunger.
Simon watches in amazement as Charlie puts away the entire contents of the breadbasket. “I couldn’t eat on the plane,” Charlie explains. “Your dog kept looking at me like I was doing war crimes by not giving her half my sandwich. And I didn’t know if she was allowed to eat people food.”
Simon stares. “So you just didn’t eat?” Charlie needs to be fed every two hours, like a newborn baby or a bacteria sample in a lab.
“I don’t want her to hate me.”
“All dogs do that. When you’re eating, they give you the saddest possible eyes. They put their chin on your leg, they cry like they’rebeing tortured. Every dog on the planet is working from the same playbook.”
“Excuse me for not being a fucking dog psychologist.”
Charlie’s said a couple of things that make Simon suspect he knows next to nothing about dogs. He probably just didn’t grow up with pets. Plenty of families don’t have pets, but with Charlie, it feels like more evidence of a deprived childhood. Charlie should have had two golden retrievers at all times and at least one cat. It’s appalling that the universe didn’t give him that.
“If you give her some bread, she’ll love you forever,” Simon says.
Charlie does, and Edie situates herself so she’s basically sitting on Charlie’s foot. Charlie looks smug about this, so Simon doesn’t tell him that Edie has identified him as a soft touch and will now extort him for food at every opportunity.
When Simon orders somethingmildlyoff menu—like, it’s practically on the menu—Charlie looks a touch apoplectic, but maybe fondly irate?
“I’m never stopping,” Simon says. “Get over it.”
“No,” Charlie says, but he’s kind of smiling. Simon might be smiling back.
“Upfronts are in three days,” Charlie says.
“I need something to wear.” Simon could make do with what he has, probably, but can’t think of a single reason why he ought to.
“Oh, I forgot. Jamie sent a suitcase full of clothes. He also packed a weighted blanket. I had to pay thirty whole dollars to check that suitcase, it was so heavy.”
The idea that Charlie’s bitching about a thirty-dollar fee when he must have spent upward of five hundred dollars on the emptyseat for the dog is too much for Simon. He takes out his wallet and counts out a twenty and two fives, then deliberately slides the bills across the table.
Charlie looks like he isn’t sure whether to laugh or flip the table, but he takes out his own wallet and shoves the bills in, then puts the wallet back in his pocket, never breaking eye contact.
“I already bought a weighted blanket,” Simon says, “as soon I could look at a screen long enough to order one.”
“You had a migraine when you got here?”
“Not the greatest day of my life.”
Charlie looks acutely unhappy, like he’s found a whole new thing to worry about and now has to go back over the past few weeks and factor it in. “Is that why you didn’t text me when you landed?”
“I should have just used voice controls.” Simon resists the urge to press his glass of ice water against his face. “I’m sorry.”
Charlie’s quiet for long enough that Simon’s sure he got this wrong. Was an apology too much? Not enough? Should he explain that it wasn’t personal, that Simon also didn’t text Jamie, and he is in fact just like this, possibly permanently?
“Apology accepted,” Charlie says.
“I wonder what Jamie packed,” Simon says, desperately changing the topic.
“He seemed pretty sure it would be what you wanted.”
