Before he could thank her for sparing his feelings, she kept going.
“But it really is better this way, Charlie. You need to go home and face your responsibilities. It was never going to last, even if she wasn’t… you know.”
Did he know? It still felt impossible he’d imagined the whole thing. How Jean made him feel, the thrill of her company. He would have sworn she was at least entertained, if not smitten like him. Then again, he’d been told more than once he wasn’t good at judging other people’s intentions. Mostly by Mugsy, who seemed to be taking this episode as confirmation of her worst fears.
“This way you can feel good about doing your duty.” She paused, apparently realizing it wasn’t the most enticing prospect. “And make your parents happy.”
That might have been an incentive, if Charlie believed it was within his power to please his father, short of becoming a different person. “I wasn’t shirking. I just… thought they mightbe better off without me.” And he didn’t want to leave Jean, but Charlie kept that part to himself. It wasn’t making excuses when two facts existed independently of each other.
“Why would you say that?”
He wasn’t sure if Mugsy was objecting to the feeling or the fact that he’d admitted to it. One of the tricks she’d tried unsuccessfully to teach him as a kid was how to hide his weak spots, but there was a difference between giving ammunition to bullies and being honest with your oldest friend. “You’ve seen me at parties.”
“Maybe you’ve grown out of it.”
“My personality?”
Mugsy gave a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t like people either, Charlie. But you can’t let them get under your skin. You shake hands, you nod, you smile.” She brushed her palms against each other. Piece of cake.
“Are you going to smile?”
She bared her teeth. It was an expression guaranteed to maintain a five-foot radius around Mugsy at all times. Maybe he could stand behind her.
“Your dad will do most of the talking.”
It would have been more reassuring if his father didn’t expect Charlie to stick close and laugh at all his jokes, pretending to have a great time. “It’s too bad I can’t buy a lifelike robot to take my place. It could hold up a sign that says, ‘Good one, Dad!’ every thirty seconds.”
Mugsy gave a grunt of agreement. “My robot’s sign would say, ‘No, I’m not related to Pocahontas.’”
“I’m sorry, Mugsy. You have it much worse than I do.”
“Yes and no. At least I don’t get the backslapping.”
“It is hard to keep a drink down.”
She bumped her shoulder against his. “It’s not going to be a huge crowd. Just a carefully selected group of beverage moguls who will hopefully decide to invest in your company. Andassorted others,” she added, like it was an afterthought. Charlie assumed she was talking about caterers and cleaners and florists—typical event staff.
“It’s not my company.” He frowned. “That sounded ungrateful, didn’t it? I’m sorry.”
Her eyes softened with understanding. “I know it’s not what you want.”
“That makes one of you.”
“I’m not the only one who cares about you, Charlie.”
His breath hitched. “You think she did have feelings for me?”
“Your parents.” The words dropped like cement blocks. “Since that’s who we’re talking about right now. Not anyone else.”
Right. He knew that. Except thoughts of Jean were like a fidget spinner in his brain, so easy to keep turning and turning. “If they love me, why can’t they understand that I don’t want to run Pike’s?”
Mugsy held a finger to her lips, looking around to make sure he hadn’t blown their cover. “Are you having some kind of delayed adolescence?”
“I went through puberty, Mugsy. You remember my voice.”
“Everyone has an awkward phase.”
“And for some of us, it lasts our whole lives.”
