Betting on You(88)

I sighed, letting the dog climb onto my lap as I pictured my mom’s surprised face as I ditched her. “Seems like a creepy question.”

“I just want to text that you’re crashing here so she doesn’t worry,” he said. “And so you don’t have to do it yourself.”

I hadn’t thought far ahead enough to consider crashing at Charlie’s apartment, but I was too depressed to overthink it. I gave him the number and sighed. What was I going to do? I mean, obviously I had no choice regarding my mother’s marital status, but would I actually have to live with him and his kid? Would we move into Scott’s house?

Would I have to share a room with his daughter?

I felt the tears coming back as I thought about moving into a strange house with people I barely knew.

“Glasses.” Charlie came back into the living room with an armful of blankets, and he said, “Ditch the shoes and the dog, go get snacks in the kitchen, and when you come back, I’ll be ready for you.”

“Okay.” I took off my coat and shoes and went into the kitchen, impressed by Charlie’s apartment. It was way nicer than ours, and the pantry was full of good snacks. I grabbed Twizzlers, Vic’s popcorn, a twelve-pack of Diet Pepsi, and a box of Twinkies.

When I came out, Charlie did an elaborate “Ta-da” reveal of his construction work. He’d used kitchen chairs and storage cubes to make a large portion of the living room into a fort. I watched him as he put two fluffy pillows inside, along with two down comforters.

“You made a floor bed?” I asked, blown away by this sweetness.

He crawled out and looked at my very full hands. “Nice selections, Glasses.”

“Thank you,” I said, pushing up my glasses with my wrist.

“You may enter my blanket fort.” Charlie pointed with both hands, gesturing like he was Vanna White with a prize package.

“You’re too kind.”

We climbed into the fort and piled the snacks between us as we stretched out on the blankets. In spite of my tumultuous emotions, I was very aware that I was lying down next to Charlie.

Been there, done that.

“So the first selection is one of my awful favorites. Napoleon Dynamite.”

“Oh my God.”

“I know.” He turned on the movie and immediately launched into hilarious commentary that had me cracking up, even more so than I usually did when I watched that movie (it was one of my awful favorites too). We shared snacks as we watched, and he almost made me forget about everything.

When the doorbell rang, Charlie crawled out of the fort and collected our ice cream. A quart of vanilla for Charlie, a quart of chocolate for me, and we lay under the blankets and dug into that stash.

“So, Glasses. You okay?” he asked, his eyes on my face as he held a spoonful of ice cream in front of his mouth.

“Yes,” I said.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Here’s the thing,” I said, licking off my spoon and feeling my throat get tight again. “Unless he wants to move into our apartment and not live with his daughter, I’m not going to be okay.”

He swallowed. “I get that.”

“Like, how do you do that?” I said, my voice frog-like as I imagined it. “How do you get okay with moving into someone else’s house with people you don’t really know?”

He didn’t answer, but just nodded and let me vent while we ate ice cream.

“And speaking of moving—my dad is moving and failed to tell me. So, like, how do you forget to tell your child that you’re moving? Even if it was a-okay to never call her, wouldn’t she pop into your head when you’re telling your ex-wife or packing up her old bedroom?”

Charlie held up his spoon. “Listen. You know I’m all about being stubborn, but maybe you should call your dad,” Charlie said, dipping his spoon back into his ice cream and digging out another scoopful. “He might be a good person to talk to about all of this.”

“It’s lame,” I said, “but I think if I hear his voice, I’ll get, like, toddler-level emotional.”

“Is that so bad?” he asked, giving me just the kindest, sweetest eye contact.

My vision was blurry again, so I blinked fast and changed the subject. “We should mix. Gimme a scoop of vanilla.”

He looked offended. “You want me to share?”

I scooped some chocolate out of my container, then dropped it into Charlie’s. “Here. We’ll both share.”

“Not so fast.” He grabbed my forearm in his big hand and said with faux outrage, “What if I don’t want your scoop?”

“Oh, you want it,” I teased, lifting my chin. “It’s all you can think about now. You are obsessed with how badly you want it.”

His eyes dipped down to my mouth as his lips kicked up at the corners. “You little ice cream tease.”

I opened my mouth to say How can I be a tease when I’m giving it to you—and then I froze.

God, leave it to Charlie to make me forget everything and flirt with him.

He looked at my lips again, like he was thinking hard, and then he said, “Quit distracting me—I’m missing the movie.”

At around three, after too much ice cream and two more movies, I looked over and he was sound asleep. He looked sweet—which was quite a stretch from his normal state. His eyes were closed, those long lashes resting on his skin, and his forehead was clear of worry lines.