The Rom-Commers(101)

Charlie took a deep, five-point-five-second breath.

“And now I can’t even remember why I’m up on this stage. Or what I was talking about. Was it about how we should tell ourselves better stories about who we are? About how we shouldn’t rob ourselves of hope and possibility? About how light matters just as much as darkness—maybe more? Or was I maybe just rambling on about Emma Wheeler? Because, honestly, she’s—”

Right then, I stepped into the reflected stage lights—close enough that he could see me.

Our eyes met.

And Charlie lost his train of thought.

Charlie just stood there staring down at me, and I just stood there staring up right back.

“Because, honestly, she’s…” he tried again, quieter, like he wasn’t even listening to himself anymore—his eyes fixed on me like I might disappear.

“Because,” he tried again, “honestly, unless I’m hallucinating right now … she’s here in this room.”

The crowd all craned to look.

“Are you really here?” Charlie asked into the mic then, his voice low and private, like we were the only two people around.

I nodded.

And then Charlie looked up and seemed to remember where he was. He lifted his award statuette off the podium. And then he said, without pauses or punctuation, “Thank you for this incredible award I’m more honored than I can say and I’ll never forget this night.”

Then he walked straight to the front of the stage, and, without ever taking his eyes off me, he jumped right down.

It took him about ten strides to reach me, and when he got there, he let his award hang forgotten in one hand, like the coolest of cool guys.

The whole room was watching, and now flashes were going off.

I glanced down at the award. “Another award for the drawer?”

But Charlie, never taking his eyes off mine, shook his head. “There is no more awards drawer.”

I waited for clarification.

“I took them all out, one by one, and polished them, and apologized to them, and put them on a shelf, like a person determined to be grateful for his blessings. And I even glued the angel’s broken wing back on.”

I kept my face deadpan. “The Women’s Film Critics Association will be very pleased.”

“Did you hear that just now?” Charlie asked, tilting his head to gesture back at the stage without breaking eye contact.

I nodded, and stepped closer.

“All of it?” he asked.

I nodded again, and took another step.

“Specifically the part about how I’m not dying?”

One more nod. “So that cough that you thought was allergies—it was actually bronchitis?”

“That’s right.”

“So you were sick when you had your screening test? But by the time you went back for the real test, you were well?”

“Exactly.”

“So,” I said, “just to confirm: You’re not dying?”

Charlie nodded in awe, like he could barely believe it himself. “Not at the moment.”

I let that sink in.

“What do you think?” Charlie asked next.

“I think you’d rather feed my heart into a wood chipper than tell me you were sick again.”

“Correct. And I’d do it again, too. Because I was not going to be another person ruining your life.”

“You really don’t understand how life-ruining works, do you?”

“You can’t be trusted to do the right thing for yourself.”

“For the record, I would never have left you because you got sick.”

“I know that. That’s why I had to leave you first.”

But I shook my head. “Logan sent me your video. The one I wasn’t supposed to see until you were dead. And I came down here ready to force you to let me be with you—no matter what.”

“That’s a hell of a decision.”

“That was a hell of a video.”

“But I’m not sick. So it doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters that you lied to me,” I said.

“I misled you,” Charlie said, like that was different.

“You said I was a hypochondriac.”

“You are a hypochondriac.”

“But you said it in a mean way.”

Charlie lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

“You shut things down with me. You said there was no misunderstanding.”

“There was no misunderstanding. Not on my end, anyway.”

“You said you didn’t care about me.”

Charlie took exception to that. “I never said I didn’t care about you.”

“You said, and I quote: ‘Absolutely not. No way in hell.’”

“I was trying to do you a favor.”

“That’s a shitty favor.”

“It was a shitty situation.”

“But it’s better now.”

“Yes,” Charlie said, frowning like he still couldn’t believe it. “It’s better now.”

“More proof for my theory,” I said.

“What theory?”

“Sometimes things get better.”

Charlie nodded like that was a bit of a revelation. “I guess sometimes they do.”