The Rom-Commers(76)
A bad call? What was he—a referee?
I felt like I needed to stand up for that best-kiss-of-my-life kiss. “I thought it was a good call.”
His voice was a monotone. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
I really wasn’t following. “Why not?”
“Because we”—he gestured between us—“can’t start anything.”
“Too late!” I said. “It’s already started.”
“Then it needs to stop.”
“What if I don’t want to stop?”
“That’s not relevant.”
“It is to me!”
“I’m sorry,” Charlie said. But he didn’t sound sorry.
Was this a version of his tell? Was he pretending not to care because he cared so much? But why would he do that? There was no reason to.
“Charlie,” I said, meeting his eyes and taking a step closer. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Charlie said. “I just—don’t like you like that.”
I could feel my throat tightening with disappointment. “You don’t?”
“I don’t.”
“Not … at all? Nothing?”
Charlie just watched me.
“Okay,” I said. “But … so … why does it feel like you do like me like that?”
Charlie shook his head. “Maybe it’s because we’ve been living together. Maybe it’s because we found a great writing groove. Maybe you’ve been alone too long.”
“I’ve been … alone too long?” That was his autobiography—not mine.
“I don’t know, Emma!” Charlie said, like something had just snapped. “It was a mistake. It was a fucking mistake!”
At that—at Charlie Yates using the f-word against our beautiful, ethereal, life-changing kiss—I stepped back.
But Charlie was worked up now. “We don’t know what’s happening! We don’t know the future! All you want is answers—but I don’t have any! I could move to Alaska tomorrow! I could sail around the world!” Charlie threw his hands up, like Who knows? “I could get back together with my ex-wife.”
At that, I started coughing for no reason. As soon as I’d recovered enough to talk, I said, “Who did you just say you’re getting back together with?”
“Could,” he corrected, like that was an important point.
“Get back together with—?”
“My ex-wife,” Charlie said, without blinking.
“The mean one?” I said, like there might be other choices.
Charlie nodded, but he said, “She’s not actually mean.”
“The ex-wife who left you on the day you got cancer?”
He gave me a look. “Yes, but—”
“The ex-wife you don’t even like?”
Charlie made a weak protest: “It’s complicated.”
“You hid from her in a kitchen pantry like she was some kind of banshee!”
“That happens in a marriage sometimes,” Charlie said.
“You’re not even married!”
What was happening? What was going on? I was so confused. Ten minutes ago I’d been floating on an afterglow of a kiss for the history books from a guy I was 99 percent sure was exactly as into me as I was into him … and now he was thinking of getting remarried—to a person he couldn’t stand?
Unbelievable! But maybe I just didn’t want to believe it.
Maybe I really had been alone too long.
“Are you dating her?”
“Who?”
“The mean ex-wife.”
“Not yet,” Charlie said. “But we could start. Any day now.”
What?
“I’ve heard a lot of crazy things in my life,” I said then, “but this is the craziest.”
Charlie nodded like he agreed. Like we were both baffled.
But I guess the takeaway here was that Charlie had said no. Charlie had said he wasn’t interested. Charlie had said it was a bad call.
That wasn’t confusing. That was simple.
I felt things for Charlie, but Charlie—apparently—felt nothing for me.
So that just had to be the end of that.
Twenty-Five
WHAT HAPPENS NEXT—AFTER a famous writer has given you a hard pass in his dining room at the start of your writing day together?
You, uh …
You just, uh …
You just get back to work.
You nod for a few seconds, blankly, letting it all register … and then you take a long, slow walk back around to your own side of the table, sit primly in front of your own laptop, and place your fingers on your keyboard.
Did I want to storm out of the house and never come back—possibly swiping one of his drawer awards on the way out?
I did.
But I stayed. For the contract.
Going through all this and then forfeiting the money at the end would just be bad to worse. If I had to stay until the end to get paid, then I’d stay till the end to get paid.
A display of strength, if nothing else.
A decent person would prorate my pay. I’d gladly leave for 90 percent of the total. I’d give up 10 percent in a heartbeat to get out of here.