Tonight, Pearl had set the table. She’d filled a pitcher with filtered water and placed it on the table. Then she settled into a chair, opened her notebook.
Charlie moved with ease around the kitchen, as if he lived there. He seemed to know where things were without asking. Pearl doubted that even her mother would be so at home in their cabinets. She couldn’t even remember the last time Stella had cooked anything other than scrambled eggs and toast on Sundays when she was feeling jovial for any reason.
“What are you reading these days, Pearl?” Charlie asked, startling Pearl, who had drifted into thought.
On the stove, chicken sizzled in some kind of sauce, there was bread baking in the oven. A colorful salad sat tossed in a bowl she didn’t even know they had. Pearl’s stomach was rumbling; she hadn’t eaten all day.
“Jane Eyre,” she said.
None of the men her mother knew had ever asked such a thing.
“For school?”
“No. In school we’re reading The Giver.”
“Very different books,” he said, moving the chicken around the pan. “Any common themes?”
What a question. Something fired off in Pearl’s brain, the kind of joy she could only achieve when thinking about fiction—the words of others, or the stories that she herself wove, alone in her bed at night. Stories about herself, about who she could become, about the father she didn’t know, people she would meet and places she would go.
She thought about it, doodling in the notebook she had open in front of her. Classic literature versus modern dystopian young adult. She hadn’t considered making comparisons between the two. But there were similarities if you dug for them. She glanced up at Charlie, whose glasses were as thick as her own. Was he hiding behind those big frames, too?
“Both characters are asked to believe something about themselves that turns out not to be true,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows at her, smiled, ground some pepper into the pan. “Expound.”
She felt a strange thrill deep in her center. It was the thrill of being seen. Of inquiry.
“Jane is raised to believe that she’s worthless, a burden, less than the other members of the family,” she said. “And in The Giver, Jonas is raised in a society that has eliminated all the pain and strife of human history. Neither of them understands themselves until they’ve struck out on their own.”
Charlie nodded thoughtfully. There was a stillness to his face, an intensity to his gaze. She’d walked over and stood by the counter without realizing it.
“That’s a deep observation,” he said. “They’re both coming-of-age stories. Worlds apart, more than a century. And yet, the story of the young person breaking from the strictures of family and society to forge his or her own path is a timeless one. Why do you think that is?”
He dropped her gaze, moved with fluidity—whisking the bread from the oven, dressing the salad. It was as if he’d always been there.
“Because we all have to find our own way,” said Pearl.
“Exactly,” he said. “Society doesn’t always know what’s right. Our families tell us stories about ourselves that often aren’t true. Sometimes we have to follow our hearts.”
He handed her the salad bowl and she carried it to the table.
“Mom should be pulling in the driveway any minute,” he said.
Mom. Not your mom. Something intimate, possessive about the turn of phrase, wasn’t there? And so it was. The glow from the headlights slid across the back wall.
“Stella said you were smart,” said Charlie, handing her the warm basket of bread. “I wonder if she knows how smart. Sometimes we don’t see what’s right in front of us.”
Pearl didn’t know what to say, felt her cheeks go hot. This was not the kind of conversation she was used to having with anyone but her English teacher.
And then her mom was there, blustering about the store—so busy today!
“That coupon you ran, Charlie, amazing. And twenty-five people bought tickets for that open mic night. You’re a genius.”
“It was your idea, Stella,” he said. “I just nudged you to make it happen.”
She swept off her coat, dropped all her bags, gave Pearl a quick squeeze.
“And dinner!” she gushed. “Thank you.”
Stella kissed him on the cheek and Pearl watched his hand linger on the small of her back. And Pearl disappeared. When Stella was in the room, she filled it—with her beauty, with her scent, with the volume of her being.
Pearl didn’t mind. She liked the shadows. That’s where you got to see all the things that other people missed.
At the table, they ate the meal Charlie had prepared, and talked about Stella’s plan for surviving as a small brick-and-mortar bookseller. It was one of her high-energy nights, when she had Big Plans. She was going to build the newsletter list, the online sales, invite book groups to use the space if they bought the book at the store. She was going to attend the regional book fair, invite authors to visit. Charlie made all the right noises, nodding his head and encouraging with an enthusiastic “Yes!” or “That’s great, Stella!”
Stella was all smiles, touching Charlie’s hand, leaning her body toward his. After dinner, most nights, Pearl would go up to her room and finish her homework, read until she fell asleep. Charlie and her mother would disappear into Stella’s room. She wouldn’t hear another peep from them. He likely wouldn’t be there when she got up for school in the morning. But right now, as they all ate, she watched.
There was something different about Charlie. All the other men who’d shared this table were in Stella’s thrall, hanging on her every word, rapt by her—beauty? Was it beauty? No, it was more than that, something that radiated from inside, a kind of magnetism. But the energy between Charlie and Stella—it was like she was the dancer, and he was the approving observer.
“Tell us about school today, Pearl,” said Charlie.
Stella seemed surprised, as if she’d forgotten Pearl was there. Pearl was surprised, too.
“I dissected a frog in science class,” she said. “We removed its heart.”
They all looked down at their plates. “Really, Pearl?” said Stella, disgusted.
“Ah,” said Charlie. “Did you learn anything that surprised you?”
“Well,” said Pearl. “I wasn’t too enthusiastic about the lab. But it wasn’t as revolting as I thought. In fact, it was kind of fascinating. How things work under the skin. You don’t think about your organs too much, you know?”
Charlie’s grin was wide and knowing as Stella pushed away from the table. Pearl had been looking for a reaction and she got one. And Charlie saw it all.
“Well, there goes my appetite,” said Stella, rising.
“Sit down,” Charlie said.
Pearl startled a little, glanced at her mother. His voice was gentle, coaxing. But Stella did not like it when the attention of a conversation turned away from her. And she did not like to be told what to do—especially by any man. Would she rage? Would she storm off? Pearl braced herself for what came next.
“I think Pearl’s just trying to shock us,” said Charlie, still grinning. The energy in the room cooled.