CHAPTER FORTY-THREE Bailey
Charlie pulled up in front of Walgreens, and when I got into his car, he immediately gave me a pitying smile. “Awww, Glasses, your face breaks my heart.”
I knew my makeup was a little smudged, but his reaction told me how much worse it was than I’d imagined. I’d been so numb as I’d killed time in the pharmacy, waiting for him, that it hadn’t occurred to me to pull out my phone and check my face.
“Thank you for coming to get me,” I said, closing the door and staring out the window as it started raining.
“Thank you for getting me out of the house,” he replied, putting the car in drive. “I was bored as hell, but now I have someone to play with.”
“Wait—weren’t you having people over tonight?”
“Tomorrow,” he said, turning up the radio.
We went to his apartment, and I was glad he let me be silent on the drive there. I knew I was being irrational and emotionally childish, and I’d maybe spoiled what should’ve been an amazing moment for my mom by leaving, but I didn’t want to have a logical discussion about it.
I felt crushed. It was silly, because the world wasn’t ending and no one was dying; people’s parents got remarried all the time.
But I was devastated.
It probably meant that I was an immature child, but every time I thought about the fact that my mother was getting married, a heavy weight settled on my chest. It was suffocating, this panic that I had about the life changes I could no longer avoid.
I looked out at the night through the wiper blades moving across the windshield and wondered how long I had before everything started, before the tiny fragment that was left of my family was going to be erased and changed into something new.
I took in a shaky breath as I remembered that my dad was moving. On top of this, my dad and his new person were moving out of the old and into the new. It felt like the world was crumbling and changing under my feet, and there was nothing I could do to slow it down.
I wasn’t a child; I knew I’d adjust to leaving the old behind.
But dammit, I wasn’t ready to let go of it.
Of us.
Of life as I knew it.
Very soon—it might’ve happened tonight, actually—the roles would shift. It would no longer be her and me, with the rest of the world as something we navigated. It would be her and him, and I would be part of what they navigated together, as partners.
When we pulled up in front of the building, Charlie came around to my side of the car and crouched down to the ground.
“What’re you doing?” I asked, not really in the mood for silliness.
“Giving you a piggyback ride.” He looked at me over his shoulder, his face earnest and sweet, and said, “Hop on, Bay.”
I hesitated, but then I thought, What the hell.
I climbed onto his back, and it felt good. Wrapping myself around Charlie’s big body felt comforting because it was like he literally—and emotionally—had me. He hauled me up the stairs, and I closed my eyes, resting my cheek on his strong back.
Thank you, Charlie.
Once we were inside his apartment, he carried me over to the sofa and dropped me on top of it. Before I could say a word, he looked down at me and said, “This is how tonight’s gonna go. You ready?”
That made me feel like smiling. “Ready.”
“I’m going to make a blanket fort in front of the TV, wherein I will entertain you with a marathon of my favorite terrible movies. We will eat garbage, have ice cream brought to us from DoorDash like we’re fucking kings, and we will not speak of things that shan’t be spoken of. Got it?”
I did smile then, even though his kindness sort of made me want to cry. “Got it.”
At that moment, the tiniest little white dog I’d ever seen hopped up onto the couch. I hadn’t even heard him before that moment, yet—there he was.
“Hey, puppy,” I said, reaching out a hand and petting his small head.
“Bailey, meet the Undertaker.”
I looked up at Charlie. “You’re kidding me. That tiny thing is the Undertaker?”
He just shrugged and walked away.
He went into the hallway to get blankets, and when he was there, he yelled, “Hey, what’s your mom’s number?”
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.”