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.
His mouth was soft, his jaw relaxed, and I wished I could stay in that silly fort of blankets and never come out.
I rolled over and pulled up my blanket. If Charlie was asleep, I might as well sleep, too.
Only it wasn’t that easy.
I closed my eyes, but every time I did, the worries about my life and how it was about to change wouldn’t stop.
Now that they are engaged, will they want to move in together immediately?
How long until they get married?
Will they go on a honeymoon and leave me to stay home alone with a new stepsibling who’s a stranger?
Will I have to meet Scott’s parents? Will they want to be my grandparents?
I opened my eyes, but then I just stared at the TV-illuminated wall—and kept thinking. Because no matter how much I wanted to just think things like Everything will be fine and hope for the best, the reality was that everything I’d worried about was now happening.
I reached for my phone—beside my pillow, where I’d ignored it the entire time I’d been at Charlie’s—and flipped it over. I had six unread messages, and I sighed as I clicked into them.
The first five were from my mom:
I love you, Bay—we’ll figure this out.
Call me. I love you.
I talked to Charlie and I’m glad you’re safe.
I miss you—text or call if you want to talk.
I couldn’t read the last one because my eyes were full of tears. I knew I was a baby, an immature pathetic loser, because all I wanted was to cry into my mom’s shoulder at that moment.
I wiped my eyes and saw that the other message was from my dad.
Your mom thought you might need to talk. Call or text anytime, Bay—I love you.
I dropped the phone onto the carpet as the tears took over. Even as I knew it was silly, I couldn’t stop crying. I lay there in the quiet darkness of the blanket fort, overwhelmed with homesickness—for him, for her, for the family we’d once been. They’d been divorced for years, yet I still felt this gaping hole of grief as life kept changing itself up on me, kept finding new ways to make me melancholy and wistful.
When was I going to be fine with everything?
“Bay.”
I felt Charlie’s hand on my back, but I didn’t want to turn over. It was one thing for him to see me a teensy bit emotional in Colorado, but it was another entirely for him to see me bawling my eyes out. I cleared my throat and tried to sound normal. “Yeah?”
“Roll over.”
I sniffled. “I don’t want to.”
I heard a smile in his voice when he said, “Come on.”
I wiped at my eyes with the edge of the blanket and turned over. Charlie was propped up on one arm, so he was higher than me, and I said, “Can you not look at me?”
That made half of his mouth slide upward. “But you look hot with blotchy cheeks and red eyes. I can’t take my eyes off you.”
I rolled my eyes and coughed out a laugh. “You’re such a jerk.”
His smile went away and he said, “You shouldn’t be crying alone in the dark. You should’ve woken me up.”
“Yeah, sure—I can see it now. Hey, Charlie—wake up. I’m about to bawl like a baby—you don’t want to miss this.”
Now he rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’m here for you,” he said, his face serious in our darkened fort of blankets. “That’s what friends are for.”
That made me smile. “Holy shit, Charlie—did you just admit that you have friend feelings for me? That I’m not just a coworker?”
His jaw clenched and his eyes traveled all over my face. “Maybe.”
“I want you to say it,” I teased. “Say ‘I have friend feelings for you, Bailey.’？”
His eyes were on mine as he said, “I might possibly have feelings for you that are more than coworkerly.”
I swallowed, unable to tear my gaze from his. Had he worded it that way on purpose? Was it possible that Charlie actually did have feelings for me? Every time we’d shared a “moment,” he’d followed it up with something that let me know he wasn’t into me.
But… was there a chance he was? I managed to breathe out the word “Yeah?”
He reached out a hand and toyed with my hoodie string, and I swear to God I felt it in the center of my chest. His eyes stayed on that string when he said, “Yeah.”
My heart was in serious jeopardy of pounding out of my chest.
I said, “I thought it was just me.”
“It’s not,” he said, and his dark eyes moved to my lips.
I held my breath as he lowered his head, as the air in the blanket fort got thick and heavy with anticipation. I watched his long lashes as his eyes closed and his mouth landed on mine. I sighed as his Charlie-ness enveloped me and I raised my hands to his face, my fingers memorizing the warmth and softness of his skin.