I cut him off. “Rick, I don’t give a shit. Just be honest.”
“Easy for you to say—”
“I am honest. You want the honest truth? I’m a fucking mess. From the accident, from losing dance, from the way you dumped me, and now from realizing I was dating a fucking selfish piece of shit liar, that I wasted all that time and energy thinking I loved you, thinking you loved me. And I just wonder if I have any fucking clue what love is—you know? Like, I don’t know, and I wonder now if I ever did.” I growled. “But none of that is your problem.” My dryer buzzed. “I have to go. Thank you for answering my question. Best of luck to you.”
A pause, and Rick stammered a few times. Paused again. Started over. “I am sorry, Cassie. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest, and I’m sorry I hurt you. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“You too, Rick.”
I ended the call with Rick, and waited for Charlie to speak.
“Wow,” she said, eventually. “That was…” A laugh. “That was awesome.”
“It sucked.”
“Yeah, of course. But now you know, you have the closure, and you can move on.” A groan. “I just wish you’d waited, like, a couple more hours. I was going to actually sleep in today.”
“You haven’t slept in on a Saturday your whole life.”
“I quit my job. I was going to try something new. Being a slacker sounds fun.”
I laughed. “You couldn’t be a slacker if you tried. You’d overachieve being a slacker. You’d plan out your day, like, Saturday, sleep in till eleven—check. Eat like shit, check. Watch garbage TV for an hour, check. Half ass a walk on the treadmill in my rich boyfriend’s swanky apartment building’s fancy gym—check.”
She sighed. “I broke up with Glen because he was sleeping with my boss, and the apartment was ours, not his, and I don’t live there anymore because I quit my job and left Glen and I have no real friends because they’re all Glen’s friends, it turns out. So I’m living in a hotel in a kind of seedy part of Boston, and I’ve been drunk at eleven a.m. more times in the last month than I care to admit.”
“Wow, Charlie, I had no idea.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve been busy with your own life-altering crises.”
“Glen, your super hot, super macho, super successful boyfriend…was sleeping with your boss? Your past middle-age, overweight, and just objectively not attractive boss? The one with a husband of twenty-five years, three kids, and two grandkids?”
“Yes. That boyfriend, and that boss.”
“Wow. I…” I was at a loss. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Thus my current lifestyle of being a slacker, living off my savings, and day-drinking alone.”
“Char-char—you’re not that girl. You don’t have pity parties. You don’t slack off. You don’t even night drink, let alone day drink.”
“Yeah, well. I guess I’m having a moment.”
“Does Mom know?”
“Of course.”
I started taking my clean clothes out of the dryer and folding them, putting the phone on speaker and setting it on top of the front-load dryer. “What are you going to do?”
“Hell if I know.” An angry, bitter sigh. “Probably keep the pity party going another week or so, and then pull up my big girl panties and start my life over.”
“Don’t say panties, Charlotte. It’s gross.”
“Panties, panties, panties.” She laughed, goading me. “Wait, I got a better one—moist panties.”
I shuddered, faking a gagging sound. “Gross!”
She laughed. “I could barely say it, it’s so gross.” The humor faded. “I honestly don’t know what to do.”
“You talked to Mom, you said?”
A hesitation. “Yeah.”
I laughed. “She told you what you should do, and you’re just working up the courage to actually do it.”
“Her advice was terrible.”
I cackled. “Mom’s advice is never terrible. We just don’t like it because she wants us to do the hardest thing, and we don’t like it, and we don’t listen, and we regret it, but she never really says I told you so which only makes us feel worse because she could and should say it, but she’s too good a person and won’t. But she’s always right, and we know it, we just don’t like it.”
“Pretty much,” Charlie sighed.
“So? What was her advice?”
“Apparently Poppy is having a hard time with things, too. She wanted me to go spend time with Poppy, like we’d help each other figure out our lives or something.”
I couldn’t help a laugh. “You and Poppy—I don’t want to say you hate each other, but you fight like cats and dogs over the dumbest shit. She annoys the hell out of you, and you piss her off.”
“Exactly!”
I laughed again. “But she’s right.”
“Excuse me?” Charlie was incredulous.
“You should do it.”
“Can I ask why you would betray me like this?”
“Charlotte, come on. It’s not a betrayal. You and Poppy are both in the middle of shit, right? You have no life anymore, no job, no apartment, no boyfriend. I’m guessing Poppy realized she hates school and wants to just do art full time or something, because she just has no patience for rules or assignments, and doesn’t have the guts to believe in herself enough to really try and be a full-time artist. And Mom is exactly right—this is the best, if not the only time you and she will ever have to spend real quality unhurried time together, figuring each other out, and learning to like each other.”
“Would you do it?”
I considered. “You know, I would. I mean, shit, I’m living with Mom right now. Tells you where I’m at in life.”
“Yikes. You’re in Alaska?”
“Yeah.”
“How is it?”
“Beautiful. Backward. Interesting.”
“Backward. You snob.”
“Fine. It’s not backward, it’s just different.”
“You’re just spoiled from living at Julliard and then Paris, and traveling all over the world staying in the best hotels.” She left a long pause. “Who is he?”
“Who?”
She snorted. “Cassandra Danielle, I’m your older sister. I know you. There’s a guy, and he’s why you’re having this crisis about Rick.”
“It was bothering me.”
“What’s his name?”
“Why does there have to be someone?”
“Because if there wasn’t, you wouldn’t be arguing. You’d tell me there isn’t anyone. You’re dodging. Therefore, what the hell is his name?”
I sighed. Sisters. So annoying, especially when they know you better than you know yourself. “His name is Ink.”
“What’s his real name?”
“That is his real name.”
“Really? That’s kinda cool.”
“He’s a tattoo artist.”
“And his name is Ink?” An appropriate amount of disbelief.