This was a mistake and the second I know that, I sneak out and get a cab home. Not looking back to say goodbye to the girls or to Charlie. I’ll make up some excuse tomorrow but I just have to get out of there. I don’t know what my first mistake was, but coming here tonight sure as hell was a mistake.
Charlie
My alarm clock goes off, but I’m already up. I slap my hand down and the incessant beeping stops. I couldn’t sleep for shit. The whole night, all I kept thinking was that I’m an asshole for trying to be with Grace without giving her a commitment. What’s even worse is feeling like she’s done with me.
She didn’t say a word and she left the moment she got there. She’s most certainly done with me.
I don’t want to be done with her.
Sinking back into the bed, I stare at the thin opening between the dark curtains and watch the stream of light pouring into the bedroom. My only sliver of hope is that she said she’d go to the wedding. I don’t know why I’m holding onto her as hard as I am. We haven’t even kissed. She’s not tied to me in the least.
The bed groans as I slowly slip off the edge and stretch my arms high above my head. I blow out a tired exhale as my bare feet pad across the wooden floors. They’re cold, and I’m pretty sure the furnace went out last night. Every hair on my arms stands on end as goosebumps travel up my back to the base of my neck.
Damn, I hadn’t even noticed. I grab my phone off the nightstand on my way out of the bedroom. I have to call her or text her. Something; I can’t let her think I’m just some prick.
That’s exactly how she looked at me last night. My heart thuds hard in my chest as I climb down the stairs, not bothering to grip onto the iron railing. I don’t go around kissing random women. Maybe I did once, but that was a long time ago.
This house is old, built in the '30s and in need of a little more TLC. I bought it just before I bought the bar from Mac. I round the stairs in the foyer and take in the progress I’ve made. The slate flooring at the entry is fucking freezing against my bare feet. The furnace definitely went out.
I was able to get more work done on the house before I started spending all of my time at the bar. The first floor is completely remodeled, with new practically everything and fresh paint. Gray tones and dark blues are the theme throughout the open floor plan, including the black granite and steel backsplash in the kitchen. I spent all the money I had to make this place into the modern bachelor pad I wanted it to be.
But now when I look at it, it’s just cold. Empty. Devoid of life. The lines are too straight, and the furniture practically looks brand new. 'Cause it’s barely been touched.
The door to the basement opens up with a creak and I switch on the light, a single bulb at the bottom of the rickety stairs. I never did get around to making the downstairs what I wanted it to be. A half-built bar is in the very back. Drywall's been put up and screwed into place, but I haven’t spackled it yet.
I don’t even want to finish it anymore; I think I just wanted to believe I was loving the bachelor life.
The truth hits me hard, like a bullet to the chest, but I keep moving, heading toward the furnace to mess with the electrical box. I know the right cords that need to be wiggled and tightened to get it to kick back on. I should get Joseph to come down here and fix this shit.
As I’m messing with the cords in the box, I think back to how pissed off I was when I bought this house.
It was the first one on my list. The realtor showed it to me, and I bought it right then and there. All the money that I had saved up for the wedding became a down payment instead.
The furnace clicks on with a loud swoosh and clink.
Shutting the thin metal door to the box, I stare at it as the fire burns high and the sound of air running through the house kicks in.
I didn’t give a damn about anything other than getting as far away as I could without being so far that I’d lose my family.
Now here I am, all these years later, in a cold house, alone.
And pushing away the cute little sweetheart who made me happy for the first time in God knows how long. Why? Because I couldn’t give her an answer to “what are we doing?” that she’d accept.
I kick the basement door shut, feeling more and more pissed at myself, and head to the island to have a seat and call her, but before my ass even sits, the phone goes off in my hand.
And it’s her.
My breath stills for a moment, the only thought being that she’s telling me she’s not going to the wedding. I’ll figure it out one way or the other, but she’s coming. I’ll make it up to her… but she’s coming to that damn wedding, and I’m finally going to get a taste of my sweetheart.
I hit the button and answer the call.
“Hey there sweetheart,” I say easily as if I’m not tense and waiting for her to try to back out of this. As if I’m not trying to figure out exactly what I need to say. I’m not letting her go. I’ve fucked up so much in the last few years, but letting her walk away from me before I’ve had a chance to make a move on her isn’t going to be my next mistake. “Missed talking to you last night.”
“Charlie,” her soft voice pours through the phone, and the tone catches me off guard. It’s apologetic. I hear her breathe into the phone. “Look, before you say anything, I just want to say, I’m very sorry. I shouldn’t have told you off-”
Oh fuck no. I’m not taking this lying down.
“Sweetheart, you can stop right there.” I can practically hear her sharp intake and see her sucking at her teeth. I’ve seen her do it before, when she’s worried about something. The picture in my head of her doing it makes me smile and I relax against the island, the granite cool on my forearms. “You aren’t backing out of our deal. You still haven’t even told me what you want and I can tell you,” I hesitate, remembering what she texted and feeling like this is a turning point and more importantly, like I’m risking hurting her. I’d rather risk that, than risk letting her go. Call me a prick, but I can’t let her walk away again like she did last night. “I really like you too.”
It’s quiet on her end. Too quiet. I don’t even know if she’s still there. Doubling down, I tell her, “There I admitted it. Now you have me by the balls, Grace.”
Her small laugh fills the phone. I can imagine her blushing.
“Well… I’ll see you soon then?” she says, like it’s a question.
“You better,” I tell her.
“Alright then, bye Charlie.” I realize as she says the words that I don’t like her telling me bye.
“Bye, sweetheart.” I don’t like telling her bye either. The phone clicks dead and I drop the phone on the counter.
I shake my head. This is bad. It’s real bad. I already like her too much. I already want to keep her.
Staring at my kitchen, I try to remember the last time I used it. I can’t keep her because we have different life plans. The biggest problem though, is that I don’t actually have a plan. Not one that makes me happy.
I text Grace on a whim, Do you like funnel cakes?
Grace
I dress myself to go to the Piedmont Park Festival in a strappy linen-colored cotton sundress. It’s my favorite. I twist around in front of the mirror in my bedroom, my mind on the upcoming event and a smile on my face.