The cheapest thing I see is a studio in a nice condo building for three grand a month.
“Hey, Bayer?” I put my phone down and look up at Anton. “Do you think you and Sylvie could help me with a little white lie?”
“Uh-oh,” he says with a smirk. “This sounds like a bad idea already. What would I be lying about?”
“What if you and Sylvie told Charli that you knew a guy who knew a guy who had an apartment to sublet for cheap?” I really think I’m onto something here. “Only, I’d be that guy.”
“You have an apartment to sublet?” Newgate perks up. “Can I see it?”
Anton rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t really have one, dumbass. He wants to rent a place for Charli and then let her live there cheap.”
“Oh.” Newgate scowls. “That is a terrible idea. Women are too smart for that shit. If you’re trying to get out of the doghouse with your girl, I don’t think that’s the answer.”
“He’s not wrong,” Anton agrees. “You can’t ask Sylvie to do that. When Charli learns the truth, she’ll assume Sylvie wants her out.”
“Oh, shit,” I grumble. “Okay, yeah. I’m sorry. That’s a bad idea.”
“Just man up and offer to help her,” Newgate says.
“You think I haven’t? She doesn’t want my help.” I pick up my beer and take a swig. “It’s so frustrating. I just want to help, and I don’t want her to worry. But if I wade in, she assumes my motivations are impure.”
“Well, are they?” Newgate asks. “I’d think with my dick, too, if that redhead was in my bed on the regular. She looks like a good time.”
All my muscles lock up at once.
“Dude,” Anton says, putting a hand on my chest. “Newguy meant it hypothetical-like. But wow, man. You’ve got it bad for this girl. Does she know?”
“Yes,” I grunt.
“Are you sure?” my best friend presses. “Just because I can practically see you pawing the ground to get back in there, doesn’t mean she understands how deep she’s gotten under your skin.”
“I guess,” I say, playing with the label on my beer. “But she’s a tough girl to impress. She doesn’t want my money. She liked when I cooked for her, though.”
“Well, there you go.” Anton shrugs.
“I’m in Philly. She’s in Brooklyn,” I remind him.
“Bummer. You’ll figure it out.” He slaps my shoulder. “Can we get more beers now? This time it really is your turn.”
I get up and head for the bar, where I order two more beers and a club soda for myself.
And I wonder if I’ll ever figure out how to tell Charli that I need her more than I’ve ever needed someone in my life.
THIRTY-FOUR
A SOBER OFFERING
Charli
The next few days are rough.
Hunting for apartments is demoralizing. Nobody comes through with a roommate wanted situation. And I still don’t have enough cash to handle things myself.
I know that Neil would help me with the deposit. He’s probably expecting to help. But I don’t want to ask him. So I keep calling landlords only to be told that decent apartments are out of my reach.
Or, in many cases, they’re rented by the time I can even inquire.
“I swear I’ll get off your couch soon,” I promise Fiona and Sylvie.
“Don’t worry,” Sylvie says, popping her head out of the bedroom where she’s changing for practice. “We’ve all been there.”
I know for a fact that she hasn’t. And sleeping in places where I don’t really belong is basically my life story.
To make matters worse, I have two voicemails from my brother asking me to call him. I’m still paying for a horrible apartment that I can’t return to.
This is madness. How did I end up in this position?
The doorbell rings. “I’ll get it!” I call. The least I can do is answer the buzzer. “Hello?”
“Hello Ms. Higgins, this is Miguel from across the street.”
“Yes?” Why is the concierge ringing this apartment? My imagination goes straight to tragedy. Maybe something is wrong with Neil…
“I have a delivery for you. Can I come up for a moment?”
Oh. “Sure. I’ll meet you halfway.” I hang up the phone, buzz him up, and exit the apartment to meet him on the stairs. What did I leave in Neil’s apartment? A T-shirt? A hairbrush?
It’s a little cold to send the doorman over with it. Neil must be really pissed at me for doing a runner.
I catch up to Miguel on the second landing. “Hey, thanks for—” He’s holding a casserole dish covered with foil. “Uh, thanks for whatever that is.”
He smiles. “My pleasure, Ms. Higgins.” He hands it over and then fishes a card out of his pocket. “And this goes with it.”
“Okay, thanks. I, uh, appreciate it.”
“My pleasure,” he says. Then he turns and trots down the stairs at a fast clip.
I push my way back into the apartment a minute later, both hands full of the casserole dish.
“Huh,” Fiona says, after I set it down on the table and pull back the foil. “I’ve heard of men sending flowers… But cauliflower is an interesting interpretation of the brief.”
Sylvie giggles. “Smells amazing. Is that a gratin?” She gives the word the same French pronunciation that Neil uses.
The scent of cheese wafts up, and my stomach growls. “Okay, wow. This is a dish he made for me before. I’m not sure why he sent it, though.”
“Read the card?” Fiona says. “And you’ll share, right?”
“Of course.” I open the envelope and pull out a single sheet of stationery. It says Neil Drake III in fancy script at the top. And Neil has written:
Charli—
I miss you, and when I was cooking today I thought of you. I’d love to make you another steak to go with it. But if you want that, you have to call me. Because a steak deserves to be eaten right after it’s grilled.
Cauliflower can travel, though. Bake this at 375 for forty minutes before you eat it.
— N.
“Damn. Remind me why you can’t stay married to this boy?” Fiona asks.
I stare down at the casserole feeling sad. But also hungry. “Neil never intended to marry me. You can’t spend the rest of your life with a guy who only proposes when he’s out of his mind.”
She points at the cheesy dish. “This is a sober offering. And the kind of gift that true love is made of.”
Just the sound of the L-word makes me feel a little shaky. I don’t know what I’d do if Neil looked at me and said I love you. Nobody ever has.
“He feels a lot of guilt,” I point out, laying the foil over the top and sealing the edges. “This is a guilt casserole.”
“Perhaps,” Fiona allows. “But we’re going to eat the heck out of it after practice.”
“That we are,” I agree. “Let’s put this in the fridge and head over there.”