Shy Charlotte’s Brand New Juju (Romantic Comedy)

by Bethany Bloom

  “Don’t you see? You are the most important person in the world.”

  “To you. And to the girls. But that’s where my significance ends.”

  Caleb watched her fill her lungs with air and release it in short puffs. Then he said, “Charlotte, you are everything to me and to our girls. What is that quote? ‘To the world you are person; but to one person you are the world.’”

  She imagined then, her body growing larger, larger, and looming over the earth, where she could spot her wee children and husband, down on some distant shore, wavy and dreamlike. “I don’t do anything but parent my kids and take care of my husband,” she said, low. “This is what my life has become.”

  “Maybe that’s what is most important, at least for right now.” His eyes were so light. Arctic blue and dreamy, Charlotte thought, and she was having a hard time focusing on his words as he went on. “You are raising lovely young women who know their own power. The power of being real and kind. And if you want to do something else, you can start. It’s not like you are over the hill.”

  Charlotte was quiet while Caleb refilled her glass. He went on. “You’re looking to get your groove back, but it’s only here—living with Fiona—that you find it missing. Your groove is at home.”

  She shook her head and looked away from those hypnotic eyes. What was he doing to her? “Sure,” she scoffed, trying to break his spell. “You would like that.”

  “Yes, I would like that. You, at home. That doesn’t mean I want to control you. Just stop letting people tell you there’s something wrong with you. That there’s something wrong with the way you define happiness. That there’s something wrong with what you have chosen to excel at.”

  “That’s just it. I excel at nothing.”

  “Let’s see. Parenting your daughters. Advocating for your kids. Helping me. Keeping me sane…”

  “But,” she interrupted. “Somewhere along the line, I forgot to have a career. I forgot myself. Yes, I know you and the girls’ worlds revolve around me. Maybe that’s part of the problem. You know, I could have been a doctor or a lawyer or…anything.

  “I don’t doubt that. Not at all. But would you enjoy being a lawyer?”

  “No.”

  “Would you enjoy being a doctor?”

  “Not even a tiny bit,” she conceded and then she laughed.

  “Then I guess you’ve made some sound decisions.”

  She was quiet again. Her head felt wonky, and she tried to ground herself by fixing her gaze on her glass.

  Caleb leaned in toward her. “Now, do you enjoy being my wife? Do you enjoy being my children’s mother?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. Of course she did. Or she once did. But there was still that empty place inside her. And, if it couldn’t be filled by a career, then what would fill it?

  “You can just try different things out until you find something you like,” he offered.

  Silence for a beat, then Charlotte said, “And what if I don’t find it?”

  “Then you start over again with something else.”

  She raised the glass to her lips once more. “I don’t know if I have time for that anymore.”

  “How many times did you watch me fail, Charlotte? How many rejection letters did we get? We could have wallpapered the bathroom with them. All our bathrooms. Maybe even the bedrooms. And yet you were the one who said, someday, someday. And now someday is here. And now it’s your turn.”

  “To fail?”

  “Sure. If that’s what it takes. And it usually is, at least a little. But we have this,” he motioned back and forth between them. “We each have a soft place to fall at the end of the day.”

  “Is this Caleb-the-philosopher-novelist talking?” She knew she was slurring her words now. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on him. His forehead made funny creases when he talked.

  “As we get older, Charlotte, I think more than anything, that’s what we learn. We layer things. Things in our life layer, one on top of another. We fuck up. We forgive. We layer.”

  She plucked her straw from the table and began dunking it in and out of her glass, poking at ice cubes. She wasn’t sure what he was talking about anymore. Were they ever going to order some food?

  ***

  Caleb was a little worried after she ordered the third pitcher. He’d only had a single glass. Since when could she drink like this? Or at all? The woman could catch a buzz from a splash of Bailey’s Irish Cream.

  They had started out with a nice conversation about her future—their future— about what it would take for her to feel content and happy, and then she had started in again, going on and on about him and some waitress from Arturo’s.

  How was he going to get her to understand that she was the one who had run off? That she was the one dating around? He shuddered. That pimply bodybuilding Polish guy. The thought of him, with her. It made him want to kick a hole in the wall.

  He wasn’t going to let his family fall apart. No way.

  Charlotte slurred something about how her sister said she should have more fun. How she should be more fun. But she was plenty fun, naturally. Drunk Charlotte, not so fun. He had to get her out of this town before Fiona did any more damage.

  Then giggly, drunk Charlotte asked him to take her home. To make love to her. And that’s when he formulated a new plan.

  Chapter Ten

  Ach. Her head. And the taste in her mouth. She sat up straight, then flopped back again.

  What the hell? She wasn’t wearing a stitch. At least she was alone. Thank God, she was alone. Her mind flashed on Leopold. Then Ed. Then Caleb. Who had been there last night? Okay, Caleb. And she was home, at Fiona’s. Caleb had taken care of her.

  She brushed her teeth before making her way down the stairs, tripping a bit on the last riser, and then she made her way into the dining room.

  A paper box filled with doughnuts sat at the center of the dining room table, amid the fresh fruit, the nonfat Greek yogurt, the pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice and the shiny porcelain coffee carafe.

  “Look, Aunt Charlotte!” announced a jubilant Maddox, “Uncle Caleb brought us special bagels.”

  Charlotte smiled and winked at him. “Those are called ‘doughnuts,’ honey, which, I guess, in a way is a special bagel. A very, very special bagel.”

  Fiona cleared her throat. Her mouth was set in a tight line.

  “These are the kind of bagels we eat where I’m from,” Charlotte added, “according to your mama.”

  “Maybe,” Maddox said, “because Uncle Caleb says they are the best. I’m glad he’s staying here now.”

  Charlotte pressed on her temple. “No, honey. Uncle Caleb isn’t staying here. Remember? Just me and the girls.”

  “Yes, he is.” Maddox pointed to the other end of the dining room, where Caleb was now entering. He was wearing the same clothes he had worn the night before, but somehow they looked pressed. Clean. He had showered and combed his hair.

  “That’s right. Maddox,” Caleb said. “Me and you sneaked out and got them early this morning. Before anyone else was up, didn’t we?”

  Maddox beamed, and Fiona glared at them. “My kids have never had a doughnut in their lives.”

  “Evidently,” Caleb said, laughing.

  “And look, Auntie Charlotte! Some of them have sparkles up top of them.”

  “Most people call those sprinkles,” Caleb said.

  “I like ‘sparkles.’”

  “Okay, well would you like a sparkly one?” Caleb asked.

  Maddox pumped his head up and down, his eyes growing round.

  “These rainbow sparkles? Or these white sparkles?”

  He pointed, and Caleb handed it over. No plate, no napkin. “A sparkly, special bagel just for Maddox.”

  “And which one would you like, Maxwell?”

  Fiona interjected. “How about they split one?”

  “I want a whole one. Because it’s a special, special day,” Maxwell said, “Uncle Caleb said so.”<
br />
  Fiona closed her eyes.

  Uncle Caleb winked and slid his hand behind Charlotte’s back. Gracie squinted toward them and Hannah’s face brightened. That’s when Fiona told the kids they should have a picnic with their sticky, special bagels outside. She stood to shoo them out of the room, following closely behind. Just as she reached the doorframe, she spun to bug her eyes out at Charlotte. “Do you want me to kick him out?” she mouthed, pantomiming with a jerky motion of her leg.

  Charlotte gave a single shake of her head and shut her eyes, then turned to face Caleb. He whispered now, though there was no one left in the house to overhear him. “It is a special, special day.”

  Charlotte saw Gracie and Hannah outside, standing on tiptoes to look in through the dining room window. She yanked Caleb into the hallway.

  “What the hell is going on?” Her breath was tight.

  “You don’t remember? Really? You were the one who brought me here. Begged me, really.”

  Bits and pieces of it were drifting in. Oh mercy.

  “Did I eat anything?”

  “No. Never got around to that. But, man, did you ever tie one on. And then the sex.” He was whispering again and looking her straight in the eyes. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember it.”

  She did, then, in dizzy snippets. Her stomach flipped. His hands on her. On her back, pushing gently along her spine, caressing and touching every inch of her. Even the soles of her feet. Her breasts. The nape of her neck. And then she had responded. It was like stepping back into another time of her life, a decade or so ago. It was like she had channeled a former Charlotte, one with no need to change anything whatsoever about herself.

  “I can see, by that stunned expression, that you are remembering. Charlotte, you were wild. Like crazy, wildcat wild. Like…”

  She shook her head. “Alright. I get it.”

  “I just wish I had known sooner what tequila does to you. And the empty stomach. I would have been feeding you a steady diet of that and nothing else since, like, the 1990s.”

  “Oh my God, the kids.” She put her hand to her mouth.

  “Don’t worry. We were discreet.”

  “But you’re still here. That’s got to be a little confusing.”

  “What’s confusing about it? I’m your husband, and I’m their dad. We went out last night and we came home together. If anything, they are relieved to see me here. Did you see Hannah’s face?”

  “Okay, maybe. But what comes next will be confusing.” Her whisper was rasping, panicky.

  “Why? What comes next?”

  “I don’t know.” She pressed a finger to her temple. “But it’s not like we’re going to pick up where we left off. Before. I haven’t told you I am taking you back.”

  “Yes you did. Last night. You said something like, ‘Well, you don’t smell like cinnamon rolls, but what the hell.’ And then…” Caleb’s eyes went wide. “There is absolutely no way I’m giving you up now. Don’t you get it yet? You are my everything.”

  Yeah, she thought. Editor. Secretary. Maid. Prostitute. Nanny. That had to be nice. “I’ve got to get to work,” she said.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes. They need me there.”

  He tilted his head to one side and studied her face. “What if I said I needed you?”

  “I would say, you already said that, and I need to go to work.”

  “Okay, what if I said I needed you to go to work with me?”

  “Yeah, well, they pay me.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll pay you.”

  Her stomach rolled, and she waved her hand toward him, then slid into the guest bathroom. She turned the sink on full blast and splashed water on her face until the crush of nausea ebbed and the water had grown hot enough to scald. When she turned off the faucet, she could hear Caleb’s voice, just outside the door.

  She wiped her face on the towels and breathed in the fresh lemony scent. This made the nausea return and so she sank down along the wall, settling on the slate floor, where she waited until she could no longer hear Caleb’s voice outside. Then she creaked open the door and tiptoed into the hallway.

  “Where you going, Jellybean?”

  She startled. “To work.”

  “You’re in no condition. I just called in sick for you.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Not to worry. She said she didn’t need you anyway.”

  Yep, that is exactly what Tabitha would have said.

  “But I do,” Caleb continued. “I need you. And I’m not taking no for an answer.” He folded his arms.

  “How did you even know where I work?”

  He chuckled. “You don’t remember anything about our conversation last night, do you?”

  “I do. Some of it.” Charlotte’s voice faded. “Some things are coming back to me.”

  “Since when do you drink like that? Is that all part of The New Charlotte? Is this all part of The Transformation Pact?”

  She opened her mouth, and then looked at the floor.

  “Because it kind of seems like the more you try to change yourself, the more you start to unravel.”

  Unravel?

  “It’s like…” He laughed. “It’s like you’re trying to turn into your sister.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Who did he think he was? Her cheeks burned, and she felt that sensation again, the one she had felt from time to time in their marriage. The feeling that he was keeping her just under his thumb. Maybe she could rise up, here and there and just a little, but he would snap that thumb back down; push her back down, down where she belonged. Her breath came faster and she imagined herself in a giant whack-a-mole carnival game. She pops up and he lobs the mallet toward her. Get back in the hole, mole! She was right to be out here, at Fiona’s house. She was right to be doing this, to be on her own once again. To not be sitting in some shaded living room under some man’s thumb. But to be out here. To be living her own life, where no one could push her down.

  “I mean, what’s with the plastic surgery?” Caleb sucked his cheeks in. “She’s had so much Botox her face shines. And what did they put inside her lips?

  “Get out, Caleb.” The words surged out of her with a force she didn’t recognize, and she found herself lunging toward him.

  “Charlotte, I was joking. I meant it as a compliment.” He reached toward her with both arms, and his voice raised in pitch, “I don’t want you to be like your sister. Not at all.”

  She placed both hands in the center of his chest and pushed backward, shoving with a strength that astonished even her. When she reached the entry door, she opened it with one hand and thrust him out with the other.

  ***

  Caleb stood on the front porch, staring at the door his wife had just muscled him out of. What was that all about? She had looked remarkably like she had in that vision of his, that alarming image with the box cutters. Her eyes were so crazed and it had all come along so suddenly. It would have made him laugh, if he wasn’t so, so screwed.

  He hadn’t been making fun of her, if that’s what she thought. He was trying to help her understand how silly these last few weeks had been. He was trying to help her to see that they needed to go home, to get out of this place, which was filled with nut jobs and people who were making her feel weird and less than.

  He had been so close. Just hours before, she had been right in his arms, stroking his skin with the tips of her nails and saying that they were fine. That he was right…that she was the one with the problem and that she knew he hadn’t screwed around. Granted, she was slurring her words as she said it, but didn’t people always tell the truth when they drank too much? And now, hours later, she shoved him out of the house in a rage.

  Now what?

  ***

  Charlotte stood under the hot stream of the shower, hoping it would somehow liquefy the cobwebs that had formed inside her mind. It was having no such effect, and she was tired of standing, so she sank down o
n the tile, drawing her knees up and watching the rivulets of water pour down her thighs.

  After a time, she dried off and dressed and joined her sister and her daughters, who were now sitting in the bright sunshine of the garden, watching the boys perform a handclapping routine Hannah had made up. When Fiona saw her, she nudged the boys toward the path, and then followed behind, resting one hand on the back of each head as she steered them up toward the house.

  Charlotte chose a spot just on the edge of the stone bench, next to Hannah. There, the three sat for a moment, swinging their bare feet, all of which looked just like Charlotte’s. A big toe, blocky and square, and then the rest of the digits spread too far apart. How she loved every ounce of these girls. Every hair and particle and ounce.

  After a time, Hannah turned to her. “Wow, Mom,” she said.

  Charlotte squinted in the sun and looked toward her. Hannah pursed her lips and Gracie shifted her attention to the ground.

  Charlotte was glad, suddenly, that Caleb had called in sick for her. This was why she had never gone to work in the first place, why she had never left her daughters when they were small: The fear that one day they would look at her in this disconnected way.

  “Now what happens?” Gracie asked, finally, her voice barely a whisper.

  Charlotte didn’t answer right away, and Gracie rolled her eyes.

  “I don’t know, sweetie,” Charlotte said. She shuddered, deep in the center of her chest. After a beat, she said, “Let’s spend the day together. Just us.”

  “What would we do?” Hannah asked.

  “Whatever you want.”

  They were silent for a moment, through the trill of a bird, the rustle of leaves.

  “I know what I want to do.” Hannah said.

  “Okay, sure.” Charlotte brightened. “Whatever it is.”

  “Let’s get you a makeover. At Fiona’s salon.”

  Charlotte brought her hand to her face. “Okay. If that’s what you both want to do.”

  Fiona was bouncing her way down the stone path now, swinging her hips and fixing her eyes on Charlotte.