“Back here,” Della called.
Char followed her voice to a back area that served as a dry storage room and Della’s studio. Several canvases leaned against the walls and shelves in various stages of progress. The one Della was working on reminded Char of a galaxy full of stars. “That’s beautiful,” she said.
“Thank you.” Della dropped her brush into a jar of murky paint water and stood. “We’re hosting a Halloween-themed art show in October, so I’m working on a few pieces.”
“Do you—I mean, we—usually do shows?” She circled the room, studying each piece. Della’s style was graffiti abstract. Her pieces were bold and colorful, usually with repeating elements.
“Yes,” Della said proudly. “We usually get more submissions than we can handle. I mean, you’ve seen our wall space.”
Charlotte nodded. “Any chance we’ll ever relocate?”
“Maybe.” Della motioned for Char to follow her into the small kitchen area. “So we’ve gone over the menu. You’ll mostly be making smoothies and sandwiches, with the occasional latte order.”
Char thought of Rowan, who was saving up for an espresso machine.
“I’ve got a couple artists coming in today to discuss leaving some prints and stickers.” Della motioned to the glass display case. “Do you think you can handle this end while I’m up front?”
Glancing from the order counter to the glass display, Char lifted an eyebrow. There was maybe twenty feet between them. “I think so,” she said with a smile.
“Good. Let me know when they’re here.” Della disappeared into the back room.
Though Char expected the day to pass slowly, it actually went by fast. Della encouraged her to take several breaks, and even ordered them a pizza for dinner. Neither of the other two partners stopped in.
At 10:00 p.m., Della flipped the sign to CLOSED and collapsed into one of the booths. “I must say, I’m so glad you’re here to help, but I’m still exhausted.”
A yawn escaped Char’s lips before she could stop it. “Me too. It was a good day, though.” She grabbed her bag. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Wait,” Della said. “I feel awful that you have to take the train so late and then come back so early. Won’t you stay the night?”
Char blinked. “It’s only ten. I’ll be home around midnight, one at the latest.”
“And then you’ll have to be up around, what, seven, to get back here for ten?” Della tilted her head. “I have a comfortable couch.”
“I’m sure you do,” Char said, “but I have a cute girlfriend waiting for me in my comfortable bed.” Her cheeks blazed as she spoke the words. Shit. That had been completely inappropriate. Della was probably just trying to be nice.
“I understand,” Della said. “I’d never want to do anything to jeopardize that. I just . . . I remember what it’s like to commute back and forth to the city. It’s expensive to live here but sitting on the train for hours at a time is exhausting. Plus . . .” She bit her lip. “It’s late. I’d feel so much better knowing you were safe.”
Char hesitated. She hadn’t thought about that. Suddenly taking the train home at midnight, all by herself, seemed like a dangerous idea.
“That’s not to say that we women can’t kick ass or anything,” Della continued. “I’ve just had far too many close calls, myself.” She stood from the booth, stretching. “Either way, the offer’s open. Even if you wanted to stay the night during the week and go home on the weekends.”
She had a point, Charlotte mused. Retrieving her phone from her bag, she texted Amarie. “I’m suddenly nervous about taking the train home so late.” She added a silent scream emoji. “Della offered her couch, so I’m gonna stay the night. Love you.” She eyed those two little words for a moment, then backspaced them and added a kiss emoji instead. Then she hit send.
Chapter 19
Amarie would have paced the apartment if her hip was cooperating. She picked up her phone from the end table again, checking her texts for probably the hundredth time. Nothing.
Again.
It was past ten o’clock. She should’ve got a text from Char by then, letting her know that she was headed home. She frowned. Throughout the past couple weeks, Char had spent more nights at Della’s than she had at home.
It wasn’t like Amarie didn’t understand. She did. The city could be dangerous, especially for a woman traveling alone at night. And Char didn’t exactly pass for straight. She’d shared entirely too many anecdotes with Amarie about men offering to give her “a taste of the dick.”
She shuddered.
Still, she missed Char. Though Della and Gravity were essentially paying their bills, she was starting to resent them. There wasn’t much of a point in living together if they barely saw each other. It didn’t help that she knew Della was a lesbian, either.
Nor did it help that Della kept asking Char out.
Oh, Char insisted that it was harmless, but Amarie knew better. She trusted Char. She truly did. It was Della that she had misgivings about. Especially when Char sent her selfies of the two of them holding up glasses of wine.
She made a face.
With a sigh, she turned her attention back to her laptop. Hugh had sent her an email about a job opening as an Early Childhood Education Director in Waterbury. He meant well, but she only had an Associate’s. She’d barely qualified for the job she’d had, by Connecticut standards.
Still, it was nice that he was keeping his promise. At least someone in her life was.
With each passing day, she grew more and more lonely. Neve was busy in her residency, and all of Amarie’s friends from her ECE program were off on vacations or busy with their own little ones. She supposed Matt counted as a friend, but he was busy with Elli’s and Rowan. Most days, it was just her in the apartment, binge-watching shows on Netflix and filling out job applications, hoping for a bite. She’d gone to the beach a couple times, but gas was expensive and parking was even worse. Lately she’d settled for the various lakes in Watertown and the surrounding towns, but it wasn’t the same.
And it definitely wasn’t fun on her own. She needed a hobby, she mused as she closed the tab with the ECE opening. It wasn’t healthy for her to sit around waiting for Char—especially when Char rarely came home. Maybe they’d moved in together too soon. The pressures of bills and her crappy health were eating away at them. Char had only taken the damned job in New York because of her.
If she’d been healthy and able to keep her job, she could be the one supporting them while Char looked for something else. She wouldn’t feel so damned lonely, either, because she’d have plenty of human interaction—with both adults and tiny humans—at work.
It didn’t help, either, that Char was constantly texting her stories about so-and-so queer person she’d met at such-and-such gay bar. Char was having a blast in NYC, living the life that she’d long talked about. Except she was doing it without Amarie, simply paying their bills from afar and carrying on a relationship that desperately needed some TLC.
Maybe she needed a pet.
She snorted. Like she could take care of an animal. She could barely muster the energy to take care of herself and the apartment. Dust was gathering in embarrassingly obvious places, but she didn’t have it in her to go on a cleaning spree. She swore Plaquenil was making her fatigue worse—not to mention her brain fog.
Just the other day, she’d tried to put a bowl of salad away in one of the drawers. Though she’d laughed it off at the time—to her empty apartment, of course—it hadn’t been the first time she’d forgotten something or done something silly. During a grocery run, she’d become convinced that she was driving in the wrong direction. She’d lived in Watertown her whole life, yet brain fog and anxiety had ganged up on her until she’d turned around and gone home.
It definitely wouldn’t be the last time, either.
Though she hated to admit it, she needed Char to come home. She knew the commute was long and that Char was tired after her twelve-h
our shifts. She also knew that staying in the city during the week was saving them money. Still. She needed her girl.
Once again, she had the sense of being left behind by everyone she’d thought cared about her. Everyone was off doing their own thing, living their lives. Except for her. Even with treatment, her damned autoimmune disease was still taking from her.
Still, she had to admit that the Prednisone was helping. She could actually get out of bed in the morning, even if she had to migrate to the couch and rest. Slowly but surely, she was getting her life back. She needed to remember that, to have faith in the medications. Things would get better. Soon she’d be working again, and it wouldn’t matter whether Char came home or not.
At least, she hoped so.
The odds of her starting a new job in the fall were pretty slim, though. Hiring season for the new school year was waning, and there weren’t many positions open as it was. Even if she’d finished out the school year, she would still have the same problem—but she’d have a much stronger resume.
“All right, girl,” she muttered to herself. “Enough with the pity party.” Grabbing the remote, she turned on Netflix. Before she started the next episode of Master of None, she checked her phone, hoping Char had texted her.
There were no new texts, though.
∞∞∞
The sound of a key in the door woke Amarie. For a moment, she blinked into the darkness, disoriented. The entire apartment was dark. Even Netflix and her TV had automatically shut off, leaving her no light. She struggled to a sitting position on the futon as Char tiptoed into the apartment.
“I’m awake,” Amarie called out to Char.
“Oh.” The hall light flicked on. Char stood between the kitchen and living room area.
“Welcome home, love.” Amarie pushed the throw blanket off her lap and put her bare feet on the cold floor. She shivered. “I wasn’t sure you were coming home.”
“Yeah,” Char said slowly. “I, um, need to talk to you about that.”
Amarie frowned. “Okay. Should I make some coffee?”
Charlotte shook her head. “It’s late. We should just go to bed.”
“Well, you can’t just drop the ‘We need to talk’ bomb and expect me to sleep,” Amarie said, struggling to keep her voice light. “What’s going on?”
“Can’t we just do this in the morning? I’m beat.”
Amarie pursed her lips. Char hadn’t considered that she would be awake, she realized. Whatever it was that she wanted to talk about, it wasn’t good news. She drew her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. She rested her chin on a knee. “What’s wrong?”
Part of her wanted to tell Char to forget it, that they’d talk in the morning. She had a feeling that, either way, she wasn’t going to be able to sleep.
Char set down her overnight bag, then took a few tentative steps closer. She pulled out a chair from their table and sat down.
Amarie’s heart sank. A thousand scenarios ran through her mind in less than a second. She couldn’t decide which she was pulling for: Char losing her new job or Char cheating on her with Della or some other hot city lesbian. She sighed. As much as she wanted to trust Char, she didn’t, she realized. Not when hundreds of miles separated them every night.
Char took a deep breath. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna say it. Della offered to let me move in with her, so that I don’t have to keep going back and forth. I’m going to take her up on it.”
Amarie released her knees, her arms falling limply to her sides. “What? Why?”
“I love the city, Am. It’s everything I thought it’d be—and then some.”
She shook her head over and over. “I don’t understand. How did we jump from living together to you up and moving out of state?” Tears pricked at her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked them away. She couldn’t cry yet. Not with Char sitting in the same room. Not until she knew what it meant.
“As a partner, I have to put more time into Gravity. I can’t just disappear on weekends. Della needs me.”
She snorted. “Della needs you? What about me? What about us?”
“Am . . .” Char brushed magenta hair out of her face, tucking it into her hoodie. “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Della knows people in the city. She’s a big deal. If I want to make a career out of culinary or hospitality, now’s my chance. I’ll probably never get another offer like this.”
“But why do you have to move out?” Amarie spread her hands. “Plenty of people commute to New York. My mom did, before she had me. She didn’t take the train, though. She drove.”
“I can’t trust the Sunfire,” Char said. “It’s a decent car, but it’s not up for all that wear and tear.”
“The Sunfire isn’t, or you aren’t?” She stood, despite protests from both hips and an ankle.
Char tipped her head back. “I’m not lucky enough to have a practically brand-new car.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Amarie paced back and forth in front of the couch. “I bought that car for myself. I make monthly payments on it. No one handed it to me.”
“I’m just saying, I don’t make a salary. I can’t lease a car.”
“How is that my fault?” Amarie lengthened her track to include the path to the kitchen.
Charlotte sighed. “Can you please sit down?”
“No!” Amarie crossed her arms and continued her circuit back and forth across the apartment. “You come home super late, without even texting me to let me know you’re okay, and then you drop this on me? And what—you want me to just say ‘Okay, Char, good luck!’?” She threw up her hands, pausing in the middle of the open floor. “Seriously?”
“I’m not saying we have to break up.”
“The hell you aren’t,” Amarie retorted. “How are we going to see each other? You hardly come home as it is.”
“I can visit on weekends, sometimes.”
Amarie put her hands on her hips. “You literally just said you have to work weekends. So which is it?” She held up a hand, palm out. “Actually, forget it.” Turning on the balls of her feet, she headed toward the bedroom.
“So that’s it? We’re breaking up?” Char followed her, leaning on the door frame.
“You tell me, because it seems like that’s what you want. You just don’t want to be the one to do it.” She opened her dresser drawer and grabbed a neatly folded set of pajamas.
“I just told you, I can stay with you on weekends.”
“Which weekends?”
Char’s lips tugged to the side. “Probably once a month.”
Amarie laughed, a short bitter sound. “Love, there won’t be an apartment for you to come stay at. How am I going to afford this place on my own?”
Charlotte bit her lower lip and looked down at the floor.
“Exactly.” Holding her pajamas, Amarie marched up to her. “Excuse me. I need to go get changed.”
“So we’re breaking up?” Char remained in the doorway, but still wouldn’t look at her.
“I think it’s pretty obvious,” Amarie whispered. “Unless you don’t want to?” She let the question hang in the air.
In response, Char moved aside. “I’ll sleep on the futon tonight.”
Amarie ducked her head and traipsed past her. Her vision blurred as she made her way through the apartment. Closing the bathroom door behind her, she let the hot tears dribble down her cheeks, but pressed her lips together. Charlotte could stay the night, but she definitely didn’t get to hear Amarie’s heart break.
Chapter 20
“So how’s New York?” Rowan asked. Her iPad tipped slightly to the side as she set it down on the stainless steel counter at Elli’s. She gripped a bowl with one hand, stirring furiously with the other.
“It’s good.” Char held her iPhone in front of her. Thank goodness for magical inventions like FaceTime. If it weren’t for the technology of video chatting, she didn’t think she could’ve survived moving out of state
. Only a month had passed since she’d left, but she missed Rowan to pieces. August in the city was brutally hot and, aside from Della, she hadn’t made many other friends yet.
“Just good?” Rowan stopped stirring and fix her with a knowing look.
She sighed. “Yeah. It’s fine.”
“But?” Rowan prodded.
“I’m exhausted,” she admitted. “Della is teaching me so much. I work with her at Gravity, then I shadow her at conferences. Her other partners had to drop out—not that I’m actually a partner. I’m more of a . . .” She wiggled her fingers, searching for the word.
“Employee?” Rowan supplied.
She glared at her iPhone. “No. I do way more than any regular employee does.”
“Aren’t you her only employee?”
“I’m not her employee.” She wasn’t really her partner, either, though. After all, she hadn’t bought into the business—not that she could’ve afforded to do so. She crossed Della’s posh studio apartment, taking Rowan with her, and gazed out the window down at the street below.
“Her lover?” Rowan wriggled her eyebrows.
“Definitely not.”
Not that Della hadn’t tried, she mused. The second Charlotte moved in, Della had ramped up the flirting. Still, they’d settled into a sort of platonic routine—mostly consisting of her following Della around and serving as more of an assistant than partner. At the moment, Della was out on an actual date—normal Friday night behavior. Once upon a time, Char had spent her own Fridays with someone special.
“You’re not happy,” Rowan pointed out.
“Definitely not,” she repeated. “What can I do, though? I made my bed.” She flopped down onto the couch that served as her bed at Della’s. It was pretty comfortable, but it was smaller than a twin-sized mattress, and most importantly, it was empty.
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