It was weird and comforting and confusing and terrifying all at once.
They should probably talk.
Charlie knew it, but this was not the time. She knew that, too. Emma’s sobs had eased. She’d wiped her eyes, blown her nose with the Kleenex Charlie had snagged from the nightstand, and now she was just breathing. Emma seemed relaxed, in no hurry to leave her embrace, and Charlie refused to examine her gratitude for that. They were warm, and she was sure Emma was as exhausted as she was. Probably more so. It seemed like only seconds had gone by before her eyelids became too heavy to keep open.
Emma’s deep and even breathing was the last thing she remembered.
Chapter Twenty-two
It was 3:46 a.m. according to the clock on the nightstand that sat between the two beds. Emma had slept for a little while after crying herself to sleep, but just now had simply opened her eyes for no apparent reason.
Of course there’s a reason. About a dozen of them, if I’m gonna be real with myself here.
Real. Ugh. Did she have to be?
How had so much happened over the course of less than three days? How was it even possible? She’d been going along, living her life, minding her own business, and what? The Universe decided she didn’t have enough chaos? The gods got bored? A butterfly flapped its wings in New Zealand? What the hell had happened? And what was she supposed to do with it all?
She wasn’t a person who dwelled on regret. The past was something you couldn’t change. Yes, you did something stupid or rude or hurtful, but you couldn’t change that. Until somebody invented a working time machine, the past would always stay what it was and your stupid or rude or hurtful actions would always also be things that stayed. She had learned to let things go, to focus on moving forward. Once in a while, she’d get dragged backward—by her mother, usually—but she handled it. She didn’t let regrets become a thing. She recalled asking Charlie if she had regrets, and her emphatic yes, the pain and guilt so obvious on her face. Emma had been glad then that regret wasn’t something she focused on. She kept her eyes looking ahead, not back. She wasn’t going backward.
But now? Today? In this moment?
My God, do I have regrets.
The thought wedged in her throat and filled her eyes with tears. She’d known where her father was for a year now. A whole entire year, and she’d done nothing to contact him. And now, she never could. She could never yell at him, never tell him how hard it had been sometimes when she’d had to take care of her mother, or what a coward she thought he was for not trying to contact her. She could never look in his eyes or see the physical resemblance for herself that seemed to be a consensus. She could never hear his voice or know what he smelled like or learn what he liked to eat and cook it for him or hug him.
Regrets.
Charlie made a small sound in her sleep, and it pulled Emma back to the present. She took a deep breath, did her best to shelve the whole regrets thing until later, and smiled softly as she let herself remember two things specifically. One was that Charlie always murmured in her sleep. She didn’t talk. Didn’t snore. But she murmured little sounds, and once, she’d laughed. It had taken her nearly an hour to convince Charlie it had actually happened, vowing to try and record it next time.
Emma didn’t remember them shifting positions. She was pretty sure she’d fallen asleep in Charlie’s arms, but now their spots were reversed, Charlie’s head tucked into her, under her chin. She tightened her arm as best she could, given that it had gone almost completely numb, and pressed a gentle kiss to Charlie’s forehead. Charlie tightened her arm across Emma’s midsection, stirred and pressed her knee into Emma’s center ever so slightly even though her eyes stayed closed. That was the second thing: Charlie slept all over her, clinging to her like a spider monkey. It had taken some getting used to, but soon her discomfort at having Charlie so wrapped around her became fake, a kind of performance. After all, they’d been young and not living together. Their time together was so limited. So she would sigh dramatically, pretend to be all annoyed, but Charlie knew it was an act, and she’d just cling to her tighter and tighter until they were both laughing.
Charlie.
What in the actual fuck was she going to do about Charlie?
She breathed in deeply, then let it out slowly. Charlie had been beyond surprising. She reflected back, could still hear Dani’s voice in her head, see her ticking off on her fingers all the issues Emma had had with Charlie. She was unreliable. She wasn’t who Emma thought she was. She didn’t have Emma’s back. She didn’t know what love was. Emma felt her brow furrow as she thought about that list. Charlie had been none of those things over the past two days. Not one of them. She’d been beyond reliable and had absolutely had her back, taking over, setting everything up, staying right next to her the entire time. If that wasn’t an example of love, she didn’t know what was.
Love? Seriously?
No. She was absolutely in no condition to explore anything like that right now. Or even to take a tiny peek. Besides, Charlie would head back to New York the first chance she got, and Emma would be in Shaker Falls alone again. Which was fine. It had been fine for the past couple of years and it would be fine again.
Unexpected emotion threatened to close up her throat, and she had to force it back down. She would not—could not—let Charlie back in. Not into her brain. Not into her heart. Not into her life.
Except it’s too late, isn’t it?
* * *
“Where the hell are you? Are you okay? Not in that order.” Dani’s voice was a combination of worried, terrified, and pissed off, and she had every right to be. Emma knew that. She’d been texting and calling since yesterday and Emma had been ridiculously abrupt, sending nothing but emojis.
“I’m fine. I’m in Nashville.” Charlie was in the shower and she had taken the window of time to call Dani, whose texts had become more and more frantic. She’d even left voice mails, angry ones, which Dani rarely ever did. Voice mail is for people who don’t know how to text, she’d say.
“What the fuck is in Nashville and why didn’t you—ooh.” Dani’s sudden understanding was clear. She knew that Emma’s father and his family were in Nashville but had no other details. “Did you finally decide to visit him? Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have come with.”
“He died.” It was blunt. Blunter than it should’ve been, but she didn’t have time to get into the details. She didn’t want to be on the phone with Dani when Charlie came out. “He died. I got a message from his wife, and Charlie got me on a flight.”
“I…oh my God. Wow. I’m so sorry, Em.” Danielle’s voice softened by a lot. “Are you okay? Do you need me to come there? I totally can.”
“I’m good. Charlie’s here.” She could almost feel the ice crackle across the phone lines. “I appreciate it, though. Thank you so much.”
“Charlie’s there?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry, but I really have to go. I’ll give you all the details when I get home, but please don’t worry. I’m fine.” She ended the call, feeling horribly guilty because she’d essentially hung up on her best friend, and she’d never done that before unless they were screwing around. She waited for the angry text to come, and when it didn’t, she knew it was worse than she’d thought. She would have ground to make up with her when she got home, but honestly, there was no room in her brain right now for any more stress. She set Dani aside and texted Alec to make sure things were running okay at EG’s.
Steam filled the room when Charlie opened the bathroom door, and another familiar habit of hers lodged itself in Emma’s brain and made her smile. “Still haven’t learned to turn on the fan, I see.”
“It makes me cold and I don’t like the sound,” Charlie replied, her standard response. Her hair was combed back from her face, and she was in her shorts and tank again as she wiped a towel across the fogged-up mirror. Charlie’d been a bit distant this morning, and Emma was sure it was because of last night. They really needed to talk about
it, but she was so low on emotional energy as it was…
Looking at Emma’s reflection, Charlie asked, “Dani mad at you?”
“Yup.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No reason to be. Dani’s a big girl. She’ll get over it.”
“She’s just looking out for you.” Charlie unzipped her toiletry case and took out her moisturizer. “Check in with your mom?”
“I don’t think I can go to the funeral,” she said instead of answering the question. She sat on the edge of the bed as Charlie turned.
“No?”
She’d been thinking about it since she’d popped awake just before four. Eyes closed now, she shook her head slowly. She exhaled little by little, and when she opened her eyes again, Charlie was leaning against the doorjamb of the bathroom, just looking at her.
“You don’t have to go, you know.”
Emma absorbed the words.
“Nobody says you do.”
“Maybe…” She squinted, searching for something she couldn’t identify. “Maybe we could just, like, go get something to eat? And I can think about it?”
Charlie nodded. “We can absolutely do that.” The certainty in her voice was almost tangible, and Emma felt like she could hold it.
“Good. I’m starving.”
* * *
Emma wasn’t kidding when she said she was starving. Charlie watched her go to town on her western omelet, alternating bites with sourdough toast and extra crispy bacon.
They’d texted their mothers, assured each that they were both alive and fine and would be home soon. Emma had avoided any details with her mom, told Charlie it was something they’d need to discuss in person, and her anger was palpable.
Now they sat in a red vinyl booth at a place called Jed’s, a small diner on the edge of the city that they’d found using Yelp. Charlie hadn’t been in a diner in…she couldn’t remember the last time. The crowd wasn’t big, but it wasn’t small, and it was easy to pick out the regulars just by the way they conversed with the waitstaff. Darcy wouldn’t be caught dead in here. The thought flew through Charlie’s mind, but she shoved it away and focused on other things, like the smell of Jed’s that was an oddly pleasing mix of old grease, coffee, and bacon. The air was warm, the waitress friendly and plump and looked like she’d happily give you a hug if you needed one.
“There is nothing like diner food,” Emma said as she chewed.
“Seriously?” Charlie took a sip of her coffee, which was strong and rich and gave her a little kick in the pants. Which she needed after getting so little sleep the night before, something that needed to be addressed, but she was…What? Waiting for the right time? I guess?
“Absolutely. Short-order cooks are amazing. They’re incredibly fast, have most recipes in their heads, and some put their own spin on traditional things.” She pointed to her omelet with her fork. “Like this. A western omelet has ham, but this has sausage crumbles instead. Chorizo. Combined with the peppers? Gives it a whole new flavor profile.” She took another bite and gazed out the window.
Charlie, on the other hand, had little appetite. She’d ordered scrambled eggs and hash browns, but had only taken a few bites, and they sat in her stomach like stones. The coffee was the only thing going down without a problem.
“I don’t think I can take facing them again,” Emma said, and it took Charlie a second or two to realize she was talking about the Grier family. “It’s just so much. You know?” Emma turned to face her, and her eyes held a sorrow Charlie hadn’t seen there before. “I mean, I’ve got two brothers and I didn’t even talk to them. I didn’t introduce myself. Say hi. Let them know they have a big sister if they ever need anything.” Her eyes went wide, as if she was hit with a realization. “Do you think they even want a big sister? Do you think they hate me?”
“Why would they hate you?” Charlie asked, trying logic. “They don’t even know you.”
“But would they want to?”
With a shrug, she said, “There’s only one way to find out, really.”
“Right.” Emma finished the last bite of her omelet, picked up a slice of bacon, and took a bite, returning her gaze to the window, to the cars in the parking lot coming and going. She watched her chew, watched the thoughts play across her beautiful features. “I had so much to say to him.” She said it quietly, almost to herself, and the sorrow in her voice was so thick, Charlie felt like she could reach out and touch it, actually hold it in her hands. “It’s like I didn’t even realize it until I lost my chance.”
“You can still say it.” It sounded so weak to Charlie’s ears, and she shrugged, half grimaced, sipped her coffee.
Emma turned then, studied her face, seemed to take that in, roll it around in her head. She nodded, sort of absently, like you did when you’re thinking about something. “Yeah.”
“It’s okay if you need time. You get that, right?” Charlie squinted and studied Emma’s face, because in all honesty, she wasn’t actually sure if Emma did get that. Judging by the way Emma’s eyebrows rose just a bit, she was right.
Emma blinked at her. “Like, I don’t have to do anything right now, do I?”
“Nope.” She snagged a slice of bacon off Emma’s plate.
“Huh.” Emma said the one word as if she’d never thought of that option. They ate quietly for several more minutes, the silence not at all uncomfortable. Finally, Emma seemed to make a decision. “Okay. Let’s go home, then.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m tired. I miss my restaurant, and I need some time to absorb all of this.”
Charlie knew she was likely talking about more than just her father’s death but didn’t press. She agreed, and they took their time paying the bill, then figured out a schedule.
A lot of things were left unfinished, but Charlie suddenly felt just as bone weary as Emma seemed to be, and one thing was clear. She, too, was ready to go home.
Chapter Twenty-three
“Okay, I’m afraid I have to ask.” Sandy’s voice surprised Charlie, as she hadn’t seen her come in. Her tone was low, almost conspiratorial, and Charlie barely heard her over the pounding that came from next door where a crew of guys was working on what would eventually be the rest of The Muffin Top. They’d only just begun, so all they were doing was demoing, really, but God, it was loud. Bracing herself for Sandy wanting an answer about their working relationship, she looked at her.
“Ask me what?”
“What did that dough ever do to you? Again?”
She blinked at Sandy, then looked down at the pie dough she’d kneaded way too hard and for way too long and remembered, not so long ago, when Bethany had asked her the same thing. Just like then, she was on the verge of ruining a batch. It would be dense and unpleasant, and she sighed in frustration. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind, but I shouldn’t let it affect my work.” She felt the heat rise to her cheeks, embarrassed to have messed up something she could do in her sleep.
It was Tuesday. She and Emma had gotten home Friday evening, but Emma had run right to the restaurant to relieve Alec and make sure things had gone okay, and Charlie had barely seen her since. They’d both conked out on the flight home, so no talking had happened. Not about Emma continuing to struggle over her father, not how she was going to approach her mother and her part in keeping her dad from her, not about their night together. That was the hardest part for Charlie. She didn’t know where they stood. If anywhere. Did they stand anywhere? Had that been a simple night of comfort and that was it? Did Emma want more? Did she? But she couldn’t ask any of these things right now because Emma’s issues around her father took precedence.
So she stayed quiet and, essentially, waited her turn.
Which was frustrating as hell.
And apparently added up to ruined pie dough.
Balling it up, she then tossed it into the trash and started over again, internally sighing at how her emotions seemed to be directly proportional to her pie crust handling.
/> “Wanna talk about it?” Sandy asked. She was at the next counter over, mixing ingredients for an order of lemon bars for a retirement community’s midsummer picnic.
Charlie lifted one shoulder. She did. She did want to talk about it. With Emma.
“Is it you and Emma?”
Charlie glanced at her, surprised.
It was Sandy’s turn to shrug. “I hear the way you talk about her. I saw you at Summer Fest together, the way you look at her. The way she looks at you.”
“Really?”
“Honey, I’ve got about twenty years on you. I know stuff.” She tapped her temple with a finger and winked.
It was like a dam suddenly broke inside Charlie. She spilled it all to Sandy. Every detail as if it had been clawing at her skull to be set free. She kept her voice down, as Bethany was out front waiting on customers. Because of that and the construction crew, Sandy turned off her mixer and came to stand closer. Charlie told her about the make-out session after the Summer Fest, how Emma had regretted it and told Charlie so, how Charlie had taken over when Emma found out about her dad because she’d seemed paralyzed. The pace of her words picked up as she talked about meeting Zaya and the rest of the Grier family and how hard and confusing it had been for Emma, how helpless she’d felt because she couldn’t make it easier for her. And she told Sandy about the hotel—how wonderful it had been, how comfortable and perfect, and how they hadn’t touched on it since.
Sandy listened carefully, nodded here and there, but made no comments until Charlie finished completely. By that time, she was almost breathless, on the verge of tears, her voice cracking. She’d gotten more emotional over the story than she’d intended, and she’d shared way more detail than she should have, and now she felt the heat rise in her face. “I’m sorry. That was a lot. That was too much.” She covered her eyes with one flour-dusted hand.
Sandy laid a hand on her arm, gently tugged Charlie’s hand away. “Hey.” Sandy waited until she looked at her. “Don’t apologize. There’s no need. We’re friends, right?”
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