I see Jessica raise her eyebrows and exchange a glance with Maddy and Liz.
“I’m really excited to be here,” I insist. “And I’m so happy you invited me.”
“Well, we’re happy you’re here, too, Charlie,” Maddy says with a smile.
Mrs. Jones rescues me by calling downstairs. “Girls—dinner!”
Amelia starts to go upstairs, but I grab her arm. “Wait,” I say, and Maddy, Liz, and Jessica head up without us, leaving us to it.
“What?” Amelia asks.
“Don’t be like this.”
She huffs. “I’m just annoyed because I thought you actually wanted to hang out tonight.”
“I do want to hang out tonight!” I say. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“But only because Brian is unavailable.” Amelia puts her hands on her hips. “I mean, it’s whatever, Charlie, but that kind of sucks.”
“I don’t want you to feel like this is my last resort or anything. It’s not. I’m genuinely happy to be here. And I’m super excited to get to know the girls a little better.”
“Yeah?” Amelia asks, thawing slightly.
“Yeah! Let’s not let this ruin the night, please,” I plead. When she doesn’t look convinced, I add, “Please, please, please, please!”
She finally caves—and even smiles. “Okay, fine. Let’s just have a good time, then.”
I loop my arm through hers, relieved. “Let’s.”
Chapter Forty
I don’t want to catch the flu, but I miss Brian. The next morning, after leaving the sleepover at Amelia’s, I pick up some chicken noodle soup and drop it off with his mom, Susan. Brian waves pathetically at me from the window of his room.
He and I spend the whole weekend Snapping and texting. Thankfully, he’s back to school on Monday, so I attack him in the parking lot like it’s been years since I’ve seen him.
“I missed you,” I say, and Brian pulls me into a giant bear hug. The warmth of his body on mine was sorely missed. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck and don’t even care if we’ve become that couple.
He kisses the top of my head. “I missed you. Thanks again for keeping me sane while I was cooped up inside.”
“Of course.” I pull back and look at him. “I was so bored without you.”
“Me too.” Then he snaps his fingers. “Oh! Shoot, I forgot something in there.” He points to his car. “Can you help me look?”
He unlocks the car and we both climb inside, closing the doors behind us. I put my backpack on the floor in front of me. “What are we looking for?” I ask.
Brian breaks into a grin as he hits the lock button on his doors. “This,” he says, pulling me to him and kissing me hard, like it’s been days since we’ve done this, which it has. I don’t know how long we’re kissing, but I don’t care because this is so much better than literally everything else. When we finally break apart, all I say is “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” and Brian kisses me again before the parking lot guard knocks on the window and tells us we need to get going because we’ve missed the bell.
Worth it.
School is fine, lunch is fine, everything is fine, but all I want to do is go to Brian’s house and hang out. So imagine my disappointment when my mom texts me midday to say we need to talk when I get home.
I go from riding high to pretty much feeling like I’ve suddenly come down with the flu myself. But I tell her yes and postpone my afternoon plans with Brian.
Once I’m home, I change into some comfortable clothes, walk over to my mom’s room, and knock. Might as well get this over with.
“Come in,” she says.
I push open the door. Behind it, the room looks nothing like when my dad was around. It’s like his memory has been scrubbed clean away, which I both understand (I’m sure it’s hard to constantly be reminded of the man you loved, who’s gone) and resent (I miss him so much sometimes). There is one thing that’s the same—from one of the bedposts hangs my dad’s favorite hat.
I always used to be in this room when my dad was around. We would hang out and watch movies, or spend time reading books, or sometimes, when I was home sick from school and he had to take care of me, we’d play board games all day (if I promised not to tell Mom). I don’t come in here much anymore.
“You wanted to talk?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. Then she pats the bed. “Come; sit.”
I join her and settle into a cross-legged position.
“So,” she says.
“So,” I say back.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“I realized that maybe what I said was…harsh.”
“Harsh,” I repeat.
“Yes. I do want what’s best for you, Charlie, but you know. You’re seventeen.”
I take this as her acknowledging that I’m growing up and can make my own choices. Progress! “Yeah! Exactly! I’m sort of figuring things out.”
“Or you’re just going to do what you’re going to do and I can’t stop you.” Bubble burst. “And if that’s Brian, well…yeah. It is what it is.”
A spark of rage swells up in my chest, but I know there’s no use letting it burn. I imagine dousing it with some water, and I can almost hear the tss sound as I let it go out. My mom doesn’t get it; she doesn’t get me. And…she won’t.
“Yeah, it is what it is,” I echo coolly.
“But, I mean, it would’ve been nice if you had at least told me you were dating someone. Daughters typically tell their moms things like that, you know.”
Part of me wants to scream: But this is exactly why I didn’t! And you kind of I-told-you-so’d me after Cal! And you continually judge me about my weight! And you couldn’t say anything kind about Brian! And you never ask how I’m doing, and you never take an interest in my hobbies, and, and, and!
But I don’t. Because the main reason I didn’t tell my mom about Brian is that I’m so used to not sharing things with her that the thought didn’t even cross my mind. And maybe that’s worse.
“Well, at least you know about him now, even if you found out about him in an awkward way. And I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s all right,” Mom says. “But you know. Be cool.”
This is her way of saying Don’t have sex here. “Yeah, of course. We’ll ‘be cool.’”
“Well, good.”
I nod. “Yes. Good.”
She looks over at a text that’s lit up her phone, signaling unceremoniously that the conversation is done, so I slink out of the room. I know now that we may never be okay, and we’ll never have that mother-daughter relationship I so desperately yearn for…but we aren’t fighting, and maybe that’s all I can really ask for.
Chapter Forty-One
If you’d told me a few months ago that I’d soon find myself standing in front of the mirror admiring a new lacy bra I bought to show off to a boy I’m dating, I would have called you a liar. Maybe even shoved you a little. Yet here I am.
After the intense make-out session in Brian’s car the other day, I picked up a few nice bras. I just feel like we can only make out for so long. Pretty soon, he’s probably going to see my bra, and I’d rather it not be a geriatric bra from hell (AKA the only kind I own right now).
I’m not saying we’re going to do anything—not yet, anyway. We’ve only been together a month (today!). But given that we’ve casually started calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend, I can only assume that yeah, things are bound to happen. I’ve even added a trip to Planned Parenthood to my list of things to do in hopes I can get on the pill, because this girl is not trying to get pregnant.
My phone vibrates and I look down to see a text from Brian that says Be there in 10.
That leaves me scrambling to finish getting dressed to prepare for our date tonight. We’re going to a fancy dinner—like on a real, grown-up date at a nice restaurant—in celebration of our one-month anniversary. Which I can hardly believe. One off
icial month of hanging out and handholding and kissing and being there for each other. It’s been pretty incredible.
Finally, there’s someone interested in me and only me—not just talking to me because they want to get closer to Amelia.
For clothes, I opt for an off-the-shoulder red dress that flares at the waist. It makes me feel much older and sophisticated than I actually am, and with a new bra that pushes up my boobs a little, I feel kind of hot. I hope Brian thinks so, too.
Tonight, I’ll celebrate one month with my first boyfriend, and that feels like a night worth remembering.
Another vibration on my phone lets me know that Brian is here, so I take one last look at myself in the mirror before I run out to the car to greet him. I haven’t seen him in two days—he had to travel to a family wedding—so I’m extra excited.
Brian is walking up my front walk to greet me, but I meet him halfway and throw my arms around him. I take him by surprise, but he hugs me back tightly and I think to myself I could probably stay like this forever.
But we do have dinner reservations to get to.
“Hi,” I say, pulling back from the hug to look at him.
“Hi,” he says, his eyes wandering over my body. “Damn, Charlie.”
I push my glasses up shyly. “What?” I ask.
“You look hot,” Brian says, leaning in for a kiss. When he pulls back, he keeps his head close to mine. “Really hot.”
“You too,” I say, eyeing him back. He’s wearing a long-sleeved fitted Henley over black jeans. I can fully see the outline of his strong arms in it, and I am not complaining. Why do boys look so good wearing the simplest things?
He shakes whatever thoughts he’s having away. “Okay. Okay. We ready?”
I nod, secretly so, so, pleased, and we’re off.
On the drive to the restaurant, I fill him in on what I’ve been up to the last few days, which is a whole lot of nothing. But I did finally submit my story to the contest, and Brian is all smiles when we’re seated at our table and I tell him that.
“You did, really?” he asks.
“I did, finally, is what you mean.”
“No. You did it, and that’s what matters,” he says.
Despite writing what I thought was a compelling, emotionally raw short story, I really struggled to hit that Submit button. I found myself consumed with worry that it wouldn’t be good enough, even though Ms. Williams had walked me through several rounds of edits and given me excellent suggestions. But I kept reading it back and thinking it was far too emotional. When I shared those feelings with Brian, he offered to read it for me, so I emailed him a copy. His response was a simple text: Wow.
Between that and some tough love from Ms. Williams (“Charlie, send it or don’t”), I finally worked up the courage and submitted it.
I smile at him. “I’m glad, too. Thank you for looking it over for me.”
“Of course. I’d been trying to get you to let me read something of yours forever!” He laughs. “But it was well worth the wait. You are an incredible writer, Charlie.”
“You’re an incredible artist,” I say.
“What does one have to do with the other?”
“I don’t know. Just seems like we’re a good fit.”
At that, Brian smiles.
“So,” I say, a little flushed. “Tell me about the wedding!”
“Way too many Ed Sheeran songs.”
“Oh, no!”
“It was even their wedding song.”
“No!” I say in a hushed voice.
“Yes!” he whispers back, and we both start laughing. Sorry, Ed Sheeran.
The waiter comes back to ask if we’re ready to order, so we do, and then Brian continues. “It would have been better if you were there.”
“I wish I’d been there, too,” I say, smiling. My phone vibrates on the table and I see it’s Amelia. “Do you mind?”
“Go for it.”
I can see in the text preview that she’s asking if I can hang out tonight, and I feel a little stab of guilt. Despite my vow to be a better friend, I still haven’t spent much time with her lately. I’ve been really busy with Brian and writing my story and work and everything, and every time Amelia and I do hang out, she’s been hot and cold. It’s frustrating, so I’ve pulled back, maybe intentionally, maybe not. I don’t think I even told her it was our one-month anniversary tonight.
Hey, sorry! I’m actually out with Brian tonight, I write. It’s our anniversary!
The three gray dots show up and I watch them for a while before they disappear. They come back, then disappear again. Then they come back and a text comes through that reads Happy anniversary but without any punctuation or emojis or anything.
Why can’t she just be happy for me?
“Everything good?” Brian asks.
I lock my phone and push it away from me. “No.” I sigh. “Amelia’s been acting really weird lately.”
Brian frowns. “What’s going on?”
“I think she’s kind of upset that we’ve been hanging out so much,” I say carefully. “But it seems really unfair. She always has somebody, and I’ve never said anything to her about it, not even when she’s ditched me or made me feel like a third wheel!”
“That sounds a little hypocritical.”
“Right? Why is it so bad if I hang out with my boyfriend sometimes? Plus, she’s been after me to have us all go out on a double date and I don’t want to do that. I just want to spend time with you, Bri.”
“A double date doesn’t sound so bad,” he offers.
“That’s sweet of you. But I feel like I’d just be obsessively comparing myself to Amelia the whole night or comparing our relationship to hers and Kira’s, and I don’t want that. I think maybe she’s mad I keep putting it off.”
Brian reaches across the table and gives my hand a little squeeze.
“Anyway, I’m absolutely not going to let her ruin our celebration.” I give him a smile. “It’s our anniversary!”
“One whole month. How have you put up with me for so long?”
“Seemed pretty easy to me.”
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s been pretty easy for me, too. I really feel like—I don’t know about you, but I just feel like we work. You just get me. And I just love being around you.”
My stomach does a little flip. “I love being around you, too. I mean, I thought a lot about what it would be like to be with someone, but this is so much better than I ever even imagined. I know that sounds super cheesy, but it’s true.”
Brian is beaming at me and I can’t help but smile back. “Happy anniversary, kid,” he says.
“Happy anniversary, Tig,” I say, holding up my water glass. He clinks his to mine just as our meals arrive.
Brian and I politely thank our waiter, then make conversation about how good the food looks, but all I can think about is how happy I am and how happy this night is making me. So I feel a little bold and I lean forward toward him.
“I have a secret,” I say.
“Oh, yeah?” Brian asks.
“I bought a new bra,” I whisper.
Brian is midbite and starts to cough. He takes a big sip of water before saying, “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I say. I don’t know where I’ve suddenly gotten all this confidence from, but I like it. I want to hold on to it and keep it and channel it whenever I can.
“Damn, Charlie,” Brian says, his eyes glancing to my chest and back up at me. Then back down again and then back up at me. “Damn.”
“Maybe we can hang out after dinner?”
Brian holds up his finger like he’s signaling for the waiter. “Check, please,” he says, which makes me laugh.
“No, no! Let’s finish our food. Take our time. It’s better this way, isn’t it?”
“Says you.”
I eat my meal deliberately slowly, delighting in the number of times I catch Brian eyeing my cleavage. When the waiter asks if we want dessert, I even pretend to mull it
over, and Brian lets out a small sigh of relief when I say I’m all set. He pays for dinner, then takes my hand and leads me outside to the car, walking fast.
When we get to his car, instead of letting go of my hand and climbing inside, he uses my hand to pull me closer to him and he kisses me—urgently, passionately, with need.
The kiss leaves me tingling. “We should get in the car,” I whisper. “Maybe find somewhere a little more private?”
My heart is pounding as I say this, and Brian nods. We get into the car and go. He drives for a bit till we’re back in town, then turns into a park and pulls over in a deserted lot. When he cuts the engine, he turns to look at me.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. He stares at me for a moment, putting one hand on my cheek. Then he says, “God, you’re beautiful.”
“Yeah?” I ask, biting my bottom lip.
Brian leans over and he kisses me. This one is sweeter than the last, more delicate, like he’s trying to show me, not tell me, that I’m beautiful. And I feel it.
They say you can’t really be with someone until you can love yourself, but I’m learning that it can also sometimes take the admiration and support of someone else to help you get there. I was already on the path to seeing my own self-worth, but Brian took my hand and made the route less lonely. Whether that’s right or wrong, I can’t say; all I know is I feel beautiful and wanted at Brian’s touch.
Which makes me deepen the kiss. I stroke the back of his hair, pulling him to me, closing the gap between us. One of his hands is cupping the back of my neck, while the other is on my knee.
I am able to forget how I’m supposed to feel about my body and instead I enjoy what my body actually feels. I don’t worry what Brian will think as he’s touching me; I just let him touch me. My hands, my back, my neck, my chest.
Up until this point, our touching has been entirely over our clothes. But when I feel Brian’s hand gently tugging at the strap of my dress, slowly pulling it down my shoulder, I don’t push him away; I let him.
Because I like him, and I trust him, and he makes me feel like I don’t need to be ashamed of myself or my body.
Fat Chance, Charlie Vega Page 25