“But what about him? If it seems like the breakup came out of nowhere to me, I just…can you imagine how he feels?” Amelia asks. “You guys were so happy together, Charlie. You were so, so happy. The way he looked at you…”
It’s this that makes me start crying again.
“You were good together,” she presses, gently.
“I know we were, but it was a lie,” I say.
Amelia tenses, and I can feel that what I shared with her, those feelings of jealousy and insecurity, they’re unresolved. Still bubbling. Lingering.
“Your relationship wasn’t a lie,” she says. “And it all seems unfair—to yourself, to Brian.” There is a weighty silence at the end of her sentence.
“To you?” I ask.
Her voice is quiet. “A little.” She looks up at me. “But it’s not about that. Not right now, anyway. I really don’t think that him asking me out meant anything. Last year is a lifetime ago. He and I have hardly even talked since. But you two—well, he’s been dropping hints that he’s into you since at least the beginning of the semester.”
“I just don’t know,” I say. And I don’t. Because I hear her and I think part of me thinks she’s right. “Anyway, I’m going to be late to class.”
Amelia looks like she wants to say more, but she doesn’t, opting instead to give me a hug. “I love you, Charlie. And I say this with as much kindness and affection as I can muster, but I think you’re making a mistake.”
I look down at the note, crumpling it in my hand with a sniffle. “It’s my mistake to make.”
They say that nothing good happens after midnight. And they, whoever they are, are probably right. But I text Brian that night anyway.
Did you ask Amelia out? I write.
And suddenly my phone is ringing.
“Hey,” I answer, like we’re about to start the most casual conversation ever.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Charlie. No, I didn’t ask Amelia out.” His voice sounds wild, desperate. “Is that what this is about? A rumor? I didn’t; I swear I didn’t.”
“She told me you did.”
“I don’t know why she would say that, but I didn’t, Charlie.”
I know I probably sound obsessive, but here it goes. “It was last year,” I say. “In English class?”
There is a silence. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s thinking or because he’s been caught. Then there’s a soft “Oh.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“But that was so long ago! And I’m not at all interested in her now. I like you, Charlie. I really, really like you.”
It hurts to hear him say that because it feels like it’s not true. Or maybe it hurts because I can tell that it’s true and it doesn’t matter.
“I just can’t,” I whisper.
“You can’t what?” Brian asks. “Be with me?”
“Yes.”
“Because of that?”
“Yeah.”
“So that’s it?” Brian asks.
“That’s it,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
The thought of having to work with Brian the next day fills me with dread. I don’t want to see him; I’m certain he doesn’t want to see me.
But Nancy asks me to take care of a big bulk mailing project for the company’s upcoming summer giving campaign. There are a bunch of boxes I need to drop off at the post office, each filled with dozens and dozens of letters, and they’re time-sensitive.
After I agree to go, she tells me to take Brian with me and gives me a little wink. I try to protest, but she insists, and I know she thinks she’s doing me a favor. I can’t even spend time fretting over how she figured out Brian and I were a thing because now I’m faced with two options: tell Nancy the truth—that Brian and I are over before we even really began—or pretend nothing’s wrong and go get him.
I try to go with a third option of saying nothing, not getting Brian from the warehouse, and taking care of the project alone.
Except when I head outside to the big white company van that I’m supposed to take to the post office, Brian is already out there, loading up boxes. She must have told Dave to send Brian along, so here he is. Of course he would still help me, even though I just broke up with him. Brian’s that wholesome.
“Thanks,” I say, walking up to the van.
“Yep,” he says.
“Need help loading?” I ask.
“Nope.”
“Okay. I’ll drive.” I walk to the driver’s seat and climb in. I spend way too much time adjusting the seat and mirrors while I wait for him to get into the passenger seat. When he does, I clear my throat and ask, “Ready?”
Brian nods in response but doesn’t look at me. We drive. It’s quiet, and I keep sneaking glances at him. I say nothing. It feels like the longest drive ever to the post office, and I’m thankful for the transactional conversations that fill the silence as we complete our task. The drop-off doesn’t take very long, and before I know it, we’re back in the van and heading to the office.
“It’s been really warm these past few days, huh?” I say.
“Yeah. Warm,” Brian says, looking out the window.
“I like warm weather, but I also like to have serene, spring weather. I don’t like jumping straight from winter to summer, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“But I guess I’d rather it be hot than freezing,” I say with an awkward laugh.
Brian looks over at me. “Charlie, what are you doing?”
I quickly look at him, then back at the road. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” he says. “You’re acting like nothing happened.”
“Well, how am I supposed to act?”
“I don’t know, but not like this. I can’t handle you acting like everything is fine. It’s not fine. Fuck, I’m really upset.” I look over at him. His face looks pinched, like maybe he’s fighting back the urge to cry. Which makes me want to cry. I put the blinker on and pull off to the side of the road because I know I can’t focus on the road and on this conversation at the same time.
I put the van in park. “I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t make sense. I know it’s not up to me, that it doesn’t have to make sense, and that I need to just accept this. But I can’t stop thinking about why I’m being treated this way for something I did a year ago—well before we were ever a thing. Why does it matter that I had some weird, stupid crush on someone else?”
It’s clear he’s been holding this in, and I don’t blame him.
“It’s not just that you had a crush on someone else. That I get. That I totally get. I know your life didn’t start the moment I entered it.” I swallow, then finish in a rush: “It’s that the crush was on Amelia, my best friend, the one person I feel like I can never live up to. This feels like the ultimate proof of that.”
“What is this obsession with Amelia?!”
His outburst catches me by surprise, and I immediately protest. “It’s not an obsession—”
“Obsession, fixation, call it whatever you want, Charlie, but you can’t stop comparing yourself to her. That’s clouding your vision right now. You can’t even see past it!” Brian’s nostrils flare. He takes a breath and, more softly, he asks, “After all we’ve built together?”
Despite my desperate attempts to remain unfazed, I start to cry. “I’m sorry,” I say again, my voice cracking.
Brian swipes at his cheeks to hastily wipe back a few tears. “I’m not sure you are. You’re asking me to move mountains here, knowing full well I can’t. I can’t fix your feelings about Amelia, Charlie, and I sure as hell can’t go back and un-ask Amelia out. But I guess we’ll just say ‘fuck it’ because who cares, right?”
“I care.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
My lip quivers. “Because my whole life, it’s felt like I’ve never been as good as Amelia. My whole life, Brian. I was never as pretty or as charismatic or as a
nything. I’ve had boys chase after her time and time again—or use me to get closer to her. Or pretend to like me just to be near her. She’s always been better than me.”
“Don’t even say that.”
“But it’s true!” I insist, wiping at my eyes, feeling myself start to get flustered. “And now it’s part of my relationship with you, too? I can’t handle that. I’m just always coming in second to her. With my mom. With Cal. Now with you!”
“Not with me,” Brian says. “Never with me, Charlie.”
“Great, now you’re invalidating my feelings on top of everything! You don’t know what I’ve experienced. You can’t know; you’re not a girl. The way we’re compared and how fat girls are treated and how there’s all this impossible, suffocating pressure. Can you imagine what it’s like for your own mother to prefer your best friend? No, because you actually have two parents who care about you. So you have no idea. You haven’t lived this!” I struggle to catch my breath. The van feels small and hot, and I inhale, exhale until I’m ready to speak again. When I do, my voice is quieter than before. “Whether it makes sense to you or not, I just don’t think I can move past this.”
“Are you sure?” Brian asks after a minute.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m sure.”
Brian looks at me for a long moment, brows furrowed, searching my face as if trying to understand. He breathes in deep. Then he swallows hard, settles into his seat, and looks forward.
“Okay, then,” he says.
I nod and look straight ahead, too. “Okay, then,” I repeat.
But I know it’s not.
After the car ride with Brian, I almost can’t bring myself to return to work. But I have no right to bail out, not after Nancy tried to be so kind, so I walk in and go over to my filing to work this painful afternoon away. I’m grateful to chip away at some of it in the quiet, but then I look up and see Dora heading my way.
I find myself hoping she won’t talk to me, that she’ll move on and get back to work, but then…
“Hey, you,” Dora says with a little waggle of her eyebrows. “How was the drive to the post office?”
Great. So everyone in the office must know about me and Brian now.
My throat tightens and I refocus my gaze on the stack of papers in front of me that need to be properly filed. “It was fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Yes, fine.” I try to read the file in front of me.
“Oh, come on! You’ve been holding out on me, Charlie,” Dora says with a laugh. “You didn’t tell me about you and Brian! I had to hear about it from Sheryl.” I don’t say anything. “Aww, don’t get shy, sweetheart.” She walks over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I just think it’s cute. Brian’s a really good kid, Charlie. You’ve done good. You deserve it.”
I look up at Dora, at the sincerity in her face, her words ringing in my ears, and I feel my face betray me.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” she says, rubbing my back.
“It’s not that,” I manage to say through tears, and before I can say more, Dora is ushering me to the restroom. She closes and locks the door behind us.
“What’s going on?” It’s her mom voice—kind, full of concern, with a hint of I will hurt anyone who has hurt you in it—and that comforts me, even though I’ve done a lot of the hurting myself.
“Brian and I broke up,” I say, and then I’m fully crying. “It’s been awful and really, really hard. But obviously I don’t want anyone to know and neither does he. It’s all just, I don’t know…a lot.”
“Oh, honey.” Dora wraps her arms around me without another word. “I’m sorry. Do I need to go have a talk with him?”
“No, no! I broke up with him.”
She pulls back from the hug. “I’m sure you had your reasons. You don’t have to say another word, and I’ll make sure no one else does, either.”
“Does everyone know?” I ask. When Dora hesitates to answer, I know that they do. “How did people find out?”
There’s a pause and then a small chuckle before she quietly offers this: “Two young people in love are not exactly the most discreet. Plus, Dave and his big mouth.” I groan. “Why don’t you get out of here? Seems like it’s been a long day.”
I nod, sniffling. “It has been.”
She motions with her chin toward the door. “Go on, then. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, even though I sincerely just want to bolt for the exit and never look back.
“Of course. Go on, sweetheart,” she says with a gentle smile.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” I wipe at my eyes, take a deep breath, and reach for the door handle. Then I look back at her. “Dora—you won’t tell anyone about the breakup just yet, will you? It’s still fresh.” She uses her fingers to zip her lips and I smile with relief. “Thank you.”
In the comfort of my car, I let myself sob. I’m ashamed of being overcome with emotion at work, and embarrassed at the idea that Brian and I thought we were being so secretive when we clearly weren’t.
But what really, really hurts is that I can’t even text him so we can laugh about how mortifying it all is, and the only person I can blame for that is me.
Chapter Forty-Eight
When I get home, I text Amelia. Want to watch some bad movies?
I mean, yeah, always, but you okay? she writes back.
Just come over?
On my way, she writes.
Amelia lets herself into the house and marches straight to my room. When she sees my undoubtedly puffy eyes and blotchy face, she holds her arms out for a hug.
“This is all such a mess,” I sob, letting her hold me for a second.
“What happened?” she asks.
We sit on the bed and I recount the afternoon’s events. It brings a whole rush of emotions right to the surface, leaving me feeling soft and vulnerable, like the tiniest pinprick could elicit another tsunami of tears.
Amelia listens intently, rubbing my back here and there.
“It’s just been a really, really long day,” I say, sniffling. “Week, really.”
“I can only imagine.”
“And on top of everything, I can’t lie, Amelia. Things still don’t feel right between you and me.”
She meets my gaze and offers me a little shrug. “Yeah, well, because they’re not.”
“We said we were good.”
“Yeah, that’s what we said. We wanted that to be true. I mean, we don’t really fight. Not like this. But honestly, you kind of dropped a huge bomb on me. I’ve been doing my best to just handle it, but I’m not Olivia Pope. You straight-up said you felt inferior to me. I was totally and completely blindsided. I mean. Shit, you know?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Shit.”
“It’s sort of like you resent me.”
“I don’t.”
She presses. “But maybe a little, right?”
I say nothing, which says everything.
“Yeah. I never meant to make you feel that way, Charlie. Know that.”
“It’s hard, Amelia,” I begin tentatively. “Being around you sometimes. You’re just so…you. Beautiful and skinny and loving and confident, and sorry, but perfect. That’s been reiterated to me a million times by every person around us in so many painful ways.”
I see her fists ball up. “I’m not perfect. I’m not.” Then she softens a bit. “When you said some of that stuff the other day, my gut reaction was—is, maybe—to pretty much say how dare you. But I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it. I have. And as much as I hate to admit this, maybe it’s true that I sometimes take some weird validation in being coveted. I am not proud of that.”
I give her a half smile. “As someone who’s rarely coveted, I can see the appeal.”
Amelia puts up a hand to me. “Nope, we’re not doing that. We’re not going to be self-deprecating right now. We’re going to be honest and real.” Her voice is firm in a way I may
be need at this moment.
“You’re right. No deflecting.”
She nods. “Like, look, I know that the world can be really fucking shitty to girls, and even shittier to girls of color, and shittier still to, you know—”
“Fat girls like me,” I interject. “You can say it.”
“Okay, yeah, to fat girls like you,” Amelia repeats. “But I think I relate to you more than you realize. I’m not saying I understand your struggles perfectly. I don’t know what it’s like to exist in a world as a fat brown woman. But I do know what it’s like to exist in the world as a queer Black woman, and it’s fucked in different ways and super hard sometimes. It’s impossible not to be insecure, you know?”
“I guess I hadn’t really thought of that.” I bite my lip, considering. “I know this sounds silly, but I rarely ever imagine you as someone who struggles or has doubts.”
“Right! You see me as superhuman! That’s some serious pressure.” Amelia laughs a little. “Sometimes it feels good, yeah, that people like how I look and act. But sometimes it’s just so much. I already have a ton of pressure on me from my parents and from myself, so it’s extra hard coming from you. Because we’re equals, me and you. Imperfect equals. And you’ve seen my struggles and you’ve been there right alongside me for the ride. I mean, I was a hot mess when I was trying to figure out if I wanted to have sex with Sid. I couldn’t face my parents over a dinner with my new girlfriend. I sometimes don’t have the courage to stick up to people or for myself.”
“But those are just normal human things.”
“Yeah, exactly! This is my point! You look at me and you see me struggle through things and you root for me regardless, thinking I’m, like, killing it out there in the world, but when it’s you, you don’t cut yourself any slack and you beat yourself up. But I’m a regular person, and so are you,” she says. “And a pretty badass one, too. You’re so good at everything. You get amazing grades and you’re an incredible writer and you’re so smart—sometimes so smart that teachers assume I am, too, just because I’m around you. When I nearly failed my bio test earlier this semester, Mr. O’Donnell told me I should try to be more like you. And you know what? Maybe that’s a shitty thing to say to a student, but I do find myself wishing I could be more like you all the time. Not because I’m inadequate as a person but because humans yearn! Humans want to be better than they are! Humans feel jealous! And I think it’s okay if sometimes I want to be more like you. Who wouldn’t? You’re smart and hilarious and fashionable and fierce and you would do anything for the ones you love. You put up with a lot of shit and you let it light a fire in you and I admire the hell out of that, babe.”
Fat Chance, Charlie Vega Page 28