“There aren’t a ton of prospects here,” he goes on, “so I didn’t exactly blame them, but at the same time . . .”
“Fuck that?” I guess.
He runs a hand up the backside of his head, then tucks it there. “I don’t know, she deserves to be happy. Shepherd had a better chance of giving her that.”
“Why?” I ask. He looks at me, brow pinched, like he doesn’t understand the question. “Why does he have any better chance at making someone happy than you do?”
“Oh, come on, Stephens,” he says wryly. “You of all people know what I mean.”
“I definitely don’t,” I insist.
“Your archetypes,” he says. “The tropes. He’s the guy every woman falls for. The son my parents wanted, working full-time at the job my dad wanted me to have, all while making, like, fucking rocking chairs in his spare time. He even went to my top choice for school.”
“Cornell?” I say.
“Went there to play football,” Charlie says, “but he’s fucking smart too. You went out with him — you know what he’s like.”
“I did go out with him,” I say, “which is why I’m qualified to say, you’re wrong. I mean, not about him being smart. But the other thing, that he’s more qualified to make someone happy.”
His smile fades. He looks back to the sky. “Yeah, well,” he murmurs. “At least for Amaya, it made sense. During our breakup, one of the last things she said to me was, If we stay together, every single day for the rest of our lives is going to be the same. Wasn’t even the last time I heard that in a breakup speech.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, that’s why she wanted to meet up. To apologize for how things ended.”
I feel my cheeks coloring. “It’s cute of you to think that, Charlie,” I say. “But based on how she looks at you, I’m pretty sure all that sameness isn’t so unappealing to her anymore.”
“It wasn’t just that I was too boring for her. She also decided she wanted kids — or, I guess, admitted she did, and was just waiting for me to change my mind.”
I turn onto my side and face him. “You don’t?”
“I hated being a kid.” He folds his arm beneath his head and looks almost furtively in my direction. “I’d have no idea how to get someone else through it, and I definitely wouldn’t enjoy it. I like them, but I don’t want to be responsible for any.”
“Agreed,” I say. “I love my nieces more than anything on the planet, but every time Tala falls asleep in my lap, her dad gets all teary-eyed and is like, Doesn’t it just make you want to have some of your own, Nora? But when you have kids, they count on you. Forever. Any mistake you make, any failure — and if something happens to you . . .”
My throat twists.
“People like to remember childhood as all magic and no responsibilities, but that’s not really how it is. You have absolutely no control over your environment. It all comes down to the adults in your life, and . . . I don’t know. Every time Libby has a new kid, it’s like there’s this magic house in my heart that rearranges to make a new room for the baby.
“And it always hurts. It’s terrifying. One more person who needs you.”
One more tiny hand with your heart in its grip.
I draw a breath, steeling myself. “Can I tell you something? Another secret?”
He turns onto his side, peering at me through the light. “Are we back on who killed JFK?”
I shake my head. “I think Libby’s getting a divorce.”
His brow creases. “You think?”
“She hasn’t told me yet,” I explain. “But she’s not answering Brendan’s calls, and she’s not sleeping well. She hasn’t had trouble with that since—” Charlie’s presence has once again uncorked me. He wraps my focus around him in a way that makes it hard to think forward, to be on guard against every possible scenario.
Or maybe it’s because he really is so organized and thorough, it’s easy to believe that he could fix anything with the sheer force of his will, so it feels safe to unbolt all these chaotic feelings.
“Since your mom passed away?” he finishes my sentence for me.
I nod, run my fingers over the cool pillow between us. “The only thing that’s ever really mattered to me is being sure she has what she needs. And now she’s going through something life-changing and — I can’t do anything. I mean, she hasn’t even told me about it. So if anyone’s useless . . .”
His hand glides up my back, a light, soothing trail over my spine, and settles beneath my hair. “Maybe,” he says, “you’re already doing what she needs you to do. Just by being here with her.”
I cut him a look, feeling a lift and swell in my heart. “Maybe that’s all your dad needs from you too.”
He gently squeezes my neck, then lets his hand fall away. “The difference,” he says, “is Libby asked you to be here. He asked me not to.”
“Well, if that’s all you need,” I say quietly, like it’s a secret, “Charlie, will you please be here?”
He leans forward, softly kissing me, his fingers fluttering over my jaw as I breathe in his minty breath and warm skin. When he draws back, his eyes are melted gold, my nerve endings quivering under them.
“Yes,” he says, and pulls me into him, his arm coiling around me and chin tucking against my shoulder. “I already told you, Nora,” he murmurs, his fingers splaying on my stomach, just beneath my shirt. “I’ll go anywhere with you.”
Sometimes, even when you start with the last page and you think you know everything, a book finds a way to surprise you.
25
WHY DO YOUR hands smell like that?” Libby demands as I guide her through the back door, palms pressed over her eyes.
“My hands do not smell,” I say.
“It’s, like, New TV Smell,” she says.
“That’s not a thing,” I tell her.
“Yeah it is. New TV Smell.”
“You mean New Car Smell.”
“No,” she says. “It’s like, when you open the TV box and pull the Styrofoam packing sheet out, and it smells like a swimming pool inside.”
“Then why wouldn’t you just say I smell like a swimming pool?”
“Did you buy us a big-ass TV?”
“You know what, forget the grand reveal.” I release my hold on her, and she screams.
Charlie jolts like she just chucked a priceless vase his way. “Sissy!” she yelps, spinning toward me, then back. “Charlie!” Then to me again. “We’re camping?!”
I shrug. “It’s on the list.”
She throws her arms around me and lets out another high-pitched shriek. “Thank you, Sissy,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you,” I tell her. Over her shoulder, I lock eyes with Charlie.
Thank you, I mouth. His chin dips as he smiles. Anything for you, he mouths. In my chest, something heavy turns over.
I wake up twice, gasping for breath. The second time, Libby rolls over, flopping her arm around me in her sleep, her leg twitching so that she’s kind of kicking me.
Even with the strategically positioned fans, it’s uncomfortably warm, but I don’t shake her off. Instead I lay my hand over hers and squeeze her to me.
I will take care of you, I promise her.
I won’t let anything hurt you.
For once, I get up first. I skip my run and head straight for a shower, then preheat the oven.
The corn-lime cookies are ready by the time Libby’s up, and we eat them for breakfast with coffee.