Page 127 of Business Casual
“It’s not excessive. I’ve asked you three times.”
I grab the bowl of mashed potatoes and hold it out to him. He takes it with a grunt, and I go back to staring at the blank screen of my phone.
We usually have a strict no phone policy during family dinners, but I snuck it in. Charlie and I have been playing phone tag for three damn days, and if I miss another one of his calls, I might scream.
I miss him. I miss him standing shirtless in my kitchen inspecting the contents of my fridge, and I miss him lounging in the middle of my bed, asking me a million and one questions about nothing in particular. I miss his nose pressed against the back of my neck when he sleeps and the way his chin rests on the top of my head when he stands right behind me. I miss his smell and his taste and his smile when he thinks he’s being funny and his eyes when he’s trying not to be sad.The way his knee jumps up and down when he’s sitting for too long. The crumpled receipts he keeps in his pockets so he can write down notes when he thinks of them only to forget about them entirely and leave them shoved under the plants I keep on my windowsill.
He left one of his sweaters over the back of my chair in my living room, and his pale blue toothbrush is still in the cup next to mine in my bathroom. Some of his socks somehow ended up in my underwear drawer and his phone charger is plugged into the wall in my kitchen. I keep finding bits and pieces of him scattered throughout my house and my tattoo studio and the front seat of my car.
I didn’t want a relationship because I was afraid of giving a part of myself to another person when it felt so important that I keep them all for myself. I like who I am and I like my independence. But I didn’t lose anything to Charlie. It just feels like all the good things in my life got better. Amplified. I got someone to laugh with and someone to rub the knots in my neck and someone to remember to put oat milk on my grocery list because I always forget. I was so determined to not have a relationship with him that I missed the part where we were in one all along.
And I didn’t lose a single thing.
Instead I got Charlie.
And now he’s hundreds of miles away, and I haven’t been able to talk to him in days. I feel like I missed out on all the good parts of a relationship before I even realized I was in one.
Beckett nudges me with his elbow, and I sigh, tucking my phone under my thigh. At least if it rings, I’ll be able to feel it. I can make an excuse and disappear in the backyard.
I stab a piece of broccoli and move it around my plate.
“What’s with the frown?” Beckett asks, an obscene amount of potatoes piled high on his plate. I don’t think he left a single scoop in there for anyone else.
“Says the man who just yelled at me about potatoes.”
“I have an excuse,” he says calmly.
“What’s that?”
“Evie’s work trip.” He reaches for the gravy boat that’s shaped like a cat on a canoe. My mom is really out of control with the tchotchkes. “I won’t see her for another week.”
At least you know when you’ll see her, I want to yell. I have no idea when I’ll get to see Charlie again. Both of our schedules have been so booked we can barely find time to talk on the phone, let alone plan time to see each other in person.
“Doesn’t mean you can be a jerk about spuds,” I mumble, stabbing at my broccoli until it’s smashed wreckage on my plate.
Beckett sighs and puts his fork down. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I mutter. “Nothing is going on.”
“Maybe she just needs to get laid,” Vanessa supplies from the other side of the table. But the only place my sister has ever been delicate is on the dance floor, and it’s more of a bellow than a quiet suggestion. My dad almost fumbles the platter of meatloaf. My mom pinches the bridge of her nose.
“What?” Vanessa asks, glancing around the table. “It’s true. She’s all wound up. Like a top.”
“Vanessa,” my mom sighs. “Don’t embarrass your sister.”
“Or traumatize your brother,” Beckett grumbles. “Can we change the subject please?”
“Seconded,” my dad adds. “Has anyone heard from Charlie lately?”
I narrow my eyes at my dad, still shoveling meatloaf onto his plate like it’s the last time he’ll have the opportunity. Everyone is acting like this is our last dinner before the end of days. “Why are you asking that?”
He shrugs. “I can’t ask after Charlie?”
He can, but it feels targeted. It feels like he knows something I’ve been less and less careful to keep hidden. It doesn’t seem as important as it did two weeks ago that no one knows about my feelings for Charlie. In fact, it’s starting to feel worse keeping it all to myself.
“He hasn’t been in the group chat much,” Beckett offers. I glance away from my dad.
“There’s a group chat?” I ask.
