Page 128 of Business Casual
Beckett nods. “A group chat for the farm staff. Layla added him when he took over operations for the month. We never took him off.”
“And he’s been quieter than usual?”
Beckett blinks at me and then nods again, slower this time. “Yeah. Caleb even tossed a softball innuendo about planting seeds, and he didn’t take the bait.”
“Maybe he needs to get laid too,” Vanessa yells across the table. Harper drops her forehead into her hand next to her. “I can set you up with someone, Nova, seriously. I have this friend who—”
Someone kicks her under the table. Everything rattles on top of my grandmother’s hand-stitched tablecloth. Nessa and Harper exchange a brief, furious, whispered conversation.
“…she needs to at least…”
“…you’re being extra and…”
“…all I’m saying is…”
Beckett clears his throat and tries to talk over them both. “I think work is probably keeping him busy. I’m sure he’ll show up sooner or later. He always does.”
My phone stays silent under my thigh. I use the edge of my broccoli piece to draw a forget-me-not in what’s left of my gravy.
“I don’t think Charlie likes his work,” I say quietly. Every time we manage to talk, his voice is strained and distracted. He’s hardly sent me any selfies now that he’s in his glass-and-chrome office. He’s a dimmer version of himself in New York. Smaller. “I actually don’t think Charlie is very happy in New York.”
Beckett keeps shoveling food into his face, half paying attention. He snorts. “Charlie is always happy. It’s a core character trait.”
“He’s not though.” I drop my fork against my plate with a clatter. Beckett stops eating and looks at me. So does the rest of the table. “He’s not happy. He pretends to be, most of the time, because hethinks it’s easier when he does. For him, maybe, or for everyone around him. I don’t know. But he’s not. He doesn’t like his job and his dad is a piece of shit and he’s—”
He’s lonely. He’s lonely, and I can’t bear the thought of him sitting alone in his apartment thinking everyone has forgotten him.
That I’ve forgotten him.
“Nova—”
My heart pounds in my chest. “He’s—he’s funny and he’s kind, and he’s ridiculous most of the time, but he only does it so he can see other people laugh. And he pushes himself to the edges and shrinks himself down to make himself seem more tolerable. But he doesn’t need to do that. He doesn’t need to break himself down into pieces. But I think—I think I made him do that too. I’m just as bad as everyone else because I took from him. Didn’t I? I asked for everything and what did I give him back? Not much. Not nearly enough.”
I couldn’t even give him the right words before he left. I couldn’t tell him I wanted him. Instead, I put a flower on his wrist and hoped he understood what I was trying to say.
He’s been so much braver than me this whole time.
“I’m not following—”
“I made him feel like he wasn’t enough. We all did. He’s been spending more and more time down here because he wants someone to ask him to stay. I think. And I sent him back to New York with alet’s hope for the best.”
I put guardrails around my feelings for Charlie because I didn’t want to want something I never thought I needed. And now he’s there and I’m here, and he’s not answering my calls, and we’re both fucking miserable.
The table is silent. It’s a freeze-frame of shock. I think this might be the most interesting family dinner we’ve ever had, including the time Beckett brought all the kittens and both the ducks and let them run free beneath the table. Beckett is rigid next to me. Vanessa is practically vibrating in her chair. Harper and my parents are watchingme carefully like they’re not sure if I’m going to collapse to the ground or flip the meatloaf tray.
I don’t know either.
“I’ve been seeing Charlie since the first harvest festival committee meeting,” I announce. Harper gasps like we’re on a daytime soap opera. My heart clangs around in my chest, my throat tight. “I know this is out of nowhere, but that’s it. Charlie and I were—I mean—we are together. Like a couple.”
Everyone stares at me. The clock ticks in the hallway. The wind whistles at the windows. A log cracks in the fireplace, and my heart pounds in my throat.
“It’s not,” Beckett finally says. He collapses out of his stiff-as-a-board stance and reaches for the basket of bread rolls. He drops two on his plate.
“What?”
“It’s not out of nowhere. We all knew you were seeing him.” Beckett gestures around the table with his butter knife. “We’ve been waiting for you to say something.” He gives me a bored look. “It took you forever.”
“What?”
