Maybe Meant to Be, page 25
I couldn’t stop smiling.
Nick pretended to groan. “Do we have to talk about Charlie?”
I stretched up to kiss him. “Yes.”
He nodded, because he knew we did. This afternoon, he’d dragged his heartbroken twin out of Daggett for dinner at Humpty Dumplings. For the past couple of weeks, Charlie had been acting like we’d banished him from the kingdom, now eating with the hockey guys and locking himself in his room at night. “What happened?” the girls had asked, but when Luke and I stayed quiet, they’d dropped it. The one time I’d seen Charlie today was this morning, when he’d been heading into Knowles for French. He was wearing his headphones, which said it all. Charlie almost never shut Bexley out.
We will hold that umbrella for you, I kept thinking. You won’t brave the storm alone.
Nick sighed heavily. “Not the best. He didn’t eat anything until I basically forced him, and he barely spoke. Pretty much catatonic. And then we got that email for the…”
“The superlative nominations,” I finished for him. Today the Annual editors had emailed the senior class a list of fifty yearbook superlatives, with five nominees for each one.
“Right,” Nick said. “So that didn’t exactly help the cause.”
“Best Bromance,” I whispered, hardly feeling him stomp on my foot. CHARLIE CARMICHAEL & LUKE MORRISSEY were the first two names in the category.
“He needs to go home,” Nick said after apologizing and hugging me closer, my back humming with his hand resting on it. “I told him I would buy the train ticket…”
“And?” I said when he trailed off.
But Nick didn’t answer, his eyes now wide. I twisted around to see Charlie stalking across the dance floor. “Holy crap,” I breathed.
He stuck out like a sore thumb thanks to tonight’s semiformal attire: red-gold hair extremely sleep-rumpled, L.L.Bean moccasins on his feet, and still wearing the Adidas sweatshirt that he’d refused to give back to Luke. I tried to catch his eye, but the only person he was looking at was his twin, determined as ever.
“3:08 tomorrow afternoon,” he said when he came up to us.
“Okay,” Nick said back. “I’ll book it.”
Charlie nodded and then left.
* * *
Nick walked me home after the party. “Tell me it’s going to be okay,” he’d said when we reached Simmons’ back door. “Tell me he’ll be okay.”
“It’s going to be okay,” I said. “And he’s going to be more than okay.”
He nodded a few times. Instead of an exasperated mom, he was now a full-on helicopter parent. Suddenly I didn’t think there was anyone in the world who loved their brother as much as Nick loved Charlie. “You’re right, he will.” He sighed. “But do you think—”
“No.” I shook my head. “You cannot go with him.”
Nick laughed and put his hands on my waist. “I had fun tonight,” he said. “Did you?”
“Yes,” I told him. “I had a lot of fun tonight. Thank you for inviting me.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, spinning me around once.
I grinned. “I love you, Nicholas Carmichael.”
Which made Nick grin back, dimple and all. “I love you too, Sage Morgan,” he murmured and leaned close, so close his lips brushed mine. “And now I’m gonna kiss you good night.”
CHAPTER 37
CHARLIE
Nick tried to give me a pep talk before I left. “It’s going to be fine,” he told me, then amended, “No, it’s going to be great. You’re going to do it, and then you’re going to come back here and fix it all with him, and then things will be good again.”
I gripped my backpack straps and just looked at him. Come with me.
He shook his head. I can’t.
“Yeah, I know.” I shut my eyes and nodded.
“But I’ve got you,” Nick said, trapping me in a hug before pretty much pushing me onto the train. “I’ve always got you.”
* * *
I wondered if Mom and Dad knew something was up. “What do you mean you’re coming home?” they’d said when I called them. “Aren’t you studying for midterms?”
It had taken a lot to keep my voice steady. “Yes,” I told them. “But it’s no big deal, and I just”—I hunted for the best words—“want to come home for a night.”
I looked at the Annual email again on the ride. Everyone loved the yearbook’s superlatives and I knew it was time when I saw the nominees. Because amid all the stupidity of MOST LIKELY TO WIN IN A STREET FIGHT (Val Palacios, was my vote) and FIRST TO MARRY A MILLIONAIRE (Jack Healy, hands down), there they were: Luke’s and my names, next to BEST BROMANCE, and I hated that. The ultimate typo, I thought. We weren’t just a bromance, and everyone needed to know it. I wanted them to know it. The B needed to be dropped. But that’s later, I reminded myself before my chest tightened. Mom and Dad are first. Don’t think about Bexley now.
Just like back in October, Mom was waiting at the end of the platform when my train pulled in. It was almost dinnertime. “Hi, honey.” She wrapped me in a hug. “How are you?”
“Hungry,” I said.
She touched my cheek. “Me too. Should we go to the club for dinner? Your dad and I still haven’t used up this month’s minimum.”
But instead of growling, my stomach started to churn. Everyone at Darien Country Club knew my family. We could never get through a dinner without people stopping by our table. “Actually”—I swallowed the lump in my throat—“can we eat at home?”
“Sure.” Mom nodded. We left the station in pursuit of the parking lot. The Jeep beeped in response to Mom’s keys. I threw my stuff in the back and climbed into the passenger seat, leaning my head against the window as she turned over the ignition. I’d just shut my eyes when I heard her add, “Dad’s excited to see you.”
I looked at her. “What?”
She smiled. “He’s happy you called, that you’re here for the night.” She laughed. “He’s really missed you lately. We both have.”
“I’ve missed you too,” I said, and we were quiet for the rest of the drive. When we got home, Dad thumped me hard on the back before I went upstairs to unpack my stuff. Then I lay on my bed while my parents figured out food, trying to collect my thoughts.
* * *
Mom ended up reheating leftover chili, but the clenching inside me made it hard to eat as Dad asked, “Would you like to go first?”
I shook my head. We did this every night when Nick and I weren’t at school, went around the table and said something we wanted to “get off our chest.” Dad’s go-to was always complaining about the fact that Nana called him about ten times a week for TV tech support. “I love her,” he’d say, “but sometimes it’s so exasperating. She can never understand that all she needs to do is press source!”
Now, Mom went ahead and vented about her latest listing. “It’s been the biggest nightmare,” she said. “The deal is contingent upon the buyers selling their house, and we just found water in the crawl space…” She trailed off and her eyebrows furrowed. “Charlie, are you all right?”
I didn’t respond. I could hear the blood pumping through my ears and feel the sweat beading on my forehead. And it wasn’t because the chili was too spicy.
“Charlie—”
“I’m gay,” I blurted.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“I’m gay,” I repeated, lungs threatening to give out if I didn’t exhale. “That’s what I’m getting off my chest.”
Mom blinked—once, twice, three times before she nodded slowly. She opened her mouth to say something, but I wasn’t done yet, seeing Dad’s blank expression. Just staring at me.
“It’s not a joke,” I told him.
“No,” he murmured, face paling. “I didn’t think it was.” He cleared his throat and pushed back his chair. “Excuse me a minute.”
“Jay,” Mom said as he walked out of the kitchen, not looking back. My eyes were stinging, ears ringing. “Jay…”
Neither of us said anything for a few seconds, but then she took one of my hands and started massaging my palm. That’s when the stinging shifted to a full-on spill of hot tears.
“Did you know?” I asked softly.
Mom shook her head. “No, but it answers a lot of questions.” She squeezed my hand. “We’ve been worried about you. You haven’t been our Charlie for the past five months…perpetually preoccupied, and so thin at Thanksgiving…” She wrapped an arm around me, and I put my head on her shoulder.
“I’m not the person everyone thinks I am,” I whispered.
She hugged me tighter. “Yes, you are. This is only one part of you, and it won’t change how we feel about you. We love you. We’ll always love you.”
I shuddered. “You have no idea what I’m like at school.”
I waited for her to ask me, but she didn’t. She just started to comb her fingers through my hair. “Does Nicky know?”
“Yeah,” I admitted, “and Sage.”
“Okay.” She let out a deep breath. “Okay.”
We sat there in silence again. Mom kept finger-brushing my hair like when I was little, but eventually she murmured, “Dad is just surprised.”
More tears spilled. “Never would’ve guessed,” I mumbled, unable to stop shaking. He’d left—left. He didn’t even let me explain or try to understand.
“Give him some time.” She kissed my forehead. “He’s surprised now, but I think he’ll soon realize he’s relieved. Believe it or not, it really hurt his feelings that you never invited any girls to dinner or back here for a weekend. He thinks you’re embarrassed of us.”
I shrugged. “None of them were him.”
Mom tilted her head. “There’s a him?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He’s not very happy with me right now, but yeah. There is.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Luke.”
“Luke? Luke Morrissey? The Hoppers’ neighbor?”
I nodded.
“We met him,” Mom said. “He was with Sage at the second Ames game. Only for a few minutes, but your dad complimented his handshake, and I liked how well-spoken he was, and that he didn’t quite catch all his bedhead.” She sort of smiled. “He’s adorable.”
“Yeah, he is.” I sort of smiled back. “But also a major smart-ass.” My heart flickered, then flamed. I took a deep breath. “I love him.”
She smiled more and wiped her eyes. “Dad’s probably in the study.”
* * *
Dad was really quiet after I got up the guts to open the study door. There was no point in knocking, since the doors had glass panes. He’d seen me outside. My body stiffened as I joined him by the fireplace, sitting in the one of the leather club chairs. Neither of us spoke. “Are you sure?” was what he eventually settled on.
“Yes,” I said, almost adding, You would know if you’d stayed at the table.
He nodded, then rose from his seat and crossed the room to the bar cart. I watched him grab a bottle of scotch and two tumblers before locating a pair of cigars. The ones from Uncle Theo that he’d been saving for a special occasion. “Mom won’t let us smoke these in the house,” he said, “so we’ll go out on the deck later.” He poured us each a couple of fingers of whiskey, handed me my glass, and then held up his own. “To you,” he said. “To you, my son. You are a stronger man than I will ever be.”
We clinked glasses.
“I love you, Charlie,” he told me. “I love you very much.”
* * *
My train on Sunday was obnoxiously early, but I needed to get back to Bexley. Mom and Dad hugged me long and hard before Mom handed me an unsealed envelope. “I found this in one of the albums last night.”
I waited until I’d found a seat before checking out the mystery photo. But everything turned to white noise when I did…because in Mom’s perfect handwriting, the caption on the back read: Charlie (10) and a (sleepy!) new friend at Cousin Banks’s christening party!
And there we were: Luke and me. You’ve met, my mind nudged me as I soaked in the picture. You’ve met before. We were such little kids, but it was unmistakably, undeniably, even eerily us. I was wearing these navy pants with green alligators embroidered on them, and Luke had on a blue-and-white sweater vest and his glasses. We were sitting on the Hoppers’ big red couch, and while I had my arms crossed over my chest and sported my jaw-aching grin, Luke wasn’t even aware the picture was being taken, because he was asleep with his head on my shoulder. I reached for my phone and went to my camera roll.
Pretty soon my eyes prickled. Without even knowing it, we’d reenacted this photo a thousand times, and Sage had documented them all: me smiling with Luke passed out against my shoulder. My favorite was from a while ago, Luke and me together on Sage’s chaise. I wasn’t really looking at the camera, instead, grinning down at a dreaming Luke. Our legs were entwined, and he held one of my hands.
I leaned back against my seat and shut my eyes.
I really wanted to be holding his hand right now.
* * *
Sage hadn’t said anything, but I knew she and Nick would be waiting for me at the station. What time do you get back? she’d texted last night, so when the conductor came over the loudspeaker and announced we were running behind schedule, I sent: Probably going to be a couple of minutes late.
Sure enough, she replied: Okay!
I released a deep breath, already picturing them on the platform: hand in hand, with Sage waving and wearing Nick’s Patagonia, and my brother glowing next to her. Hercules, I mused to myself. He’ll look like Hercules.
Which was good—I sort of needed them to be there. I needed Sage to smother me in a hug and for Nick to suggest we grab food from Pandora’s. They’d get me to laugh and relax before I went back to Daggett and figured out what to say to Luke. How to tell him about this weekend at home and how sorry I was and show him the picture. Look at that, I would say. That’s us.
* * *
The train ended up slowing to a stop ten minutes after it was supposed to, and since it was Sunday morning, there weren’t many people aboard. I shrugged on my backpack and pulled down the hood of Luke’s sweatshirt before standing up and heading toward the front of the car to the exit. “Have a nice day, young man,” the conductor said as I stepped down onto the platform. My pulse quickened when I didn’t see Nick’s hideous Patagonia or Sage’s swinging ponytail. They weren’t waiting for me on the platform or over by the benches. No, I felt like a forgotten child. Where are you?
But then I felt it—a hand on my shoulder, right as I heard: “Hey there.”
I pivoted around to see Luke, in a faded sweatshirt and plaid pajama bottoms with his UVA baseball hat. Behind his glasses, there were violet half-moons under his eyes. Sleepy Luke.
I am in love with him, I thought.
“Sage texted me at the crack of dawn,” he explained as my heart hammered. “And told me to be here, like some type of sketchy hazing—”
I didn’t let him finish. Instead, I hugged him, burying my face in his warm neck and slumping against him. It was the same sort of hug I’d given him back in November, the night we decided to be together, and later, the same sort of hug I gave him after a long day. “A Collapsing Charlie,” Luke had dubbed it, and now I heard myself groan as his arms tightened around me.
“Me too,” he murmured.
“I have something for you,” I told him once we broke apart. My fingers fumbled to unzip my backpack, but I somehow pulled out Mom’s photo and handed it to him. Then I held on to his sweatshirt cuff and stayed quiet, letting him look at it.
“Yes.” Luke glanced up at me after a few seconds, his lips quirking into a kind of bittersweet smile. “I remember that day well.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” I asked, voice catching.
“Didn’t I?” He cocked his head, and suddenly that night in Charlottesville came to mind. Our first crushes. He had said something; I just hadn’t believed it. “But,” he added now, as he took my hand and threaded our fingers together, “there are some things you needed to figure out yourself.”
Eyes stinging, I nodded. “I know.”
Luke squeezed my hand.
I squeezed his back.
“I’m proud of you, C,” he whispered. “Really fucking proud.”
“Thank you.”
“How do you feel?”
“Looser.” I pointed to my chest. “But still sort of clenched.” I released a deep breath. “You know, about Bexley.”
“It’s going to be okay,” Luke told me. “It’s all going to be okay.”
I nodded again.
A few beats, and then: “So, what shall we do now?”
“Be us,” I said.
“Well yes, that was implied.” His eyes glinted, and I ached when he laughed. “But I meant should we get breakfast?”
All I could do was respond with another Collapsing Charlie. “I’m so tired, Luke,” I told him, breathing in his Luke-ness: peppermint and soap and him. “I really want to take a nap.”
Because truthfully, I hadn’t slept in ages—even last night. I’d stared at my ceiling as I listened to unintelligible snippets of Mom and Dad’s conversation down the hall.
Luke raised an eyebrow. “With me?”
“Yeah, with you,” I said, smiling. “I’m yours, Luke.”
“Well, that’s very cool,” he replied. “Because the feeling’s mutual.” He grinned. “You’re mine, C.”
“And everyone’s gonna know it,” I told him.
Then I kissed him with everything I had.
CHAPTER 38
SAGE
THREE MONTHS LATER
Nicholas Lawrence Carmichael was the first person I saw when the girls and I got to The Meadow, the four of us decked out in variations of the classic white dress. Before the ceremony, it was tradition for all the seniors to gather outside Knowles so we could head over to the grove together. “We’re one long line of overgrown kindergarteners,” was Luke’s assessment during this morning’s 7:00 a.m. rehearsal.
