Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
We sit down as the wineglasses are filled by two different servers working the room. I look up and see Charlie watching me. Most of the strangeness of this dinner fades away when he smiles. I smile back, moving my foot forward until my shoe is against his. That’s when I notice his hand move to the top of the table and start to slide toward me, but he stops himself. A flash of disappointment covers his expression before being covered by a more aware one. Too many witnesses, too many others to judge us—to try to stuff us into some category that doesn’t fit what we are or what we mean to each other.
The atmosphere is as tense as he warned me, but with each course that’s served, it turns to more lighthearted talk of familial inside jokes. They tease Charles Sr. His dad seems likeable, even jovial tonight, despite whatever they were told in the other room. Or maybe he got what he wanted from Grace, which allows him the ability to enjoy dinner.
After his dad tells a boisterous joke, the group laughs, and I see that maybe they don’t hate each other. Maybe it’s possible for them to feel something real for each other.
I lean toward Charlie and ask, “I didn’t know you were a junior?” The little fact is another key piece to his puzzle.
He lets out a small laugh and opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by a woman standing at the door. “Charlie’s not a junior. He’s a fifth. Charles the Fifth. So pretentious.”
The room falls silent as we all turn to watch the pretty brunette in the blood-red strapless dress enter the room without reservation or invitation. She walks confidently to the empty seat next to Charlie and sits down. Holding her glass in the air for wine service, she asks, “We’re still talking to each other, so the old bat didn’t screw us in the end?”
Donald says, “It’s not good news, Liz, but the wine is plentiful.”
So this is Liz. From Donald’s comment, I surmise that they aren’t happy with the will but are happy to drink away the bad of the night.
She looks straight at me and takes a sip from her filled crystal goblet. “And who are you?”
“This is Charlie, Charles’s date.” His mother interjects before I have a chance.
I look down at Emeline, surprised to hear from her. When I turn back to Liz, her eyes have never left me. She’s staring at me, and for a brief second as we watch each other, I feel like I’ve seen or met her before. Something about her brown eyes is so familiar.
She turns her attention to Charlie. “I think this is the first time you’ve brought a date to dinner since you discovered what a fucked-up family you have. And the girl you bring shares your name. That must make for some interesting pillow talk.”
“Don’t start, Liz.” His tone cautions.
She glares at him a moment longer, then focuses on the food in front of her.
Charlie’s mother tries to lighten the mood by talking about the floral show she’s co-chairing next month, but no one seems interested in her news. They’ve disengaged themselves—from a family laughing to somber individuals again as the tension returns.
I eat in silence, concentrating on my food while praying that this painful dinner comes to an end soon. I look up once, and my eyes lock on Charlie’s. I can see how much he wants to leave. Every word that he can’t say aloud is visible in the gray of his eyes. More gray than blue with worry.
I move my foot forward again to bump his in an offer of comfort.
“Ow, you kicked me!” Liz looks at me, and when she sees my look of horror, she asks, “Were you trying to play footsy with my cousin?” She bursts out laughing.
“Enough!” Charlie says under his breath.
She starts laughing harder, and her dessertspoon drops and clangs against the plate, garnering everyone’s attention. “Oh my God, footsy! That is so pedestrian.”
Although I should be embarrassed, I’m not. Something else starts to overcome me. Watching her with her head tossed back and her dark wavy hair falling down her back behind her bare shoulders, everything clicks into place.
Jim.
Naked.
Long brown hair.
It’s her.
Liz.
The other woman.
Chapter 28
Charlie B
I don’t even know if I’m breathing at this point, too stunned to notice. My thoughts are clouded, except for the realization that Liz is the woman I caught in bed with Jim. She is the one who had sex with my fiancé. She is the one who shattered my world and caused a hole in my heart the size of the Grand Canyon. I stand abruptly, the crystal glasses clinking together when my legs hit the edge of the table. My napkin falls to the ground as I stare at her in disbelief.