ELI MADE SPAGHETTI AND MEATBALLS, along with garlic bread, roasted brussels sprouts with goat cheese, and a salad with fennel, asparagus, sesame seeds, edamame, and some citrus fruit. I think it’s grapefruit, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it were something crazy I’ve never even heard of before.
Whatever it is, it’s delicious.
“Have you given any thought to a fall wedding?” Violet is saying, taking some more salad with the tongs. A piece of asparagus falls onto the table, and she picks it up and pops it into her mouth. “It’s a beautiful time of year here and venues tend to be a little less booked, though of course whether or not the trees will be in full color is kind of a crapshoot.”
“We’re considering it,” Charlie says. It’s the most neutral answer possible. “We haven’t really had a chance to actually plan much yet.”
Violet licks some goat cheese off of one thumb.
“Right, sorry,” she says. “Force of habit to quiz brides-to-be about all the details.”
Until last year, Violet was an event coordinator at a high-end wedding venue outside town, so she knows weddings backwards, forwards, and upside down.
If we were actually getting married, she’d probably be very helpful.
Charlie just laughs lightly, winding spaghetti around her fork.
“Right, of course,” she says, and my eyes flick to the ring on her finger. It’s easily the fanciest thing I’ve ever seen Charlie wear.
To put it lightly, Charlie isn’t girly. I could count the number of times I’ve seen her in a dress on one hand — she looked nice, it was memorable — and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear jewelry.
She wears a lot of coveralls, mostly for work. She wears a lot of jeans and t-shirts, a lot of sneakers, a lot of cutoff shorts in the summer and men’s button-down shirts in the winter. When we were kids, we ran around the woods together, always getting dirty, covered in sticks and twigs and mud. I used to help her pick the leaves out of her wild hair.
But the ring looks good on Charlie, makes her hands look delicate without taking anything away from her.
I already feel bad that we’re going to have to give it back.
“Have you picked out a dress?” asks Seth.
Everyone looks at him.
“I can’t ask about wedding dresses?” he says, fork halfway to his mouth.
“You can ask about wedding dresses and we can be surprised that the question occurred to you,” Levi says.
“Don’t be sexist,” Seth says, laughing.
“Yesterday you referred to a necktie as a head noose,” I point out. “I’m a little surprised you know the word dress.”
“I had a brain fart and forgot what they were called,” he says. “You’re all jerks. Charlie, take me dress shopping. I’m an expert.”
“No!” I say, more forcefully than I mean to.
Great, now they’re all looking at me, but I can’t handle the thought of Seth being anywhere near Charlie while she’s in a state of undress, and isn’t that what dress shopping is? Getting naked repeatedly and then putting on dresses?
Charlie raises both eyebrows, making a so you’re going to try and tell me what do to face. I regret my outburst instantly, even as the thought of Charlie getting naked again and again to try on dresses is… a nice thought.
“You wanted to go with Betsy, right?” I ask, naming her older sister.
“It was a joke,” Seth says, eyeing me.
“I hadn’t given much thought to my dress shopping support team yet,” Charlie says, staying remarkably cool. “But I’ll probably take Betsy and my mom. And I assume it’ll be… a wedding dress?”
She clearly hasn’t thought about this, because why would she?
“That is typically what women get married in, yes,” Seth deadpans.
“You’re the expert,” Levi adds, and Seth just sighs.
“When you’re ready, I have spreadsheets and lists of everything,” Violet says, ignoring the boys. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, so just say the word. I can even walk you through them.”
“But there’s no rush, right?” Eli says, giving me a look. It’s a very annoying look, and I give it right back. “Enjoy your engagement. It’s such a special time in your life.”
Seth and Caleb both look at him like he’s suddenly sprouted a second head. Levi continues methodically winding spaghetti around his fork. I think Violet’s trying not to roll her eyes. Rusty’s picking the soft, butter-soaked part out of the middle of her garlic bread and eating it, totally ignoring the adults.
“Thank you, Eli,” I say, as sincerely as I possibly can. “It’s a lot to do, but we’re excited.”
Suddenly there’s warm denim beneath my palm.
Half a second later I realize I’ve got my hand on Charlie’s thigh, her muscles tense under my hand. I didn’t mean to. I swear my hand just moved of its own volition, but now it’s there, I can’t go back, and I definitely can’t pull it away and apologize in front of my entire family, half of whom think we’re really going to get married.
Instead, I just give her a quick squeeze. After a moment, she relaxes.
I keep my hand there.
The subject finally turns away from our not-actually-impending nuptials to some tree problem that Levi is having, and I stop listening for a moment, eating with my right hand while my left is still touching Charlie.
I’ve never touched her like this before, not in the almost twenty years we’ve been friends. Not this intentionally. Not for this long, or in this place, or with no other reason for touching her than just to touch her.
I’ve never touched her like we’re lovers.
For all that, it feels oddly right. My hand feels like it fits to her, like it’s supposed to be there, her warmth melding into my fingers.
After a moment, while one of my brothers is going on about something, she gives me a quick, questioning glance.
I give her a slight shrug, and she goes back to the conversation. After a while I pull my hand back, already missing her warmth.
AFTER DINNER, I try to help with the dishes, but Caleb chases me out of the kitchen, and I let him.
When I find Charlie, she’s in the front hall, hands in her pockets, looking at the wall, hung with pictures. I step up behind her, and she glances back, acknowledging me. Neither of us say anything.
The pictures are mostly my brothers and me. High school graduation photos, a few kids’ sports pictures, a few where we’re in boy scout uniforms. Levi, Seth, and Caleb all have their college graduation pictures up there, too, and there’s one of all five of us plus Rusty, who looks about four, taken at a waterfall.
Further up on the wall, just above eye level, are the pictures of my father. They’re older. Slightly faded, and Charlie’s head tilts up slightly as she looks at them.
There’s one of him in his police uniform, looking solemn in front of an American flag. One of him and my mom, somewhere sunny, in t-shirts and jeans, laughing. There’s their wedding photo, which is pure eighties — her dress has both a train and poofy sleeves, and Dad looks like he’s rocking a slight mullet — but they look so happy.
I never look at these pictures. I walk by them a couple of times a day at least, but I never stop and look. Here’s one with all five of us and Dad, piled into the back of a pickup truck, grinning away.
I’m in that gangly, awkward phase in the photo. Caleb’s still a kid. Levi looks close to how he does now, so he must be sixteen, seventeen.
That can’t have been taken long before the accident, I think.
I put one hand one Charlie’s shoulder, and she puts her hand on top of it.
“I forget how much Eli and Seth look like him,” she says, still looking at the wall.
“They really do,” I murmur.
“Those two are the spitting image of their father,” my mom’s voice says behind us.
There’s a moment of silence.
“It’s a little eerie sometimes,” she admits. “Last year when Eli was staying here, I walked into the kitchen one night and nearly had a heart attack, because for a moment I thought your father was standing there, raiding the fridge. Had me believing in ghosts.”
I wonder what it means that I think the opposite. That every so often, I walk by these photos and wonder why Eli’s wearing a police uniform, only to remember the truth half a second later.
“Seth sounds exactly like him, too,” I say. “It really weirds me out sometimes. I’m always afraid he’s about to get the belt.”
My mom sighs.
“That only happened once,” she admonishes me. “He felt so bad about it afterward that he burned the thing and never laid a hand on any of you again.”
“What did you do?” Charlie asks.
We’re all quiet for another moment.
“Daniel,” my mom says pointedly.
“I sneaked into the school and put glue in all the classroom locks,” I say. “No one could open their doors. They had to cancel school that day.”
“Eight years old,” my mom says. “It’s a wonder I survived the five of you all the way to adulthood.”
“Sounds like more of a wonder that we survived,” I say, and my mom laughs.
“I had my moments,” she admits. “But now you’re all grown and I’m free to drink whiskey, travel the world, and spoil my granddaughter.”
She holds out one hand to Charlie.
“Can I see the ring?” she asks.
“Of course,” Charlie says, and starts to tug it off.
“No, no, keep it on, it’s yours,” my mom says, taking Charlie’s hand gently. “I wanted to see how it looked on you. Did Daniel tell you that my grandfather had it made for my grandmother?”
Charlie flicks me a glance.
“He did?” she asks.
“He sure did,” my mom says. “My granddad Lowell gave it to my grandmother when they got engaged in 1930. I don’t know where he got the stone, but he had it made by a jewelry maker in Richmond.”
She twists it slightly on Charlie’s finger, the garnet still fiery.
“He went all that way on horseback,” she goes on. “He owned a car, but it was apparently in the Sheriff’s possession at the time. Took him a week to get there, a week to get it made, and a week to get back. She wore it every single day for the rest of her life. After she died his father—” she nods at me, “proposed to me with it, and now it’s your turn. I always thought it might look nice on you.”
Charlie’s eyes go wide, and she glances at me again, past my mom’s head, bent slightly over the ring.
“Thank you,” she says softly, after a beat. “It’s beautiful.”
“I’m just glad someone’s wearing it,” my mom says. “It wasn’t doing anybody any good sitting in my jewelry box for all those years. Welcome to the family, Charlie. Officially, anyway.”
She pulls Charlie in for a hug, and a moment later, I get one too. Then my mom reaches up and tousles my hair.
“I’m going to go see what’s going on in the kitchen,” she says. “Apparently there’s been some to-do about ice cream.”
With that, my mom leaves us alone together with the pictures and each other.
THE TO-DO about ice cream is that Levi made some from the wild black raspberries he found growing along a creek, not far from his cabin. Eli tries to tell him that they’re just blackberries, not black raspberries, but he picked an argument with the wrong person because Levi shuts it down almost instantly.
My mom apologizes that she didn’t have time to make some pies, since this was on such short notice — she throws me a look when she says that and I ignore it — but promises that she’ll do celebratory baking soon.
There’s a final round of congratulations. I tell Rusty to go brush her teeth and put on pajamas while I walk Charlie to her car. Charlie waves as she steps outside, beaming, the ring on her left hand and her right weighed down with leftovers for lunch tomorrow.
And then, suddenly, it’s quiet. The house isn’t exactly in the middle of nowhere, but it’s surrounded by the thick Virginia forest, and there are no other buildings in sight. There are no other visible lights, so even though we’re only fifteen minutes from town, it feels like we could drive for hours and never see civilization.
“I shouldn’t have taken the ring,” Charlie says, our feet crunching along the gravel. “I already feel awful.”
She holds up her left hand. The garnet flares, even in the pale moonlight. Without thinking, I alight my hand on her lower back. Charlie looks up at me.
“I don’t think anyone’s watching right now,” she says, her voice low and melodic. I swear her eyes reflect the stars above.
“You never know,” I say. “They’re a bunch of nosy assholes.”
The ring catches the light again as she fiddles with it, worrying it with her thumb, spinning it around her finger.
“It’s gonna be bad when we break up,” she says as we reach her car. She puts her leftovers on top of it and turns to me.
“Don’t leave those there, you’ll forget them when you drive off,” I say.
Charlie rolls her eyes at me, but she opens her door, sticks the leftovers on the passenger seat. Since I’ve watched her break at least three coffee mugs by driving off with them on the roof of her car, I feel justified.
“I’m serious,” she says, shutting her passenger door and moving her hair out of her face.
“I know.”
“Your mom just gave me her grandmother’s ring and told me she’d always hoped I would wear it,” she says, her voice lowering even further. She takes a step closer. “What happens when I give it back? We didn’t think this through very well.”
Her freckles look like stars, scattered across her cheeks, and I’m struck by the urge to take her face in my hands and run a thumb across them, see if they contain the same fire.
I settle for shoving my hands into my pockets.
“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it,” I say. “It’s months from now. Maybe something will happen that makes it all easier.”
Charlie gives me the world’s most skeptical look.
“Such as?”
I roll my lips together and glance toward the house, because I have no fucking clue.
“Maybe it’ll turn out that we’re actually second cousins,” I offer. “Actually, that one’s not bad. It could work.”
“For that to work we’d have to actually be second cousins,” she says. “That particular information is pretty verifiable.”
“Maybe I’m adopted,” I offer, and Charlie just snorts.
“Go look at those pictures again,” she says. “You’re not adopted.”
“We’ll think of something,” I say. “I’ll take the blame. I’ll tell my mom, I’ll tell everyone. I’ll say I got cold feet and I wasn’t ready. I’ll say—”
“You don’t have to,” she cuts in. “You’re right, we can figure this out later. I should head home.”
She’s still looking at me, the stars still scattered across her face and reflected in her eyes as she raises her left hand tentatively, the ring flashing and glimmering.
“They’re probably watching right now,” I murmur.
My hands are out of my pockets, one on her right hip, her warmth underneath her clothes flooding me.
“Because they’re nosy assholes?” she asks, a slight smile lighting up her face.
“Exactly,” I say.
My heartbeat is fast, hard, a frantic rhythm I’ve never felt before.
Correction: a rhythm I’ve only felt once.
Her eyes dart between mine. I move closer, her hand on my arm, her face tilting up slightly.
“Make it look good,” Charlie teases, and I lower my lips to hers.
It’s a quick, momentary kiss, over in a flash, but it makes my bones shake. It’s a lightning bolt of a kiss, over in a second but when I pull my lips away from hers, I can still feel it jolting through my veins.
I take her face in my hand, thumb gently stroking along the scattered freckles. The movement isn’t intentional, isn’t calculated for an audience. It just is, because the need to touch her again right now is more than I can deny.
Charlie tilts her head into my hand, hazel eyes watching me, guarded and curious and shocked and a thousand things at once.
I want to kiss her again. I want to kiss her properly, harder and longer. I want to push her up against the side of her car and feel her body against mine as she kisses me back.
It takes everything I have not to kiss her again.
Just friends, I remind myself. Just for show.
Stepping away from her feels like wading through concrete, but I do it. The ring flashes one more time as we separate, her hands lowering, and then suddenly it’s over, the spell broken. Charlie looks away, at the trees, at her car, glances over at the house.
“See you later?” she asks, already fiddling with the ring, turning it around her finger again and again, the movement unconscious.
“Of course,” I say.
Charlie looks like she’s about to say something else, but then she gives her head a little shake, smiles at me, gets in her car. I watch from the driveway as her taillights disappear toward the road, as she turns left, and leaves.
Finally, I exhale, still rattled. Still shaken from half a second of touching my lips to hers, my mind racing.
I’m thinking that this is a worse idea than I knew. I’m thinking that we can never keep this up, that this lie will come out no matter what we do, that our inevitable breakup will tear everything we know into pieces.
But mostly, I’m thinking that I can’t wait until I see her again.
