Page 22 of Out of Focus

What the fuck did I say?

“I have a hard time with time management. I’m often late, so I tend to err on the side of caution and end up being too early.” I nod, storing away that extra bit of information about her. She walks in, takes off her shoes, and heads for the kitchen table.

“You can keep your shoes on, if you want, red. I just don’t enjoy wearing them, but it’s fine if you want to.” I walk to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of glasses to give my hands something to do. I feel weirdly nervous now, like I’ve already fucked this up.

“I don't like shoes either.” I turn toward her to find her looking somewhere in the vicinity of my face.

“Cool. Water?” I raise an empty glass in offering, and she nods. “Ice?”

“No, thank you.” She's already busying herself with her laptop, a notebook, and some highlighters. She’s so official.

I set down our water and join her, knowing she’s about to jump right into it.

“Before we get into anything, I’d like us to have some sort of agreement for how we’re going to work together.” Wow. Yep. She's just getting right into this.

“Like a contract?” I ask incredulously, but she lights up, nodding.

“Yes! Exactly like that.” She doesn’t flinch, just continues to write on the notebook that is facing away from me. “I’ve started with a few key points already. Here. Take a look.” She turns the notebook so that the words are no longer upside down for me.

The thrumming in my head is instant. My normally steady breathing quickens, and I feel like a little kid again, being asked to read aloud in class, ready to be laughed at. Except Charlie laughing at me would probably hurt a lot more than a bunch of snotty little kids doing it.

“Why don't we try getting to know each other a little more before we get into a contract?” I try to keep my voice light, even if my palms are already starting to sweat a little.

She pushes the notebook closer to me, eyebrows scrunched as she pulls something up on her laptop. “What? No. Contract first, so we know exactly where we stand. I’ve thought about this, Machado. I need us to be on the same page before we move forward.” Her face softens as she blows out a breath. “Sorry. I just… I would like us to both understand how this is going to work so that no one’s feelings are hurt. Is that okay?”

I feel like an asshole. She’s doing this because she needs it to feel comfortable and safe, and here I am trying to stop her. I nod and take the notebook, pulling it to the edge of the table. She keeps typing as I start to look at the words on the page.

Taking a deep breath, I hold it for a few seconds and quietly release it, hoping my heart will settle and I can calm myself enough to make sense of her handwriting. It doesn’t work. I look up and see she is still concentrating on whatever has her attention on the screen. The letters scramble on the page in front of me, and my eyes start to hurt as I do everything I can to focus on the shapes that should be familiar. It’s no use. I’m nervous, anxious, even, and it’s making everything worse.

Charlie stops typing and pushes her laptop a few inches away from her body. I can feel her looking at me, but I keep my eyes on the page. She clears her throat, and I imagine a giant hole opening in the ground to swallow me whole.

“Umm, is it that bad? We can work on it together, I just thought this was a good start and would give you a better idea of where I stand.” I don't respond. I can’t. It’s like all I can do is focus on my breathing and the heavy feeling in my stomach. I’m gonna have to tell her. “Is there something in particular you don’t like? You can just tell me. I’d rather know.” She pulls her hands onto her lap, squeezing her fingers so tightly I see her knuckles turning white. Still, my vocal chords have decided to stop functioning. Every ounce of embarrassment I ever felt as a kid, as a teenager, and as a young adult are sitting on my sternum right now, suffocating me. “You know what, it’s okay. You don’t want to do this. It’s fine. I can leave.” She pushes the laptop screen down and starts to stand.

No!

I place my hand over hers, stopping her movements and simultaneously blurt out, “I’m dyslexic. I can’t read this.” She sits back down and regret slams into me like a thunderclap. I go to move my hand away from hers, but she flips hers over and wraps her slender fingers around mine so the tips are resting over my knuckles. When I look up from our point of contact, her eyes are glued to our joined hands. We sit like this for several seconds, both processing the moment.

After a hard swallow, her lips part, but her eyes remain on our hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have?—”

“You don’t need to apologize.” I hate to interrupt her, but I also won’t have her apologizing for something that’s not her fault. “You’re right, you didn’t know. It’s not your fault.”

Charlie’s chin lifts, and she looks at me, her eyes moving over my face as they do whenever we’re together. “It’s not yours, either.” She squeezes my hand and begins to slide it away from mine. It takes superhuman strength to allow her to break our connection.

Touching Charlie is new to me, to us, but every time it happens, I find myself wishing for more of it. Just a few extra seconds. A little bit more time so I can memorize the feel of her skin. But it’s always over too soon.

“Would it help if I typed this out?” She places both hands on her laptop, ready to fix the awkwardness. “I could do that now; I just sometimes prefer to write on paper,” she says as her hands shake slightly. “I could?—”

“Could you read it to me?” I interrupt again because I can’t stand to see her become anxious over something completely out of her control. “We can work on it together if you don’t mind reading it out loud.” Pushing down the feelings of inferiority and the fear that she now thinks I’m even more of an idiot than before, I flip the notebook back toward her.

She doesn’t answer, just gingerly pulls it toward herself and licks her bottom lip before starting. “Charlie and Rafael’s friendship contract. Number one: We promise to be honest and transparent with one another in a kind and respectful manner.” She looks up at me, and I nod, forcing a smile to appear on my face so she can see that I agree. “Number two: No sarcasm.” At that I find a real smile pulling at my lips. I know that one is for me. “I don’t always pick up on it, even if I am pretty good at reading body language. Sarcasm is just hard.”

“Got it,” I say, fighting the instinct to wink because I’m not sure if she would take that as sarcasm.

“Number three: We don’t talk about what we’re doing with other people, including our mutual friends. Especially our mutual friends,” she emphasizes with an eyebrow raised.

“Fight Club rules. Understood.” My smile widens as she frowns, eyes still on the notebook.

“Absolutely not. We will be keeping our shirts on.” The smallest of smiles tugs at her lips, and a surprised laugh spills out of me, making my chest feel lighter. I love it when she says these hilarious things with a completely serious face. Charlie simply continues reading. “This is to ensure that we can build trust with one another. Also, it’s none of their business, and we both know they’ll pry.”

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