Page 151 of The Rom-Commers

Charlie nodded, likeYeah. “You weren’t answering your phone.”

Of course not. “I was at the hospital.”

“How is your dad?”

“He’s fine,” I said. Depending on how you definedfine. But that was my story, and I was sticking to it. “He’s fine, I’m fine, everybody’s fine,” I said. Then: “I don’t understand why you’re here.”

“I just wanted to—check in.”

“Ah,” I said, in a tone like flying halfway across the country to check in like this was patently bananas. “Well, then. Mission accomplished.”

“More than that,” Charlie corrected. “I wanted to comfort you.”

“Comfort me?”

Charlie nodded.

“You can’t.”

Charlie frowned. “I can’t? That’s it?”

I shrugged. “That’s it.”

“But you’re having a tough time,” Charlie said.

“I’m aware of that.”

“I can’t just let you go through all this alone.”

“Sure you can.”

“But,” Charlie said, “I don’t want to.”

“Look,” I said, too tired to help him work through his thoughts on this—but somehow forced to do it, anyway. “I said I liked you, and you said no. I blatantly propositioned you, and you said no. At every chance, you’ve made it clear that you want to remain work colleaguesat bestwith me. That’s fine. I’m not fighting you. But work colleaguesworktogether. They aren’t friends, and they aren’t confidants—and they sure as hell don’t fly across the country to bring each other sweatshirts. We’re not in a relationship where we fly anywhere for each other. And we’re not in a relationship like that”—I paused for effect—“becausethat’s the way you wanted it.”

“But that was before your dad got sick.”

“Why does that change things?”

“I don’t want to not be there for you.”

“That’s a heck of a double negative.”

“I hate the thought that you’re suffering.”

“People suffer all the time, Charlie.”

“But it’syou,” he said, like I was something special.

“Sure. Fine. It’s me.”

“There has to be something I can do.”

“Yes,” I said. “You can leave.”

But Charlie shook his head at that. “I can’t. I don’t think I can.”

I met his eyes. “You have to.”

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