Page 50 of Baran
“Yes, please.”
Baran sat at the kitchen table, his fingers nervously tracing the wood grain. Miss Charlotte poured coffee into a mug and set it in front of him. He thanked her.
When Miss Charlotte returned to the sink, her voice was calm yet firm as she spoke. “Baran, you can’t keep running every time something feels off,” she said, turning to face him. “Not with Darien, not with anyone. Life doesn’t work that way.” Her gaze softened. “And don’t think I don’t know about your father. I know the entire story.”
Baran’s stomach tightened at her words. He looked down, avoiding her piercing eyes, but she continued.
“Darien is a caregiver by nature. He’ll always have your best interests at heart. When you ran off, he was frantic. I’ve never seen him like that.” She stepped closer, her tone gentler now. “Before you make a decision to leave, talk to me. Or talk to him. Promise me that much.”
Baran swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I’m sorry, Miss Charlotte. It won’t happen again,” he whispered.
“That’s what I wanted to hear from you.”
“I’ve been accepted into NYU, so I plan to commute from here. It’s my dream. It always has been.”
Miss Charlotte’s expression shifted, a mix of understanding and approval. “That’s excellent news.”
“I love him,” Baran added quickly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Darien, I mean. But…I’m scared to tell him.”
She reached out, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. “Don’t wait too long, Baran. Love isn’t something you should keep hidden.”
Baran nodded, his heart aching. He needed to do this right, even if it terrified him. “Miss Charlotte,” he asked, his voice steadier now, “can you tell me Darien’s sizes? I want to buy him Christmas presents.”
A small smile touched her lips. “Of course.” She walked to a drawer, pulled out a notepad, and jotted them down. Tearing off the sheet, she handed it to him.
Baran folded it carefully, tucking it into his pocket just as footsteps echoed from the stairs. He looked up to see Daddy Darien descending, his hair tousled from sleep.
“Morning,” Daddy Darien said, his voice warm but groggy.
“Morning,” Baran replied, his heart skipping a beat.
Miss Charlotte, ever composed, shifted gears seamlessly. “Let’s get some breakfast in you, boys.”
As she busied herself with preparing the meal, Darien glanced at Baran. “Miss Charlotte’s taking you shopping at noon,” he said casually. “I’ll have a car pick you both up.”
Baran blinked, surprised. “Oh, uh, okay.” Daddy Darien smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “And tonight, for dinner, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Baran’s cheeks warmed, a flicker of hope sparking within him. Maybe, just maybe, there was room for everything he felt.
At noon, the driver picked up Miss Charlotte first, then stopped to pick up Baran at the shelter.
Baran followed Miss Charlotte into their first stop, a clothing store, his steps hesitant on the glossy tiled floor. The air smelled faintly of new fabric and polished leather, and racks of clothes stretched out in a maze of colors and textures. He felt out of place here, overwhelmed by the sheer abundance of choices. Miss Charlotte, however, moved with practiced ease, a folded list from Darien in her hand.
“We’ll start with the basics,” she said cheerfully, leading him toward a display of jackets. “Darien was very thorough—jackets, gloves, shoes, and…oh, what size are you again?”
Baran shrugged slightly, still unsure of how to handle this kind of attention. “Medium? I think. Maybe.”
Miss Charlotte laughed, light and easy, and grabbed a few options. “We’ll try things on to be sure.”
An hour later, Baran stood awkwardly in front of a mirror, wearing a warm navy coat with gloves to match. He flexed his fingers inside the fabric, feeling snug comfort for the first time. Miss Charlotte clapped her hands together with approval.
“That’s perfect! You look sharp,” she said, grinning. “Now for shoes and boots.”
As they worked their way through the list, Miss Charlotte seemed to have an uncanny ability to pick things Baran liked before he even knew he liked them. She insisted on getting him an iPad too, despite his protests that it was far too much.
“Darien will back me up on this,” she said with a wink. “You’re part of the family now. You’ll need it for work—and fun.”
Later, after several more stores and with several bags in hand, they stopped at a small, cozy pizza place tucked into a corner of the shopping plaza. The place smelled heavenly—yeasty dough, bubbling cheese, and spicy pepperoni. The walls were painted in warm tones of red and yellow, with old black-and-white photos of the city hung in mismatched frames. They chose a booth by the window, its wooden bench seats worn smooth from years of use. A small Christmas tree sat on the counter, its multicolored lights casting cheerful reflections on the glass.
