Page 2 of My Favorite Lost Cause
He flops into a leather chair, letting his head fall backward as he closes his eyes, which have dark circles beneath them. “This visit is already so much fun,” he groans. “Why are you here?”
What the hell has gone wrong? Is it a job? Has he finallygotten his heart broken? He’s not ready to tell me, whatever it is.
Charlie acts like a guy whose life is lived entirely on the surface, but I’ve always suspected that almost none of it is. A simple fifteen-minute visit was never going to earn me real answers.
Which means I need an excuse to prevent him from ushering me out.
I clear a chair of the suit strewn across it and take a seat. “I’ve come to you with a proposition,” I lie.
He opens one eye. “I’m hoping it’s sexual, but that seems optimistic.”
“We’re stepsiblings, so that’s extremely optimistic.”Think, Maren. Why would you need to stay here when you’ve got a condo twice the size of this apartment, and multiple family members with spacious homes?“I need to stay here for the next few days. My apartment’s being fumigated.”
I’m pretty proud of this one. Maybe I’m not as terrible at lying as I thought.
“That’s even less exciting than I thought it would be, and I knew it would be incredibly unexciting.”
“I’ll be the best roommate,” I wheedle. “Like a wife minus the sex.”
He blows out a breath. “Sex on demand is the only part of having a wife that appeals to me, however.”
“Sexon demandisn’t actually a part of marriage, just so you know. I wouldn’t want you to find out once you’d gotten down the aisle.”
“It would take much more than sex on demand to getmedown an aisle,” he replies. “And why the fuck do you need to stay here? Go to your mom’s. Go to Kit’s.”
I anticipated this objection, and he’s absolutely right. My mother lives in a massive, three-floor condo in the best section of town. She has far more space than Charlie does.
“My mother is currently fighting with your dad…you know how that is,” I tell him. It’s a lie, but it’s the case so often that he won’t even question it. My mother loves drama, and poor Roger is continually jumping through hoops to make her stay. “And…Kit moved into Miller’s place, and they’re still in Nepal—not that I’d be willing to sleep on their couch if they weren’t.”
This one is entirely true. It’s been awkward, having my sister date my ex. Mostly because everyone keeps giving me pitying, uncomfortable looks like Charlie is now.
If Miller had just been a guy I dated a decade ago, that would be one thing. Unfortunately, I had to be allMarenabout him. I had to pine. I had to go hardcore Taylor Swift-level wistful and claim he was the one who got away. I tend to do this—to latch onto the idea of someone. For a long while it was Miller and more recently it was my husband’s friend, Andrew. It’s not that I want these men in particular—Andrew’s married, and I hadn’t seen Miller in a decade—and it’s not that I’d cheat on my husband. It’s just that sometimes I need a reminder that there are men in the world who are kind, who’d be good to their wives.
And if I forget, I’ll allow Harvey to be worse to me than he already is.
“Fine, fuck. Whatever. You can sleep in the spare room. But your puppies need to stay somewhere else. Those are the least domesticated animals I’ve ever seen, and I’ve gone on safari twice. And don’t cockblock me.” His tone is accusatory, as if this is something I do all the time. “I don’t need you having a long conversation with some girl I’ve brought home.”
He lazily runs a hand over his flat stomach—I can see a hint of his happy trail and shift in my seat, struggling to refocus. “So don’t suggest to your one-night stand that giving it up for a guy who’s going to kick her out first thing in the morning isn’t her best move.”
He exhales wearily. “Yes, Maren, that is a prime example ofthe sort of conversation I don’t need you having with someone I am about to fuck. And don’t befriend anyone afterward either. I make a lot of effort to ensure that the women I’m seeing don’t get the wrong idea. Are we clear?” He rises from the chair, his boxers sliding low as his abs flex. I really wish he’d put on some clothes.
“I’m not even sure what we’d talk about anyway, aside from your disastrous decision-making ability.”
“You married Harvey,” he replies, heading back to his room. “So don’t get me started on decision-making ability.”
I guess he might have a point.
When his door shuts, I truly allow myself to take in the disaster that is his apartment. It’s a tribute to how insanely handsome Charlie is that any woman he’s brought up here for the past few weeks hasn’t run off screaming in terror. The kitchen is a sea of dishes that never arrived at the sink. There’s an open pizza box, its contents mummified, and so many partially drunk glasses of wine that I’m surprised he can still find anything to drink out of.
I rise, hunting beneath the kitchen sink for a trash bag, then start throwing stuff away.
What happened to you, Charlie? And how do I fix it when you won’t admit anything happened at all?
2
CHARLIE
When I wake in the afternoon, Maren is gone, and the fucking apartment is clean. I am not surprised by this—I knew Maren wouldn’t be able to help herself. It’s part of her whole Disney princess thing—she wants to dance around my apartment like Cinderella, beloved by magical singing mice while bluebirds float around her head, making the world a better place for everyone but herself.
