Page 52 of Christmas Is All Around
“Because it’s a requirement for emotionally repressed English boys who live in countryside manors to find a career that cannot possibly bring them any joy or passion, all so that a nice boy or girl can come along to teach them how to feel,” Charlotte said without missing a beat.
“I think I’ve read that one,” Graham said, and Charlotte couldn’t help smiling.
“You and Padma both.” At his frown, she clarified, “My best friend in New York. She’s basically the opposite of me—extremely soft-hearted, loves romances, gives extreme Bambi vibes when you first meet her.”
“Not the first description that would spring to mind for you,” he agreed.
“Her secret is that she’s actually terrifying—she’s a lawyer, an absolute badass, but you’d never guess it, if you met her outside of work.” Charlotte sighed ruefully. “I should probably learn from her ways—peopleloveher when they meet her—but I’ve just never been able to… I don’t know. Charm people?”
“Hmm.” Graham’s tone was thoughtful, and she glanced over at him, slumped on the couch, his elbow braced against one of the sofa’s arms as he looked at her. “I don’t think youtryto charm people. But I wanted to know more about you, from the moment I met you.”
Charlotte frowned, thinking back to their first, ridiculous meeting. “I have no idea why—I spent several minutes complaining about you removing a reindeer suit, and then fled in a bit of a huff.”
Graham’s mouth curved up. “Exactly. It was fascinating.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes, and pushed up onto her knees so that shecould rest her forearms on the edge of the couch, close enough to reach out and touch him, if she wanted. “You were just interested because usually you flash your little smile and wear your—yourglasses—”
“My glasses,” he repeated, sounding bemused.
“—and then people find yousohandsome andsocharming andsoEnglish—”
“You do realize that I live in England, yes? I don’t think the accent is that interesting to the natives.”
Charlotte waved an impatient hand. “Whatever. You know what I mean.”
Graham straightened, then leaned forward deliberately, reaching out his hands to rest on hers. “Yes, I do: you’re furious because you like me.”
Like.
The word hovered between them, and Charlotte reached for it like a life raft. “Like,” she could handle. “Like” felt safe.
“I might be,” she admitted, glancing down to where his hands covered hers. “I haven’t let myself like anyone in a long time.” She second-guessed herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth—it felt like she was skating close to the sort of vulnerability she didn’t usually allow herself, and certainly not with someone she was casually dating.
The problem was that this, whatever it was, between her and Graham, didn’tfeelall that casual.
She could hear the frown in his voice as he said, “Why?”
She hesitated; it had been so long ago, now. More than four years. She hadn’t told anyone the story in a long time—avoided spending too much time thinking about it, even. But here, with Graham, in his dark, quiet living room…
She found she wanted to.
She glanced up and met his eyes. “Craig—my last boyfriend—he and I dated for a few years, right after I moved back to the city aftercollege. We met at a party, and he was a few years older than me, already established in his career at a start-up. Worked long hours, went to the gym at five in the morning, out late on weekends—that sort. Very responsible.”
“I know them well,” he said dryly, and she wondered what she would have thought of Graham if she’d met him years earlier, when he, too, was chasing the constant highs of money, late nights, the markers of a successful young urbanite. It was hard to reconcile that idea with the version of him that she knew.
“He was smart, though—so smart. And funny. And just… I don’t know. Reliable. He felt safe, I guess. He wasn’t at all like anyone in my family, and that felt so nice to me. For a while.”
“What happened?” he asked, his gaze steady on her.
She grimaced slightly, unable to help herself. “He was busy, but I was, too, trying to get my business off the ground, so I didn’t care that he worked late. But eventually, I started to realize how… frustrated he was, I guess. I never complained about his hours—I’m not a child, I don’t need constant company, it was fine. But when he’d come home early, and I’d be on deadline for a commission and couldn’t drop everything to go out to dinner with him—or when we’d go to a party, and I’d need to leave early, because I had to get up early the next morning to catch up on work—hehatedit. And I finally realized that he liked theideaof a girlfriend who was an artist much more than the reality. He liked how it looked—him, with his desk job and the blonde girlfriend he could take to parties and tell everyone, ‘She’s an artist,’ as if my job were some sort of quirky thing he could use to… burnish his own image?” She shook her head. “I don’t know—I’ve thought about it a lot since then. I don’t know if I was being unfair to him, ultimately. But that’s how itfelt—and it’s just no way to live, in a relationship that makes you feel that way.”
Graham’s mouth was set in a thin line. “He sounds like a prick.”
Charlotte sighed. “Padma agrees—she never liked him that much. The first time I ever did a collaboration, I was twenty-five, it was three years into starting my business, and a restaurant in New York invited me to design their menus, do all the art for their website. It was a great opportunity, and I worked really hard on it. And then I found out that the restaurant’s investors were a group of Hollywood people.” She pressed her lips together. “Friends of my dad. No one had told me—he got me the job. And after working so hard to do it all on my own, to have him just… go behind my back like that, I guess, even though I know he meant well. I got into a huge fight with him at the restaurant’s soft opening—we had to go outside, I was crying, it was just… awful. And then I went home with Craig, and I could tell the whole way that he was upset, but Ithoughthe was, like, upset on my behalf—but he told me that I needed to get over it. That I was beingdramatic. That he didn’t even recognize me. We’d been together nearly three years, and this was the first time I’d ever made a scene about anything, and he told me that he wanted to break up.”
“What the fuck.” Graham’s cheeks were red, his eyes burning. “I just—I can’t—” He was, she realized, actually struggling for words, he was so furious.
“The thing is, I think Ididoverreact,” she said, glancing down at the couch. “I know that—it wasn’t my best moment. But I’ve spent my entire life never causing a scene, never being a bother, and to suddenly be dumped the first time I was an inconvenience to him…” She shook her head. “That relationship needed to end, and I was starting to realize that myself, but it was such a shitty way to end things.”
