Page 115 of Betting on the Best Friend
We’re not even sitting that close—we could fit Ava between us and all still have room—but I still sense the warmth of his body, the comforting weight of it anytime he shifts and disturbs the mattress. And his Charlie smell. His real smell is Ivory soap, petrichor, and pine.
Between that and running through all the steps for tomorrow, the movie was barely background noise. At least I’d watched it enough as a kid to laugh along with Charlie at the right parts.
He looks at his watch. “It’s barely 9:00. Another movie?”
Sure, Charlie, if that will help you avoid any meaningful conversations. Enjoy your last night of freedom from them, because everything changes tomorrow.
“The TV has actual cable with a program guide and everything. When’s the last time you saw that?”
“Every time I’m at my parents’ house,” he says.
“Not me. Let’s channel surf.”
He looks at me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m serious. “Like . . . flip through channels?”
“Yes. Literally stop and watch anything that looks interesting and change channels the second it’s not anymore.”
He hands me the remote.
For the next hour or so, we gorge ourselves on empty TV calories, skipping from a weather report to a documentary on aliens, covering cartoons, fly-fishing, and a singing competition in between.
Finally, a yawn comes for me, and when it seems like every station is either airing old ballgames or reruns of sitcoms we’ve never heard of, I turn off the TV.
“Bedtime for all good children everywhere,” I say. “Tell me the plan. If you say you’re going to sleep on the floor, I’ll make fun of you because no, you are not.”
He gets up and gathers food wrappers. “Of course I’m not sleeping on the floor. You are.”
I throw a pillow at him, which he deflects without even looking.
“We’ll wash our faces, brush our teeth, put on pajamas.” He ambles over to the small garbage can to drop our trash. “And then we sleep in that bed. Genius in its simplicity.”
“Just to make sure I have it, we two who love each other madly, but one of whom is pretending we don’t, are going to sleep in this bed together as if none of those conversations has happened? Got it.”
He sighs and runs a hand over his face. “Off the bed.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
Bossy Charlie. Intriguing. I slide off to stand beside it. “Am I sleeping here like a horse?”
He ignores me and lifts the end of the stiff decorative coverlet, quickly rolling the whole thing before he flips it perpendicular and settles it in the middle of the bed.
“The plan is that you pick a side, then we go to sleep, and that bolster,” he points, like I won’t notice the only newly constructed bolster, “protects my maidenly virtue.”
“Charlie. We’re really not going to talk about us?”
He looks at me, his face tired. “Ruby. You’re really going to make me regret having you stay?”
I climb back on the bed and sit in my spot. “Why don’t you believe me?”
“Why won’t you let this go?”
“It’s important. The most important. There has never been anything more important in my life. Whywouldyou let this go?”
“Because I have to!”
I draw back. Well. There’s a flash of temper he’s never directed at me before. I do what I did for years when my brothers’ moodschanged with every teammate, girlfriend, or other Ramos who rubbed them wrong. I choose not to react. “You good if I get ready for bed?”
