Page 43 of Falling Slowly
Bess: Charlie is here. We’re sharing a cabin because it was the only one available.
I hit ‘send’ and stopped breathing, watching the three dots dancing on the screen.
Teresa: Whaaaaaat??? CALL ME NOW!
Bess: I can’t. He’s in the shower. It’s open plan, he’ll hear everything.
Teresa: Open plan? You’re sleeping in the same room? SAME BED?
Bess: I’m in the loft.
Teresa: Why is he there? Is he putting the moves on you? Are you okay?
Bess: I’m fine. It’s a bit weird. I’ll tell you later.
Teresa: I have so many questions. Call me as soon as you can, okay? Until then, I’ll be on tenterhooks, unable to eat or sleep. So, make it soon.
I could only hope she was exaggerating. Teresa had a flair for drama.
Bess: I promise.
My mind going around in circles, I turned on the coffeemaker. It resembled the one in the office, and my hands worked on autopilot, making a batch of coffee for the entire production team. Oops.
Well, it had a thermos pot so maybe it would keep for a while. I’d drink the rest cold the next morning, I decided. I counted three complimentary coffee bags. Could I swipe one for home? It’d last me at least a week.
When had I turned into this desperate person with a scarcity mindset? I’d learned about these things. I’d become poor later in life, after being educated, working, and earning decent money. With Jack still working for a shipping company and me freelancing, with no kids to feed, we’d been doing fine. Buying what we wanted. Traveling. Upgrading our phones.
Now, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from running down that track. The fear of falling off that metaphorical cliff kept me moving and dictated my decisions. Somehow, along the way, I’d stopped enjoying things, even when they were free. Instead, I grasped at everything in desperation. I wanted to try every food they served at this place, or better yet, store it in my cheeks like a chipmunk. My mind screamed, ‘Take it! Store it!’ but did I enjoy it? I was too worried about running out, being back in that place of panic.
I was protecting myself and my daughter. It made sense. Yet, I could see joy slipping through my fingers. I couldn’t hold onto it. I couldn’t be spontaneous or brave. That was the old me, the one who’d had the freedom and the safety net. And most importantly, a husband who was full of faith and optimism. And idealism. Until he wasn’t. Charlie reminded me of Jack, and that scared me the most.
Charlie wasn’t a safe option. He wasn’t an option at all. I needed my job, and getting involved with the boss’s perpetual bachelor son was the absolute worst idea. I’d lose the respect of my colleagues. And what happened after, when Charlie got tired of me? Granted, he might tire of me during this week so it would all be over by the time we returned to the office. That was probably the best-case scenario.
No. The best scenario was that we both stuck to our agreement to pretend the hot tub incident never happened and went back to being colleagues. Maybe some sort of awkward friends.
What else could we ever be? Charlie didn’t commit. Teresa had told me he didn’t even bring a date to any event. He arrived by himself and took his pick, each time leaving with someone new.
I took my fresh coffee and tiptoed upstairs, carefully listening to the sound of running water. Charlie was delivering on his promise of a long shower. Had he already orgasmed and was now shampooing his hair? I really needed to stop picturing it.
As I sat on the edge of the sofa bed, the sound of water cut off and the door creaked.
“Do you need a shower?” He called from downstairs.
I was still in my damp swimsuit, wrapped up in the bulky bathrobe. That spa pool probably wasn’t the cleanest. “Um… maybe. Sure.” I returned downstairs with my coffee and fetched my towel. “I made coffee if you want some.”
“Thanks.” Charlie stood in front of me, a towel wrapped around his waist.
My eyes dipped to his crotch without my permission, taking in the slight bulge. Did he still have a hard-on? How was it possible?
I left my coffee on its namesake table and hurried to the bathroom, throwing one quick glance over my shoulder. I wasn’t even sure why, maybe to memorize the sight of him in a towel, but he took it as hesitation.
“Don’t worry. I rinsed the tiles.”
Heat engulfed my cheeks like a sudden flame. “Oh, my God Charlie! You don’t have to be that graphic.”
He raised his brows, the picture of innocence. “I mean there shouldn’t be any hair or soap or anything. I know it’s awkward to share a bathroom with a guy.”
“Ah, okay. Thanks,” I said in a strangled voice, hoping the bathroom door would lead me to an alternate dimension, free of all the Charlies of the world.
