Shy Charlotte’s Brand New Juju (Romantic Comedy) (24 page)

Charlotte tilted her head to one side and repeated to
Leopold, “I won’t mention a thing.” 

“And, um, Miss Charlotte? Don’t worry. I will take good care
of Fiona while Kamal is gone. Whenever he is gone.” Then he winked.

“Swinging the kettlebell?”

“And then some.”

It was Hannah and Gracie’s first time in an airplane. Charlotte
positioned herself between them, Gracie near the window and Hannah near the
aisle. Both girls squeezed Charlotte’s hand tight at takeoff, but they soon
relaxed and rotated turns at the window and munched their pretzels and sipped
on their Coca-Colas and giggled at the captain’s corny jokes.

The skies were clear for the entire journey, and as they
began their descent, they could see the entire Manhattan skyline, as though it
were a mirage, a dense and twinkling pocket of humanity. There was a feeling in
the air of possibilities, of adventures and novel experiences to be had, right
here in their tiny capsule of life. 

They left the airport and checked into the appointed hotel,
and then they bought a latte from a man at a cart on the sidewalk, and they
didn’t have to stroll long before they found a bookstore, its glass elevators
soaring six stories up. As they entered, Charlotte could hear Fiona’s voice,
“You went to New York City, and you spent all afternoon in a bookstore?” But
they stayed anyway. Charlotte tiptoed along until she found the stacks of
novels by Caleb MacDougall, and she ran her hands along the spines and she
fanned their pages and she breathed in their scent. These were pages she had
helped to bring into this world, and they held a scent of newness and of
warmth. The scent of her life.

Charlotte and her daughters each picked a new book to
explore, nestled into a grouping of wingback chairs, and turned page after
page. Every now and then, Charlotte would look over toward them, at their long
noses, dotted with freckles. Their eyes, bright and green, scanning the pages,
which allowed them to each squeeze into a different tale, a different world.
The sight of them there, sharing space with her, filled her with a velvety
feeling, soft and smooth.

She looked at her watch. “Girls! We have to be at Dad’s
party in an hour.” And so they tucked in their bookmarks and ducked into a
boutique on the way to the hotel, where they each bought an overpriced dress
and a pair of matching shoes, none of which was perfect but which would
certainly do, and, after heading up to the room to twist their hair up and dab
on some mascara, they made their way to Caleb’s event.

The lights in the convention hall were dim. A woman in a
short and dazzling cocktail dress had her hand on Caleb’s back and was
whispering in his ear. Ah, Stephanie, his new publicist, she thought. Charlotte
turned and told the girls that Caleb would be by, as soon as he saw them, and
just then, she saw that he had, and he was standing with her. “I knew you would
come,” he said, and then he held the back of her neck and he tipped her head
back, and his mouth found hers. His lips were soft and moist and familiar, but
he kissed her in a way he never had before. It made her stomach quiver and rise
up, and his breath lingered just above her lips and then he rested his forehead
on hers.

The publicist came to retrieve him. “It’s time for your
reading,” she said. So Caleb disappeared for a moment and took the stage where
he looked comfortable and happy, and he read from his work, but Charlotte hardly
heard a word because she was too busy admiring the strength of his body, the
piercing blue of his eyes.

Afterward, they were dancing and his body pressed against
hers and moved in a rhythm that she knew well, and she was reminded of the
night they had danced around their living room, when Gracie was a newborn. They
had spun in great arcs, holding their child between them.

Flashes snapped in the crowd, and Caleb pushed his body
tighter against hers.

“I’ve been thinking,” Charlotte said, tilting her forehead
toward his.

“Good.”

“It’s just kind of ironic. I was the one having the crisis
all along. Not you. At all.”

“Yeah. How about that?”

“You knew that all along.”

“It’s why I followed you. In the hopes that one day, you
would look up at me and say, ‘Oh yeah, he’s my
Dorito-dust-from-the-bottom-of-the-bag.’ I had faith in us, Charlotte.”

She was quiet for a moment, and he continued, drawing back a
little and searching her face as he spoke.

“Sometimes,” Caleb said, “when I’m writing a scene, I feel
like maybe there’s something that’s not quite right, and so I’ll rewrite it.
And then I’ll look back on it, and, if it
is
right, I find that it’s
nearly identical to the first scene I wrote.”

Charlotte lifted her chin and breathed in Caleb’s scent.
Wool. Warmth.

“So I guess what I need to know is, ‘Would you write your
life this way again?’”

Charlotte felt a tightening in her throat and behind her
eyes. “I’ve made so many mistakes. I’ve wasted so much time.”

“But it landed you here, Jellybean.” 

“Yes,” she said then. “I think I would write this life
again. For myself.” And then she smiled. “And most definitely this scene.
Because you look astonishingly hot in a tux.”

He sniffed. “These people…Fiona, Leopold, Tabitha, they all
tried to convince you that there was something wrong with you.”

“Oh, well, they didn’t have to try too hard. You know about
the public peeing, right?”

“All they did was show a part of your charm.”

“You are the only one who thinks that’s part of my charm.”

“It is, though. You aren’t perfect. You are sometimes a
doofus. A complete dork.”

“Thanks.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with that. The up side of that
is, you never walk around like you are better than everyone else. And that’s
one of the many, many things I love about you.” He moved his face closer. “When
you first came to my office, Charlotte, when I first met you, I liked you
instantly. And it wasn’t because your hair was perfect or your body was perfect
or you knew exactly what to say. I knew you were ‘the one,’ at first sight, and
do you know how?”

She shook her head.

“Because you looked scared to death. But you were there
anyway. So real. So adorable…Just like you are now.”

She laughed. “Sorry, the girls and I spent too long at the
bookstore and forgot to leave time to get ready for your shindig.”

“Hallelujah. Charlotte’s back.”

She swayed with him then for a time, tripping over his feet
once and not bothering to apologize.

“So,” she said, eventually. “Is there any way you can find a
new assistant. A new editor/proofreader/manager, besides me?”

“You aren’t coming back?”

“No. I am. I’m coming back to be your wife. But I’ve decided
to work toward a master’s degree in education, as well. So I’ll be a full-time
student.”

“Wonderful. Perfect. And what will you do with this degree, do
you think?”

“I will teach middle school art.”

He ran his lips along her ear, and shivers buzzed along her
spine. “Is this one of Fiona’s ideas for you?”

“No.” She pulled away to look at him. “I want to help kids
paint themselves in the right light. Especially those introverted ones who tend
to hide in the art room, like I did.”

He bent his head toward her. “Yes, buffeted from the world by
brushes and easels and pastels. A respite from the world.”

“A perfect respite. My classroom will have soft lighting,
and gentle muted melodies, always playing, and I will speak kindly to my students
and help them understand that it’s okay to be just the person they are. I will
help them to see that art, like a good family, can help us to realize the joy –
the necessity – of making mistakes. That when you fall or wander or mess up,
you don’t need to start over with a clean canvas. You can just start painting
again, You can layer more on.” She laughed. “You might have a train wreck. Or
you might have a masterpiece. But you get to decide what to call it, and it’s
never truly finished.”

Caleb studied her face, and pulled her body tight.

 “And while I’m studying, at the college,” Charlotte
continued, “I can come by your office, and we can do it, right there on your
desk. Like old times.” She shrugged, “Or we can just have a cup of coffee.”

And then his mouth was on hers.

When he drew back, he looked at her steadily, and then he
said, “So will you help me choose my new assistant?”

“Of course.”

“Would you like her to be four-hundred pounds with hairy
moles and Funyun breath?”

“It doesn’t matter. I trust you.”

Charlotte rubbed her finger where she had pricked it earlier
that day, on the airplane, as she and the girls sat huddled together. They had
written out something on her napkin. A pact. A promise to be uncompromising in
their approval of themselves. In their need for quiet time. In their need for
one another. And to put blinders on to the ways that all the other people have
chosen to live in this world, focusing, instead on the ways that they have
chosen for themselves. It was a pact to accept herself unconditionally, the
exact kind of person she was. For she was shy Charlotte. And she was ravishing.

THE
END

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