open the fridge to show him all the leftovers.
“Color me impressed,” he says, grabbing a dish and warming it up in the microwave. He leans against the counter, crossing his long legs and staring at the clock on the wall.
“You okay?” I ask, following his gaze across the room.
“Uh huh,” he says. The microwave dings and he pulls out his food. “I’m expecting a call is all.”
“Alright,” I shrug. Maybe it really is work stuff. I wave him off, instead of staying to keep him company, I walk to the stairs and sit down on the steps, pulling out my phone.
I text Vanessa. What’s up w Charlie? I send, waiting for a response.
When my phone buzzes, I click on the message. He has to tell you.
I text back. Tell me what?
Vanessa responds, I can’t. Ask him.
Fine. I push in with force, pushing send.
“What are you doing?” Charlie asks, towering over me. He’s eating out of the container. Ugh, such a guy thing to do.
“What’s going on with you? I know something is up, I’m not stupid,” I say, putting my phone back in my pocket.
He groans, “Later. I need to take a nap first.” He takes a bite of my chicken enchiladas.
I haven’t been gone for three weeks and everyone is already keeping secrets. “Fine,” I say getting up and walking to my room. “You can sleep in my room.”
He runs his hand through his hair, “Great, I just need a few hours to catch up.”
“Then you’ll let me in on what you’re not telling me?” I ask, opening my door for him to walk through.
“Yes,” he sits down on my bed, laying the empty container on the nightstand. “Wow, this room is clean.” He sounds surprised, running his hand over my clean sheets. He looks around my room, and I can see his facial expression change. He looks between the bathroom and the bed. A solemn expression takes form, lips puckered at some newfound information he’s not letting on yet.
I choose to ignore his look of disappointment because he’s tired. “Don’t sound so surprised. I can clean,” I argue, stepping in front of the bathroom.
He stops scanning the room, looking up at me—the look he gives when he knows I’m lying. “You know you shouldn’t be sleeping in their room,” he says, looking across the hallway.
“I didn’t say I was sleeping in there.” I cross my arms.
Charlie kicks his feet up and walks across the way to their room. He opens the door and sees the tangled up sheets and clothes on the floor. He doesn’t have to say anything; I can feel his thoughts intruding my head: You shouldn’t be sleeping in here. Why don’t you pick up your clothes, it’s not that hard? What are the twins supposed to think if you close yourself off in here?
Instead of saying what I know he’s thinking, he pulls me into his arms. I sink into his embrace, pressing my face into his chest. His warmth was always a constant I knew I could depend on. I cling to the back of his dress shirt, not wanting him to let me go this time.
“I know, I know what you are going to say, but I feel safe,” I whisper into his chest.
“It’s not healthy. You should be sleeping in your room. It can’t be good for you in the long run,” he says, rubbing my back. He’s usually a strong and assuring presence, but now I can feel him starting to pull away. Even if he’s still holding me, I know he’s not here with me in the moment. He’s checked out somewhere else.
“I won’t sleep in here forever. I just need it now,” I tell him, not wanting to let go of my hold on him.
He looks around the room, not wanting to push it further, and says, “Okay. We both have secrets it seems.”
What kind of secrets is he keeping from me? I look for answers in his moves in his sad brown eyes. Instead, he rubs his blood-shot
“Color me impressed,” he says, grabbing a dish and warming it up in the microwave. He leans against the counter, crossing his long legs and staring at the clock on the wall.
“You okay?” I ask, following his gaze across the room.
“Uh huh,” he says. The microwave dings and he pulls out his food. “I’m expecting a call is all.”
“Alright,” I shrug. Maybe it really is work stuff. I wave him off, instead of staying to keep him company, I walk to the stairs and sit down on the steps, pulling out my phone.
I text Vanessa. What’s up w Charlie? I send, waiting for a response.
When my phone buzzes, I click on the message. He has to tell you.
I text back. Tell me what?
Vanessa responds, I can’t. Ask him.
Fine. I push in with force, pushing send.
“What are you doing?” Charlie asks, towering over me. He’s eating out of the container. Ugh, such a guy thing to do.
“What’s going on with you? I know something is up, I’m not stupid,” I say, putting my phone back in my pocket.
He groans, “Later. I need to take a nap first.” He takes a bite of my chicken enchiladas.
I haven’t been gone for three weeks and everyone is already keeping secrets. “Fine,” I say getting up and walking to my room. “You can sleep in my room.”
He runs his hand through his hair, “Great, I just need a few hours to catch up.”
“Then you’ll let me in on what you’re not telling me?” I ask, opening my door for him to walk through.
“Yes,” he sits down on my bed, laying the empty container on the nightstand. “Wow, this room is clean.” He sounds surprised, running his hand over my clean sheets. He looks around my room, and I can see his facial expression change. He looks between the bathroom and the bed. A solemn expression takes form, lips puckered at some newfound information he’s not letting on yet.
I choose to ignore his look of disappointment because he’s tired. “Don’t sound so surprised. I can clean,” I argue, stepping in front of the bathroom.
He stops scanning the room, looking up at me—the look he gives when he knows I’m lying. “You know you shouldn’t be sleeping in their room,” he says, looking across the hallway.
“I didn’t say I was sleeping in there.” I cross my arms.
Charlie kicks his feet up and walks across the way to their room. He opens the door and sees the tangled up sheets and clothes on the floor. He doesn’t have to say anything; I can feel his thoughts intruding my head: You shouldn’t be sleeping in here. Why don’t you pick up your clothes, it’s not that hard? What are the twins supposed to think if you close yourself off in here?
Instead of saying what I know he’s thinking, he pulls me into his arms. I sink into his embrace, pressing my face into his chest. His warmth was always a constant I knew I could depend on. I cling to the back of his dress shirt, not wanting him to let me go this time.
“I know, I know what you are going to say, but I feel safe,” I whisper into his chest.
“It’s not healthy. You should be sleeping in your room. It can’t be good for you in the long run,” he says, rubbing my back. He’s usually a strong and assuring presence, but now I can feel him starting to pull away. Even if he’s still holding me, I know he’s not here with me in the moment. He’s checked out somewhere else.
“I won’t sleep in here forever. I just need it now,” I tell him, not wanting to let go of my hold on him.
He looks around the room, not wanting to push it further, and says, “Okay. We both have secrets it seems.”
What kind of secrets is he keeping from me? I look for answers in his moves in his sad brown eyes. Instead, he rubs his blood-shot
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