Charlotte opened the front door to find eight-year-old Morgan standing there, expectant, her backpack slipping down her back. “Charlotte!” she cried out, leaping forward and wrapping her in a hug. Kate stood behind her, assessing the two of them with watchful eyes.
“Took her out for ice cream,” Kate said, eyeing Quentin. “She mastered her sight-reading test today.”
“That’s great, honey!” Quentin said, reaching for his daughter and spinning her through the air. “Really, really wonderful. And now you’re probably not even hungry for dinner…”
“Not so fast,” Morgan said, interrupting.
Charlotte laughed, taking a step back. She watched as Quentin and Kate exchanged last-minute parental information, ensuring that they kept tabs on one another. Kate had announced the previous week that she and her boyfriend, Jason, were breaking up—much to Morgan’s unhappiness. “She’s been a lot easier to be around since she started dating him,” Morgan had admitted over dinner one night. “And now she’s going to be lonely and sad and probably not eating anymore.”
Quentin and Charlotte had eyed each other over the dinner table, both surprised that Morgan was so insightful.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?” Quentin asked Kate then, leaning his hand against the edge of the door.
“I have plans with friends,” Kate admitted, looking demure, tiny. “But thank you.” She turned toward Charlotte, her eyes bright. She’d been extending the hand of friendship more and more, becoming a stronger force for good in Charlotte and Quentin’s relationship. “By the way, Charlotte. I read your recent Rolling Stone article on that new band—the one from Tokyo—“
“Right. The Jamaicans,” Charlotte said, laughing. “What a name, right?”
“Quite,” Kate said. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed it. You’ve got a remarkable voice. I don’t think it’ll take long before you’re an editor somewhere. Like Quentin was.”
“I’m happier now,” Quentin told her. “Making music without the drugs… It’s actually quite a bit easier, believe it or not.”
“Doesn’t that go against everything you’ve ever believed?” Kate asked him, laughing.
“Sure does,” Quentin agreed. “But I suppose that’s part of growing up. Taking on responsibility. Falling in love.”
“I’m glad you finally did,” Kate whispered, swiping her hand across her cheek.
Morgan groaned beside Charlotte. Charlotte whisked her hand to Morgan’s back, rubbing at the tense muscles. “Somebody’s hungry,” she said, biting her lip.
“Shall we order pizza?” Quentin asked.
Kate left moments later, giving Charlotte and Quentin a final “thanks” before rushing into the night. “A thirty-something woman without a boyfriend, without a career—“ She shuddered, before stepping into the elevator. “Damn. I wish I had just a bit more sense.”
“You’re still as gorgeous as ever,” Quentin told her.
Quentin allowed Morgan to call the pizza place, ordering them three pizzas—a pepperoni, a supreme, and a Margherita, which was Charlotte’s favorite. Charlotte giggled, knowing they always ordered far too much food for the three of them, then casually ate through it the next several days, becoming the very portrait of a “family,” eating leftovers. She’d never imagined it with someone like Quentin.
Certainly, not with the type of man who’d thrust her with such force into the wall of the studio, nearly destroying her with his prowess.
As they waited for the pizza, Morgan practiced the piano in the side room, allowing Quentin and Charlotte to sit quietly with one another, gazing out at the wide blue sky outside their penthouse apartment. A picture of the three of them, along with Charlotte’s aunt, who had already returned to Florida, was on the mantel. The four of them had spent countless BBQs together over the summer. Charlotte’s aunt, who called her Lottie, could hardly believe she’d settled in with Quentin, “that rock star.” “Don’t you know his past?” she’d asked her initially.
Charlotte did. And she was even more attracted to him for it.
On Sunday night, Quentin had a gig as a solo artist as a basement club in Brooklyn. It wasn’t widespread news that the lead singer of Orpheus Arise was embarking out on his own—and Quentin liked it this way. He wanted to toy with the fact that people didn’t yet know him; that perhaps they could learn to like him as a different, more grown-up musician. Maybe without the heroin, this time around.
Charlotte dropped Morgan off at her mother’s house that afternoon, after sneaking in a round of ice cream on the way there. “Don’t tell your mom how much ice cream we’ve eaten this weekend,” Charlotte said, grinning. “She’ll have my head. And she’ll probably call me fat, too.”
Morgan laughed mischievously.
“You know what? Mom’s lightened up quite a bit since you’ve been around,” Morgan told her. “She says it’s good that Dad’s happy again. It takes the pressure off her shoulders.”
“I see,” Charlotte said, frowning. “You know, I’m really in love with your dad.”
“I know,” Morgan said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve known it ever since we first met you in the elevator. And that was a million years ago! Why don’t you guys get married already? And seriously. I need a sibling. Only children are usually kind of crazy.”