Charlie raises both eyebrows, making a so you’re going to try and tell me what do to face. I regret my outburst instantly, even as the thought of Charlie getting naked again and again to try on dresses is… a nice thought.
“You wanted to go with Betsy, right?” I ask, naming her older sister.
“It was a joke,” Seth says, eyeing me.
“I hadn’t given much thought to my dress shopping support team yet,” Charlie says, staying remarkably cool. “But I’ll probably take Betsy and my mom. And I assume it’ll be… a wedding dress?”
She clearly hasn’t thought about this, because why would she?
“That is typically what women get married in, yes,” Seth deadpans.
“You’re the expert,” Levi adds, and Seth just sighs.
“When you’re ready, I have spreadsheets and lists of everything,” Violet says, ignoring the boys. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, so just say the word. I can even walk you through them.”
“But there’s no rush, right?” Eli says, giving me a look. It’s a very annoying look, and I give it right back. “Enjoy your engagement. It’s such a special time in your life.”
Seth and Caleb both look at him like he’s suddenly sprouted a second head. Levi continues methodically winding spaghetti around his fork. I think Violet’s trying not to roll her eyes. Rusty’s picking the soft, butter-soaked part out of the middle of her garlic bread and eating it, totally ignoring the adults.
“Thank you, Eli,” I say, as sincerely as I possibly can. “It’s a lot to do, but we’re excited.”
Suddenly there’s warm denim beneath my palm.
Half a second later I realize I’ve got my hand on Charlie’s thigh, her muscles tense under my hand. I didn’t mean to. I swear my hand just moved of its own volition, but now it’s there, I can’t go back, and I definitely can’t pull it away and apologize in front of my entire family, half of whom think we’re really going to get married.
Instead, I just give her a quick squeeze. After a moment, she relaxes.
I keep my hand there.
The subject finally turns away from our not-actually-impending nuptials to some tree problem that Levi is having, and I stop listening for a moment, eating with my right hand while my left is still touching Charlie.
I’ve never touched her like this before, not in the almost twenty years we’ve been friends. Not this intentionally. Not for this long, or in this place, or with no other reason for touching her than just to touch her.
I’ve never touched her like we’re lovers.
For all that, it feels oddly right. My hand feels like it fits to her, like it’s supposed to be there, her warmth melding into my fingers.
After a moment, while one of my brothers is going on about something, she gives me a quick, questioning glance.
I give her a slight shrug, and she goes back to the conversation. After a while I pull my hand back, already missing her warmth.After dinner, I try to help with the dishes, but Caleb chases me out of the kitchen, and I let him.
When I find Charlie, she’s in the front hall, hands in her pockets, looking at the wall, hung with pictures. I step up behind her, and she glances back, acknowledging me. Neither of us says anything.
The pictures are mostly my brothers and me. High school graduation photos, a few kids’ sports pictures, a few where we’re in boy scout uniforms. Levi, Seth, and Caleb all have their college graduation pictures up there, too, and there’s one of all five of us plus Rusty, who looks about four, taken at a waterfall.
Further up on the wall, just above eye level, are the pictures of my father. They’re older. Slightly faded, and Charlie’s head tilts up slightly as she looks at them.
There’s one of him in his police uniform, looking solemn in front of an American flag. One of him and my mom, somewhere sunny, in t-shirts and jeans, laughing. There’s their wedding photo, which is pure eighties — her dress has both a train and poofy sleeves, and Dad looks like he’s rocking a slight mullet — but they look so happy.
I never look at these pictures. I walk by them a couple times a day at least, but I never stop and look. Here’s one with all five of us and Dad, piled into the back of a pickup truck, grinning away.
I’m in that gangly, awkward phase in the photo. Caleb’s still a kid. Levi looks close to how he does now, so he must be sixteen, seventeen.
That can’t have been taken long before the accident, I think.
I put one hand one Charlie’s shoulder, and she puts her hand on top of it.
“I forget how much Eli and Seth look like him,” she says, still looking at the wall.
“They really do,” I murmur.