“Fine Chucky, you can live here, but I have rules.”
“You do not have rules. You’re the biggest slob I know.”
“I’ve changed. And anyway, this is my apartment so you’re gonna follow my rules,” I said.
“Fine. What rules, Charlotte?”
“I don’t know yet, I’ll have to think of them, but they’re going to be strict.”
“When can I move in?”
“Helen’s gone. You can move in now.” It felt like I was saying she had died. I felt sick.
“Well, I’ll pack up my stuff and probably be down there on Monday.”
“Okay.” I actually couldn’t bear the idea of being home alone all weekend but I couldn’t say anything to Chucky about it. I couldn’t admit that to him, or ask him to come down earlier, because I knew he would never let me live it down. “See you Monday.”
I went into Helen’s empty room, looked around, and cried some more.
A few minutes later I heard a voice. “Hello, anyone here? The door is open . . .”
I walked out to the front room and froze when I saw the figure standing in the doorway. I looked down at his hand gripping a bag of what looked like Chinese food, and for a moment I wished that it were Adam standing there.
“Seth, what are you doing here?” I wiped under my eyes, knowing I looked haggard from crying.
His large frame filled the entryway. “I hope I’m not being too forward by coming here,” he said.
I wasn’t sure what to say.
He held up the bag. “I brought dinner.”
I walked toward the door slowly. “Is it Chinese?”
“It’s Thai.”
Thank god.
“Charlotte?” Seth was still staring at me, waiting for my approval.
I blinked. “I’m sorry. Yeah, please, come in. Sit down.” I motioned for him to sit at the small table in the kitchen while I set out plates and flatware. “Would you like a beer or something?”
“I’m sorry. I should have called,” he said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“No, it’s okay. I was just kind of out of it because Helen just left. We’ve been living together since we moved out of our parents’ houses. I grew up with her three doors down, so this is going to be a huge adjustment for me.” I handed him the beer.
“That’s why I came,” he said. “Roddy told me you were pretty bummed.”
“But you don’t even know me,” I said as I stood next to him. As soon as it was out of my mouth, I regretted it.
He began to get up. “This was a bad idea.”
Why did I have to sabotage everything? “Wait. Stay. Let’s eat. I just feel like this is a little awkward.”
When I sat down across from him, he took a slow sip of his beer, swallowed, and said, “I’m sorry. I’ve really never done anything like this. We had a bye today, I was bored, and I was thinking about you.”
“It’s fine.” He was thinking about me.
“I should have asked you out on a real date tonight. I was waiting for Saturday but then Roddy and Helen were moving at warp speed.”
“I know, you don’t have to explain, and we don’t have to move at warp speed just because they are.”
He let out a long breath. “Okay. So we’re good?”
“We’re good,” I said.
“Do you want to get out of here? You can throw this food in your fridge and eat it tomorrow,” he suggested.
“Where do you want to go?” We hadn’t opened the cartons of food yet, so I stood and started putting them back in the plastic bag.
“I don’t know, but I feel like a restaurant would be better so this isn’t so . . . awkward.” He shot me a tight smile.
“I think you’re right.”
“Are you sure you want to go out?”
“Yes. I’m sorry I’ve made this uncomfortable. I know a great place. It has a really cozy vibe. Wurstküche. It’s an exotic sausage grill, you’ll love it.”
He laughed. “That sounds terrifying to me.”
“Come on.” I nodded toward the door as he stood. “There’s nice people, lots of craft beers. They’ve got hot dogs. Don’t all baseball players like hot dogs?” Although I actually hated hot dogs, this place had the most amazing fries and dipping sauces, so that’s what I’d get. “They have a sausage made out of rattlesnake.”
“You’re killing me. Not all baseball players like hot dogs and I’m not eating rattlesnake, but I’m willing to see what else they have.”
“Perfect! Let’s go.”
I didn’t even look in the mirror, let alone bother changing out of the black jeans and blouse I had been wearing all day. Seth looked casual in jeans, a short-sleeve button-down shirt, and white Converse.
We walked shoulder to shoulder, making small talk until we got to the stoplight across from where Adam’s mural of the winged man was painted. I stared at the image, mesmerized by the fact that I had stood by while he had so effortlessly created such a powerful work of art.
Then, a block farther, I saw something else. And I was speechless.
I froze.
The wall opposite from Villains was newly painted with a giant mural. Seth was looking at me strangely as I stared at the artwork.
“What are you looking at, Charlotte?”
When I raised my head to meet his gaze, he looked concerned.
“Nothing, it’s nothing. I’m okay. Let’s keep going?”
My legs were shaking.
“What’s wrong, Charlotte?”
“I need to sit down.” I started to sway.
In one swift motion, Seth hitched his arm under me and brought me to his chest. “You’re as white as a ghost,” he said.
What I had seen was like nothing I knew possible. I couldn’t make sense of it. In Seth’s arms, I continued staring at the mural.
It was me, from the back, staring at Edvard Munch’s Starry Night in the Getty Museum.
My long hair pinned up, exposing my neck through an open-backed silk red dress.
It was so realistic, so accurate. It looked like a photo, right down to a freckle I have on my shoulder.
I knew Adam had painted it, but why?
Seth’s eyes narrowed, staring at me with genuine concern.
“I’m fine,” I reassured him.
“You’re acting strangely. I don’t know what to make of what’s going on. You can barely walk. Are you that upset about Helen? Is it a physical thing? Do you feel sick?”
“I just saw something that confused me on that wall, that’s all,” I said, my voice low and shaky.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, Charlotte?” He wasn’t angry; he was just trying to be empathetic.
It was hard for me to look him in the eye as I began the story so I focused on a manhole in the middle of the street. “About seven months ago, I met a guy.” I hesitated.
“Continue,” he said, a twinge of worry in his voice.
“I met him on the street. I went home with him and we had a very strange but special experience. Or so I thought.”
“Let’s find a bench and sit down. I really have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
We were now sitting against the wall where the mural was painted.
“I’m trying to tell you without making myself sound like a slut.”
“I don’t think you’re a slut, Charlotte. Just tell me the story.”
“I met a guy on the street. It was a whirlwind night. I went back to his loft. He was a painter. There were paintings everywhere. We had . . . sex, a whole bunch of sex.”
Seth swallowed. “Okay, so what?”
“At some point in the night, he asked me if we were in love, like we were role-playing or something, and I told him this story that we were together and that we had met in front of Starry Night at the Getty. It’s hard to explain, but it made sense in the moment.”
“I thought they had Irises at the Getty?”
“No, Munch’s Starry Night, not Van Gogh’s.”
“Oh. And . . . ?”