He knew me so well. Better than almost anyone, except for Jess. He’d been incredibly important to me for, God, almost a third of my life. And truthfully, I loved Charlie. Though it was perfectly clear to me that I wasn’t in love with him anymore.
I went down the line feeding quarters into the dryers, and when I got to the end I turned and looked at him. He was leaning against a washing machine, watching me closely. And I said, “This is going to be kind of weird and awkward at first, for both of us. But I’m willing to give the friendship thing a try.”
“Awesome. Are hugs allowed, now that we’re friends?”
“Um…I don’t know. Maybe?”
Charlie crossed the room to me and pulled me into a big hug. And he asked, “Are you happy, Jamie? Does that guy make you happy?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
He let go of me and nodded. “Well, good. Then your life is right where it should be. Now all we have to do is get mine on track and we’ll both be golden.”
I smiled at him, and we fidgeted awkwardly for a couple moments. And he said, “Ok, so I’m gonna go, before I do something to screw this up. Let’s have a drink next week, ok?”
“Sure.”
“Can I text you between now and then?” Charlie asked. “To, you know, get some career advice? Or like, just say hi?”
“I’d like that.”
He smiled at me, and it was just a little wistful. “Ok then. See you soon.” And he turned and left the Laundromat.
I watched him go. And after he was gone, I kept staring out at the street for a while.
Charlie had been my world for such a long time, and right up until today, a few tendrils of loss and regret had remained tied to my heart. But they were cut loose now. It was over. It was truly, totally over.
So this was what closure felt like.
I brushed away a few tears – not of sadness, but of the strong emotions that accompany the end of a major life chapter. And then I took my cell phone from my pocket and texted Jess: Spotted at Laundry City: C and J, striking a tentative peace agreement.
She texted back: I’d almost think that was a Gossip Girl reference, except those bitches don’t do laundry.
I smiled at that and wrote: How’s work? Is Catherine still there?
Yes she’s here, and buying half the store. Pity I don’t work on commission. So you and Charlie are making nice?
We’re going to try being friends. It’s going to be weird. But I want to give it a shot.
Jess wrote: He tried to get you back, didn’t he?
Yes. How did you know that?
It’s typical. Men always want what they can’t have. Ok, women, too. You have to tell me the whole story next time I see you.
And I texted: But of course. I’ll let ya get back to Catherine. Try to steer her away from the hooker section. X-O, X-O.
Ok, now I KNOW you’re referencing Gossip Girl. Ya big freak. Love ya.
I was smiling as I slid my phone in my pocket and went to get another Danish.
Chapter Fourteen
A few hours later, someone knocked on the door of my apartment, waking me from a nap (such was my level of productivity when not working). I was a bit groggy and disheveled when I swung the door open and said, “Hi. Can I help you?”
The tall, distinguished looking stranger standing outside my apartment was maybe sixty, with salt-and-pepper hair, a charcoal grey suit and a white shirt that was open at the collar. He smiled amiably even as he did a thorough assessment of me, taking in my bare feet, rumpled cargo shorts and t-shirt, and hair that was probably sticking up at every angle. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” he asked.
“That’s fine. You must have the wrong apartment, though.”
“I don’t think so. Are you James Nolan?”
“Jamie. Yeah.”
He smiled again and extended his hand. “Jamie, I’m Gregor Sokolov.” I shook his hand automatically, all my senses instantly going into high alert. “May I please come in?”
I weighed the pros and cons of that for a moment, then said, “Would you consider it rude of me to do a pat-down before I let you into my apartment?”
He chuckled at that and said as he unbuttoned his suit jacket, “You’ve heard of me, then.” He reached into a shoulder holster and pulled out a 9 millimeter Beretta, and handed it to me handle-first. “Now can I come in?”
I did a quick check of the gun in my hand (it was loaded, of course). “I don’t suppose you have a permit to carry concealed?” I tucked the gun into the back waistband of my shorts.
“As a matter of fact I do, Officer Nolan. Would you like to see it?” He looked amused.