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“I’M SO HAPPY WE’RE finally getting together for breakfast,” said Charlotte’s mom.
“Yeah,” said Brinley. “It’s been ages since the three of us did this.”
“Soon, I’ll be done with my stupid job and we’ll be able to do this every Saturday morning,” said Charlotte.
The two sisters and their mother were seated at their favorite table, right in front of the big front window, at O’Malley’s Diner. It was bustling and full of the local townspeople, like usual, so they were all a little giddy to have snagged the best seats in the house.
“Has your job gotten even worse?” Greta Smyth ventured to ask, after the waitress had delivered their cups of coffee.
“Well,” Charlotte said, surveying the room to make sure no one was overhearing her, “sort of. If I tell you this, you promise you won’t worry, right?”
“You can’t say that to us and have us not worry,” said Brinley.
“Then never mind.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” said Greta. “Fess up! What’s going on around there?”
“Okay, but promise you won’t get yourselves involved in this, okay?” said Charlotte. “I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself.”
“Just tell us,” said Brinley.
“Wally Dingle practically assaulted me the other day.”
“I thought your boss’s name is Shane,” said Greta.
“Oh, yeah. Shane’s my boss, and he’s gross too. Wally’s someone else,” said Charlotte.
“What do you mean Wally Dingle assaulted you?” asked Brinley, just as the waitress set their plates down on the table.
Charlotte waited for her to go away before saying, “Maybe assaulted is too strong a word. He just blocked me from leaving my office and pulled down the front of my dress so he could see my bra, and told me I seemed like the uptight type who would wear a tan bra, and that he was impressed it was all lacy. Oh, and he called me a gal. Everyone there uses that word. It makes me want to blow my brains out.”
Brinley dropped her fork on her plate. “Yes, that’s assault, and do you really have to tell these stories in front of our mother?”
“I want to know these things,” Greta declared.
“I’m not trying to upset anyone. I’m just venting,” said Charlotte, wishing she’d kept her mouth closed.
“You need to contact the police and report them,” said Brinley.
“Should I report the whole company? Almost everyone there behaves that way.”
“Then quit,” said Brinley.
“It’s on my to-do list,” said Charlotte. “Let’s pretend I never said anything.”
“Is everything okay over here?” asked their waitress. “Anyone need their coffee warmed up?”
“We’re fine,” said Brinley, brushing her away. “Why haven’t you made more out of this?” she asked her younger sister. “I didn’t think you were the kind of person who let something like this happen to her.”
“I told you about this the last time we went out and you didn’t have this kind of reaction,” Charlotte reminded her. “In fact, I half thought you didn’t even take me seriously.”
“I’m serious now that you’re getting your clothes torn off.”
“It wasn’t like that,” said Charlotte.
“Explain why you haven’t handled this in any real way,” said Brinley.
“Could you stop being so hard on your sister?” snapped Greta Smyth.
“Here’s why I’m putting up with this,” said Charlotte. “Alfredo’s counting on this party happening. But he’s only part of the reason I’m still there.” She set down the napkin she’d been subconsciously shredding, searching for the right words. “It’s like the whole frog in the pot of boiling water thing, where at first I was a little shocked, but it keeps getting worse, but my tolerance has gone up at the same pace. These things sound shocking to you, but it’s kind of just become... I don’t know. All in a day’s work, I guess?”
“Really,” said Brinley, unimpressed with this explanation.
“And another reason people don’t talk about these things, I mean outside of conversations with people they’re really close to, is because once Pandora’s box is opened, you can’t put a lid back on it. It becomes completely defining. It takes over. Once you come forward and say ‘This is what happened,’ you don’t then have the option to say, ‘I’m done talking about it. I have work to do and people to see and a life to carry on with.’ Your control over the situation gets handed off to others who will judge and say, ‘Now you must talk about it. Every time you’re asked, you must stop what you’re doing and tell your story. If you won’t, this means you must be a liar.’ If I decided to tell every story that’s happened to me, I’d never be able to get anything done again. My whole life would become about those dumb stories. Stories that I never wanted to be a part of. Stories that don’t define me or have anything to do with the parts of my life that matter to me. This is one reason people don’t bother to talk about being assaulted. Because it sucks, but they have better things to move on to.”
“Charlotte,” said Greta, “please don’t say ‘sucks’ at the table.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
Brinley sighed. “Okay, I get it.” She set some pictures of her kids on the table. “They went to visit Santa,” she explained. Then she turned back to her sister, looking guilty, “Do you have any good news for us?”
“Yes,” said Charlotte. “Actually, I do.”
“What’s that?” asked Greta, her expression brightening.
“I had a date last night,” Charlotte said, beaming, all prior unpleasant conversations erased, as far as she was concerned. “Shane tried to derail it, but we ended up sharing dessert at Mistletoe Manor. It was sublime.”
“A date? With who?” asked Brinley.
“Shhhhhh!” said Charlotte.
“Why is it a secret?” asked Greta.
“It’s not,” said Charlotte. “I’m just really, really excited and I don’t want to jinx it.”
“Who’s the lucky guy?” asked Brinley.
“His name’s Ensar. He works at O’Leery—”
“No!” Greta and Brinley both exclaimed.
“But he’s nice,” said Charlotte. “He’s nothing like the rest of them! He’s the janitor. Most of his family is dead. He’s lonely and it’s like, how can someone so amazing be lonely, right? He’s got a limp—I’m not sure why but I can’t wait to find out! Also, he has a scar across his forehead, which, weirdly, I never even noticed until last night. Love is blind, right? I’m sure there’s a good story there, too, but I’m going to wait for him to tell it, you know? His eyes are dark and soulful and amazing. He smells good. He’s funny. Hilarious, actually. And so smart.”
“He’s a janitor with a limp?” asked Brinley.
“Why is everyone so hung up on that?” asked Charlotte. “So, back to how wonderful he is: When he dropped me off at my apartment, he kissed me goodnight, and he’s an amazing kisser. Sorry if that’s too much information, Mom.”
Greta Smyth stirred her coffee and said, “I can take it.” She looked a little queasy though.
“His accent is super sexy. Did I mention, he’s pretty new to this country, but his English is great! I swear, he knows more words than I do! Sorry if I’m acting giddy, but I’m totally falling for him. And did I mention, he’s Muslim!”
Brinley and Greta both looked at Charlotte, their mouths hanging open.
“He’s amazing,” Charlotte added. “Did I already say that?”
“Check, please,” called Greta Smyth, unconsciously grasping at her Life Alert necklace.