One Year Later, Minus Six Weeks
MY COMPANY, IF THE WORLD WAS ENDING—THAT’S RIGHT, MY company—is a video game design firm that in the next few years, will focus on STEM training for girls and women interested in the field. Though most of our original game concepts center around doomsday prep, our first upcoming release is a mobile game called Revenge Cheese, where players create an avatar that resembles their ex (or whomever they are seeking vengeance on), then chase them around the city until they successfully land a slice of cheese across their face. Turns out, it was a great idea, and Charlie and I weren’t the only ones out there who could use some bit of closure after a bad breakup. Though cheese can’t fix everything, it sure does fix a lot.
The second game, releasing late next year and generating more buzz than the first, is Arsonist Betty. It seems people also love the idea of hunting down an elderly arsonist setting fires all across the city. Early players have enjoyed the opportunity to outsmart the villain only to help her be reunited with her lost love, and it seems to sit on shelves as a nice alternative to all the shoot-’em-up games out there. Catapult making significant changes to my design, and the fact that Anita somehow missed having me sign a work product agreement during my new hire paperwork, allowed for me to build my version of it the way I originally envisioned, without fear of infringement. Arsonist Betty bears only a slight resemblance to Mrs. Crandall in 6D.
Speaking of Mrs. Crandall, she’s become a bit of a mainstay in our lives. Our interactions with her mostly involve Charlie changing her light bulbs or carrying her groceries, but every once in a while, she surprises us with a plate of homemade apple oatmeal muffins that only carry the faintest scent of cigarettes.
Mrs. Crandall doesn’t know it yet, but thanks to her unintended contributions to the game, there’s a check coming her way on release day.
As for future game plans, I’ve decided to move away from arson and arsenals. There are enough bad things in the world. And as Charlie (and even Mrs. Crandall) have reminded me, there is more good than bad. Our third release is still just an idea and likely a few years away from release, but it’ll be different from anything on the market. Something Catapult would never dream of putting out.
I’m rather proud of that.
It wasn’t long after my parents’ vow renewal that I resigned from Catapult. And not because of Charlie and my broken promise to my interviewing trio about staying single. It was because I knew, after several more meetings like the initial Arsonist Joe one, that the job would take the thing I loved and rob me of the opportunity to turn it into a career I could equally love.
The sly flicker of a grin across Jack Palmer’s face when I delivered my resignation letter—straight to him, rather than Anita—told me he believed I was proving him right. That hiring the girl had been a mistake. I almost ripped the letter from his hand and changed my mind because of that smirk. But then Charlie’s words came to me like a hand of support in that moment. I was so afraid of ruining what I loved by staying in the job I hated. The truth is, once I did it on my own terms, I realized there was nothing to ruin.
Charlie has been so supportive of my entrepreneurial pursuits that he even offered his apartment to me, should I, in fact, be evicted from my own as I worked to launch my company. It was way too soon to live together, but the fact that he would even offer deepened my adoration of him.
As it turns out, I wouldn’t need a new place to live.
Soon after my departure from Catapult, I approached an angel investor in the gaming space who had somehow already heard about the version of Arsonist Betty I submitted to Catapult. I can’t be certain, but I would bet the two hundred thousand dollars her firm invested to get my new company off the ground that Anita had something to do with it.
As for Anita, the pen she gave me on my first day at Catapult sits in my desk drawer as a reminder of what this company, my company, will never be. And though I tried to recruit her several times after she left Catapult, she decided to build her own thing too. A career-coaching firm where she helps empower female executives to hold their own in a room full of Jack Palmers and Kenji Suganos. She’s booked solid for the next eight months.
I used to wonder why she stayed at Catapult as long as she did, and now realize she was slowly building her business on the side, stealthily planning her escape. I’ve got mad respect for her patience and diplomacy.
She ended up getting out just in time.
A slew of lawsuits have been filed against Catapult Games for their illegal hiring and employment practices, the first of which was by the woman who departed right before me who had “too many boyfriend issues.” Soon after, I hired her as my COO, offering her a stake in the company in lieu of a salary, which she was able to accept thanks to her hefty settlement from Catapult.
There have been many naysayers, skeptical of a woman who went from being an engineering firm office assistant to starting her own gaming company within two years. I simply remind those people that Jack Palmer had a similar start to his own gaming career.
As for Charlie and me, we’ve found our happiness. He has read many of the romance novels on my shelf, though he stays away from anything he considers “too doomsday.” His favorite is still The Burning Locke.
Tess and I have made him and Nate endure many evenings with Thelma & Louise. Charlie and Nate were fast friends over their love of everything competitive (sports, games, general life activities that they enjoy turning into competitions wherever possible).
We’ve found a favorite stargazing spot, a secluded corner of Griffith Park. Somehow, we only ever see shooting stars, no airplanes. With a flask of homemade rum punch, we lie there often, throwing out game ideas.
The video of Charlie “saving” that girl Maddie from the Caribbean bathwater went viral after Andres posted it to his shockingly large social media following. As a result, Charlie was offered a multi-commercial deal with the spray-on abs company. It’s not his dream job, but it’s a step in the right direction. And thanks to the six-figure paycheck, he’s no longer embarrassed to be recognized as the spray-on abs guy. Besides, he’s also now moonlighting as a romance novel cover model. It pays surprisingly well.
We still compete, in ways big and small. Whose game idea will sell the best. Which book cover featuring his abs will be the most popular. Who will catch the largest trout, as I’ve developed my own love of fishing. How many rum punches it will take for me to turn frisky. (Hint: not many.) Game nights mean Charlie and I are always on the same team, because Tess and Nate refuse to participate otherwise, citing our competitive intensity as frightening.
I’ve finally gotten the thing I always wanted but Tess intended never to oblige, a weekly double date with our respective partners. And Charlie has become and remains my safe place. He knows my ugliest thoughts and not only loves me anyway but helps love them out of me.
I’m surprised when Charlie shows up at my door on a seemingly random Tuesday evening, wearing a button-down shirt and holding a bouquet of black roses.
Finn gives me a hello butt waggle and lick of my bare shin from the hallway, then pushes past me into my apartment. He now travels back and forth between Charlie’s place and mine, assuming the space as one extensive doggy suite.
“What’s all this?” I ask.
Charlie cups my elbow with his free hand, grazes my cheek with a kiss before entering. He goes to the kitchen and effortlessly grabs the vase from the top of the refrigerator, the one I have to climb onto the counter to reach.
“It’s a special night,” he says, smiling secretively.
“What’re you up to?”
He shakes his head as he fills the vase at my kitchen sink, before removing the paper wrap from the bouquet and arranging the flowers in the vase.
“Table?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nightstand.” I want to see them as I drift off to sleep and as soon as I wake up.
He grins in acknowledgment and I watch him carry the vase into the bedroom. I’m tempted to follow him in there. I don’t know our plans for this evening, but certainly a quickie wouldn’t derail them too much.
He’s back in the living room before I can attack, glancing at his watch. “We should head out,” he says as he reaches the door and opens it for me.
“Can you tell me where we’re going?”
He shakes his head. “Can’t. Sorry.”
“Am I at least dressed appropriately?” I look down at my cornflower-blue maxi dress and sandals. It’s one of the only nights I haven’t been pinned to my kitchen table working on Revenge Cheese. My team of three doesn’t yet require an office, not when Marv’s best table is consistently reserved for us on the occasions we meet in person.
“Perfectly,” he affirms. “But grab a coat.”
We say our goodbyes to Finn and step into the hallway.
In the elevator, I’m about to push the button for the subfloor parking garage, but he beats me to the pad and presses the one for the street.
“We’re walking?”
He holds his hands together in front of him, rubbing in small circles. “Mm-hmm.”
There are only so many places within walking distance of my apartment. Marv’s. Tess’s. My dry cleaners. All great spots, but hardly surprise-worthy locations.
We stroll for a few blocks. The early October weather is unseasonably balmy and it reminds me a bit of the sticky evenings in Turks. We’re already planning our return to paradise, timed to the release of Arsonist Betty late next year. Just as I’m about to try and wheedle our destination out of him, he stops.
“We’re here,” he says, grabbing the door handle.
I look up at the bar where we first met. It only occurs to me now that, somehow, we haven’t been back since that night.
He raises his eyebrows at me as if it’s a dare to walk in and find out what awaits me inside.
I take the bait, of course. Every gamer knows you’ve gotta see what’s behind the gateway. He holds the door open and I enter, surprised by what I find.
Music plays from the ceiling speakers and a waiter holds a tray with two champagne glasses atop it as if he’s been stationed there for however long it might take us to arrive. A bartender stands at attention behind the bar. But otherwise, the place is entirely empty. Not empty as in, there are a few people scattered throughout, but it will likely pick up as the evening goes on. Rather, we are the only two people, outside of the waiter and bartender, here.
I look to Charlie, who simply shrugs.
“Sloane!” The voice comes from the back room and out bounds Tess, arms outstretched, champagne in hand. She makes contact aggressively, her fingertips pressing into my shoulder blades as she embraces me.
“What’s going on?” I ask when she pulls away.
“I have no idea. Nate wouldn’t tell me anything.” Man Bun (I still primarily refer to him this way, to his face and otherwise) joins her side, gives Charlie a shoulder pat in greeting.
“Did you know I was going to be here?” I ask her.
“No! Did you know? About me?”
I shake my head.
“Why’s there no one else here?” Tess inquires to no one in particular.
Charlie’s and Nate’s faces, I notice, hold identical mischief.
“Somebody better tell me what’s happening here,” Tess demands.
Just when I think Tess will nut-punch one or both of them, a familiar song billows through the speakers. I stare at Charlie, whose smile has overtaken his whole face. “Give me the Beach Boys and free my soul . . .”
Is this what I think it is?
It’s then I fully take in what is happening.
A proposal.
But it’s not Charlie who’s bending down on one knee before us. It’s Nate. There, band secured between Nate’s thumb and index finger, is the diamond Tess never wanted.
She squeals in delight—in such roaring joy—that if I mention it later, she will wholeheartedly deny it. It doesn’t matter though, I’ll always know the truth.
Tess has joined Nate on the ground, her hands sandwiching his face, foreheads pressed together. Nate’s entire proposal is whispered into Tess’s ear, intimate and just for them.
Charlie sniffs beside me.
“Are you crying, you sap?” I whisper.
“No,” he says, though he doesn’t turn away when he swipes at his eye with his index finger. Then, Charlie squeezes my hand and whispers in my ear, “Happy anniversary.”
I look up at him after Nate has slid the ring onto Tess’s finger, and the two members of the wait staff applaud. “Our anniversary isn’t for another six weeks.”
“This is the night we first met. Here,” he says, his eyes circling the room.
It all clicks. The night we met is also the night Tess and Nate met . . . as I was kissing a then-stranger. The song that was playing—our song—is also the song that was playing when Tess and Nate met. Also their song.
I squeeze Charlie’s hand.
Tess is mostly emitting high-pitched squeals now, ones that remind me of Finn when he’s excited for a walk. She’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her. My best friend, who denounced love, relationships, and anything remotely sappy, is the most electrified newly engaged woman I could ever imagine.
Love suits her.
I watch my best friend as she laughs, eyes closed and chin tilted to the ceiling, wrapping her arms around Nate’s neck in a vulnerable embrace. This, my best friend who a year ago would have indeed nut-punched anyone who asserted she might be engaged soon. She was afraid too. Like me, guarded. Skeptical. But she dropped all that bulky casing for the guy who could help her set it down.
We spend the evening drinking and dancing in the bar that is all ours. It’s a night I will never forget and a hell of a way for Charlie and me to spend our first anniversary, though we will probably argue indefinitely about what our real anniversary date actually is. The first night we met, or the night we made it official at my parents’ vow renewal?
When Charlie and I collapse into my bed, it’s nearly two a.m. I roll onto my side, his bouquet of black roses on the nightstand beside me. Charlie scoots closer, cuddles in behind me. He’s so damn cold. It feels good against the blaring heat he insists on dialing my thermostat up to no matter the temperature outside.
“Did you have fun tonight?” he murmurs into my ear.
“An insane amount of fun. How long have you known about this?”
“Awhile. I went ring-shopping with Nate and helped him reserve the bar for tonight. It was really hard to keep it from you.”
“It was perfect. I’m so happy for them.”
“Are you disappointed it wasn’t us?”
I turn to face him. “What?”
“I was afraid you’d think this was all for you tonight, that you’d be disappointed when you realized it wasn’t. I debated not taking you, or telling you, but Nate insisted Tess would want you there and that it should be a surprise so you could share in her excitement.”
“He was right,” I say. “And no, I’m not disappointed. I’m happy, Charlie. Really happy. I don’t want or need anything to change right now.”
He smiles—not one of relief, but rather it looks like love. “That’s good,” he says, his voice low and grumbly. “I was afraid Satan Sloane was gonna make an appearance.”
I shake my head and scoot my body farther into his. “She’s reserved for just the bedroom now.”
He circles his eyes around the room markedly. “Lucky for me, we seem to be in one.”
I take him in as if for the first time, light from the streetlamp beyond my bedroom window curling in around the edges of the linen shade. The almost unnoticeable indent of skin that hugs the curve of the right side of his neck, the remnant of a dog bite when he was six. The muscle that presses out against the line of his jaw. The slightly uneven edges of his cheek dimple. The details of him that can only be seen this close. That can only be known by careful study. His eyes have a searching quality that mirrors mine. Then, he lifts his tattooed wrist to my hair, cups my chin with his other hand, and kisses me. He continues his kiss, slow and deliberate. As he does, he positions his hand around me and we roll together so he’s now on top of me. His kiss grows stronger, hungrier, and I eagerly respond. His erection seems to come in an instant, as if he’s been fighting it off all evening and is just finally giving in.
We are out of our matching pairs of men’s boxers in an instant, and his hands slide up and down as he enters me with firm desire. We find our rhythm, one quickly burned into the memory of our muscles like fingers finding the keys to a song once mastered on the piano. Mostly we fuck, but tonight, we make love with the passion of a year and a night like this one.
I wrap my legs around his waist and lift my hips as a final reward.
After we’ve recovered, Charlie curls against me once more and envelops me tightly in his arms. When I hear the slight shift in his breathing that indicates sleep, I gently push him over to his half of the bed, because, who can really sleep like that all night? I close my eyes soon after, the black rose bouquet the last thing my eyes register before I do.
I’m fully aware this thing with Charlie may not work out. In fact, everything logical in me tells me it won’t. We’re technically each other’s rebound. We might blaze fast and furious and eventually die out like a shooting star. I am, after all, someone who spends my life planning for an inevitable end.
I think about it far less than I used to though—how society tightropes on the most delicate balance imaginable. How so many things have to work in unison to keep us from slipping into anarchy. This newfound faith in the world, in humanity, in love—it’s because of him. That in a not so perfect world, there are things that can still be profoundly right.
And maybe, just maybe, there doesn’t have to be an end this time. I open my eyes groggily to admire his sleeping face. As we glide one sleep closer to a possible end, I know I could leave this whole world behind to be with him and it would be more than enough. It would be everything.