“It’s hard to justify your inattention when Paul is taking calls during his wife’s C-section right now.”
“That’s crazy, Bob,” I snap, because apparently I have more respect for my literal nemesis than myself. Sure, I can’t stomach Paul, but I know he’s obsessed with his wife and it has to bekillinghim that he’s putting out minor administrative legal fires while she’s giving actualbirth. “You hear how that sounds, right? That shouldn’t be expected of him, and he shouldn’t feel like he needs to do that to earn your respect.”
I brace myself for impact. I’ve never spoken this way to Bob before. Ever. I’vefantasizedabout it. I’ve imagined the shade of red he would turn if challenged—vermillion—but I’ve never once been anyone to him besides Corporate Shill Charlotte Beekman, Attorney at Law. I accept his abuse with a decisive nod and then I beg for seconds. Bob knows that Ballbuster Charley exists somewhere deep,deepdown—he relies on her—but I suppose he assumed I was too much of a kiss-ass to ever unleash her on him.
All these years I’ve worked for him, I’ve never taken a true sick day where I wasn’t sniffling through conference calls. On my honeymoon, I wassoavailable remotely that, to this day,no one at A & G even knows Ihada honeymoon. Still, Bob is ready to lambaste me for taking a three-day weekend for my own sister’s wedding.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be enough for the Bobs and Pamelas of the world, and for the first time, I’m questioning whether I want to be. My best-case scenario is that in five years,I’mthe person dressing down a twentysomething for daring to take a day off.
Bob’s pause is interminable. My pulse trips on each of his hard breaths.
If he’s playing pickleball right now, I swear to god…
“We’ll discuss whatever’s going on with you and your attitude the second you’re back in the office, Ms. Beekman. For now, I need you to do your job and pick up your—”
“You’re cutting out, Bob,” I interrupt.
“Charlotte?”
“Are you there, Bob? It’s the service out here. I can’t hear anything,” I lie. I can hear his nose whistling with each incensed inhalation.
“Charlotte!”
“Good luck with AgriTech.” And then I end the call.
A week ago, Bob’s weaponized incompetence would’ve sent me straight back to the office, wedding be damned. But now my blood is surging through my veins. Hanging up on a boss must rank somewhere between a jolt of adrenaline and a radioactive spider bite. I feel…good. Really good. Powerful even! Until my phone starts ringing again…so I do the unthinkable: I turn my phone off.
A text from Stacy pops up on my home screen as I power my phone down:Found Rich’s Zola website. It’s a January wedding at the Como Park conservatory. BLEH.
My first thought as I watch the screen turn black is,I bet that’ll be nice.
After the years I’ve spent diligently following five-year plan after five-year plan, so preoccupied with the direction I’m headed in, I’veearnedthis detour. One weekend of uncomplicated fun with someone I know will drive off into the sunset. So long as I’m out here, in the woods and off the grid, I need to just…be.
I stuff my phone into my pocket and practically sprint back to the campsite, wanting only to be near Ethan and, for once, not caring about all the reasons it could never be us. I want him to hug me like he did when we were kids and the world was moving too fast. When it felt like he was the only one who could hold my feet to the ground. I want him to kiss me and touch me for no reason other than that it feels good.
But he’s not there when I get back. I see only Harlow and Laurel.
“Charley!” Laurel calls out first. Then her tear-streaked face emerges from between the trees.
I run to her without a second thought. “What’s wrong?” My voice shakes.
“I can’t get married today!” She grabs me by the shoulders.
Equal parts heartache and relief war in my belly as I pull her into my arms.
“I’ve got you,” I promise her. “Whatever you need.”
Chapter 16
In Search of a Good Time or a Minister
Sunday, Now
Before my sistercanRunaway Bride, I pull her in tight. “We can leave right now.”
“No.” She presses her damp cheek against my ear. “I don’t want to do it somewhere else. I wanted to do it here, but we can’t with Jonah’s swamp feet.”
“Yeah, but—” It occurs to me that I have no idea what my sister is talking about. “Swamp feet?”
