“We missed this before. It’s what I should have asked you instead of being angry. But I’m asking now. Tell me everything. What’s it like?”
“It’s… it’s kind of like my soul recognizes his. It’s like we belonged to each other before we ever even met. I don’t know. I’ve never felt like this before. He just makes me feel brave. I can share the deepest, darkest parts of me, and instead of a fear of being vulnerable, I just feel honest, safe, and bold. Whenever I’m with him, time feels suspended, as if nothing else exists but us. I just look at him and feel like I’m home.”
Ben laughs in shock. “Wow.”
“What?” He must think this all sounds crazy.
“You’re not just in love, Ali. You’rereallyin love.”
I blush and smile, a full smile, from ear to ear. “I am, Ben.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“I... I…”
A soft knock at the door interrupts us. Perhaps that is for the best. I don’t know how to answer Ben’s question. I don’t know if I am going to tell Charlie how I feel. Part of me doesn’t see the point. It won’t change anything. Titanic will sink by morning and I’ll be back in Boston. Telling him I love him won’t stop any of that from happening. I think I’m scared that he won’t have the same feelings. I know we’ve shared something special these last few days, but I don’t know if he sees it the way I do, and I’m afraid to find out.
Ben grabs both my arms and looks me over. He smiles with a face full of pride, before nodding at Eric to open the door.
Charlie steps into the cabin as Eric and Sarah step out, leaving just Ben and I. Charlie smiles at me. His smile is always magnificent, but this one is magical.
“You’re beautiful,” he says as he walks toward me and takes my hand in his. Ben smiles to himself and walks toward the door to leave. He stops in front of Charlie and puts his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie looks him in the eyes. There’s a silent communication of respect between them. “Thank you, Ben.”
The door closes behind Ben, leaving just the two of us. Charlie smiles, straightens his posture, and clears his throat before extending his arm out to me.
“Miss Alice, may I escort you to dinner?” His tone is a comical parody of the formality of the first-class passengers.
“Oh, I would be delighted,” I respond, matching his theatrics. I happily take his arm and walk out to our private promenade. A selection of food from tonight’s menu, including filet, lamb, potatoes, asparagus, and fresh peaches, is arranged on a small table.
He pulls my chair out for me. It’s an act of chivalry I’ve grown used to this week, though it comes across as more sincere from him than it did from Edward. His eyes grow wide at the sight of the feast before us. “I haven’t had a meal like this in years.”
I smile, but also feel a reminder of how privileged my time on the ship has been. While lower classes dine on basics like bread and stew, I’ve eaten ten course meals with wine pairings.
I’m able to be more myself in his presence, especially now that the truth is out in the open between us. I relax my posture slightly and have my elbows on the table. Charlie unbuttons his jacket and sits down across from me. I pull the crystal comb out of my hair and let my brown waves fall loosely to my shoulders.
He scoops potatoes onto his plate as I pour us both wine. “I cook a lot at home, actually. Not anything this fancy, but I do pretty well. Ben seems to like it at least. I taught myself to cook when I was eight so I could take care of Dad. He was hopeless in the kitchen.” I laugh to myself, remembering the time Dad scorched the ceiling in the kitchen one Thanksgiving trying to make us a traditional dinner. We ended up with takeout Chinese food that year and watchedThe Wizard of Oz. It was the best holiday I can remember.
Charlie smiles, as if fondly recalling a memory. “I used to watch my mum cook. She made the most amazing roasts. It’s the thing I remember most about her, how much she loved to cook. She always gave me the best piece of crackling off the pork, even though it was her favorite part, too.”
“What about your father?”
Charlie hesitates, and I can see the pain in his face. “He… he did his best. When Mum was alive, the three of us did everything together. He taught me everything he knew about carpentry, and it was the plan that I’d take over the shop when they got older. When she passed, he and I were never the same. I take after her so much. I think looking at me was too hard for him. Part of him died when she did, and I was just a reminder of what he had lost. He closed down the shop. He couldn’t bring himself to make furniture anymore. Everything she loved he just shut out, including me. He did odd jobs to make ends meet and took up drinking heavily to pretend he wasn’t so lonely. I struggled with how much he changed. He was so angry. I was angry too. I was furious he sold the shop without even telling me. It felt like my entire life plan got tossed away without a care. Eventually, I grew tired of it, and I joined the White Star Line and started working on ships. I just wanted to get away. Far away. I was at sea when I found out he’d died. I’ll always regret that… not being there when he needed me most.”
“Charlie, I’m so sorry.” I stroke his hand gently. It breaks my heart that he felt like his father didn’t love him just because he was so similar to his mother, though I had similar feelings growing up from time to time. Physically I take after Dad. I have a lot of his features, and obviously my eyes are from his side. But he always told me a lot of my mannerisms are textbook Katherine. I have to wonder if that was hard for him. To be faced every day with a living reminder of the person who left you. It is a slight comfort to me that although our lives are quite different, Charlie and I have taken a similar path regarding the complicated relationships with our parents.
“It’s alright, love.” He smiles, but it's a sad smile. “I’ve made my peace with it. I choose to remember him now as she would have, when it was just the three of us.”
“She would be so proud of the man you are, Charlie.” He smiles, and I can tell that means the world to him. I squeeze his hand. “And I know your father would be too.” Charlie’s eyes glisten with the tiniest flecks of tears.
He clears his throat to compose himself. “What do you remember about your mother?”
“Not much, really. I was four when she left.” I exhale, tilting my head back and forth. I’m trying to think of something I remember about her that isn’t specifically linked to the day she left. “Although I suppose I remember little things, fragments of memories. She was beautiful, stylish, and fiercely independent. It’s silly, but I remember her perfume. It smelled like lilies. I used to watch her get ready in the morning and sometimes she’d lightly spritz me with her perfume, and I thought that made me so grown up and sophisticated.” I chuckle to myself as I place two fingers on my forehead and trace my eyebrows. “God, I haven’t thought about this in years. But sometimes, when I think about her, I swear I can smell her perfume. That’s crazy, right?”
“Not at all. I understand it completely. Sometimes, when I’m all alone, I feel like I can close my eyes and smell London. The wet pavement, the smoky air, the smell of a soccer pitch, I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.”
“I think sometimes, when a memory is really strong or meaningful, we wrap everything into it. The smells included, you know?” He nods in agreement. “What do you miss most about London?”
“Easy: the food.” He laughs as he points his fork down toward his plate. “But sometimes I also just miss going home to the same thing every night, you know? I like life on the sea well enough, but I miss having a home. What about you? What do you miss most about home?”
