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I took up my fork and started to eat. Slowly. Mindful that I wasn’t alone for the first time in four months.
The food was simple; nothing fancy or professional about it, but it was the best breakfast I had eaten in what felt like years. An ache clenched my heart so hard I nearly gasped. Companionship. Someone in my space, touching me, talking to me, just sitting next to me and sharing a meal, as if I were whole.
But I wasn’t.
I reached for the orange juice and nearly knocked the damn glass over, catching it just in time. A splatter hit my wrist, but I thought that was the extent of the damage.
“Nice save.” Charlotte put a napkin in my hand.
“It’s not the stuff of miracles.” I wiped off my hand and tossed the napkin down. “That’s twice in one morning. Ridiculous.”
“You’re just out of practice,” Charlotte said. “And it doesn’t help that this house isn’t set up for you. Not really. The furniture is all in your way and aglasscoffee table? With sharp corners?”
I could imagine her shaking her head in disapproval.
“Not to mention, every single drinking glass in these cabinets is tall and skinny or some sort of fragile crystal-wareI’mafraid of breaking. You need some of those short, fat little glasses that can take more than a finger bump to knock over.”
I was at a loss. I’d been nothing but a complete jackass to her, but she didn’t give up. And while some part of my shriveled little black heart warmed at her consideration, I couldn’t fathom why she was wasting her time on me.
“Why are you here?” I demanded, my head cocked to my left where she sat.
She froze in whatever it was she was doing. “Iworkhere.” Her words came out tinged with hurt.
“I meant, why the hell are you working for me and not playing for some symphony orchestra somewhere?”
“Oh.” I heard her pause, thinking, and then take up her finished dishes. Her voice moved around and then in front of me as she put them in the sink. “I’m taking a break.”
“Are you afraid you’re no good?”
“No,” she said faintly. “They called me a prodigy, once upon a time.”
I loved her honesty. No bragging, just the facts, and she had the talent to back it up. I would know; I heard proof every day between three and five. But the pain in those words… It was as if she were speaking of her talent in the past tense.
“So why not audition?”
“I’m taking a break. And if I did audition and got in, I’d have to break my lease here.” A pause. “I’d have to quit being your assistant.”
“Good.”
“Good?” No mistaking the hurt now; that one syllable was saturated. I felt the air tighten between us.
“Yeah, good, Charlotte. You don’t belong here, cleaning up my shit. You’re wasting your time.”
“Is that a fact?”
I felt a line was drawn and I was dangerously close to crossing it. I didn’t know what was wrong with me; I hardly knew her, but she was meant for something better than this. I’d heard it when she played that first day for me and every day since. There was nothing wrong with being a cleaner of messes, but it wasn’t forher. Especially if the mess was me.
“Yeah, it’s a fact.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“What’s complicated about it? Do you want to play or not?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Thenplay.”
“Oh, because it’s just that simple, right?” she snapped at me, her voice like a whip. “You’ve got all the answers. You’re a font of psychological wisdom. Fixing me is so easy. Just get me to an audition and—bam! Problem solved. As if that will help. As if you know anything.”
