Lucy just laughs, and once we’re in her car we barely stop to catch our breath as we spill every detail of the last week at each other.
My phone buzzes on my lap when we’re halfway back to my place.
Lucy glances at it. “Who’s that?”
And right there on the screen, in the text notification that’s just appeared, is the honeypot emoji, followed by the words: You were right—I’m missing you already x
apartment #6 – ethan
Chapter Forty-two
It’s automatic, the way I roll over, my arm reaching out for Charlotte.
I jolt awake, remembering, and snatch up my phone. I just got a text message—that’s what woke me up.
It’s her.
Charlotte’s text is just letting me know she’s on her way back home now, and she’ll see me soon. She adds some kissy-face emojis and a string of X s and O s. I rub the sleep out of my eyes with one hand, already texting back with the other to say I can’t wait to see her.
I can’t.
She’s coming home.
I don’t even care how needy and clingy I seem, if it makes me a loser or anything like that. None of that matters, because Charlotte is on her way home, and she said yes.
Fuck, I can’t believe I’m engaged.
I can’t believe she drove all the way here to tell me she’d seen the video, and to tell me yes. I can’t believe practically everyone in the damn building came out to witness it.
Well, I guess I wanted some iconic, unforgettable proposal.
After I reply to Charlotte, I scroll quickly through the barrage of notifications that have pinged through overnight. New Patreon patrons, new subscribers, a few creators I like who’ve tagged me on Twitter saying how much they love Dear Charlotte. I risk opening up YouTube, and see hundreds of new comments waiting for me to scroll through. A quick glance reassures me they’re overwhelmingly positive, which is a relief.
I open my email, thinking I’ll clear a few things out of my inbox, delete the most recent junk mail, and a couple of emails catch my eye. One from a company selling photography and video I initially assume is junk, another from a nerdy subscription box company with the subject Collab.
And I was worried accidentally uploading the wrong video would ruin my career. At least some brands don’t think so.
I know I should already be bolstered enough by the simple, brilliant fact that I’m engaged now, but the response online, those emails, the tweets from people I admire, definitely gives me a considerable boost.
I set my phone back down and get up, kicking the sheets to the bottom of the bed and stretching, then grabbing up my glasses. I make my way to the kitchen before correcting my routine, taking a shower first instead.
Charlotte’s not going to be here for a couple of hours, and it’s not like any of this should be a big deal, but it is. Once I’m dressed, I head out—out for the first time in days, beyond the balcony, a shopping list ready on my phone.
There’s nobody around when I go downstairs, which is in itself a little unnerving; after the last week, I think I was half expecting to see Mr. Harris here signing people in and out, giving out face masks and hand sanitizer. I grab the door handle hesitantly, almost surprised when it’s not locked.
I’m pretty sure I’ll have forgotten what a luxury this feels like in a week. But for now, nothing can bring me down. I’m outside. I’m engaged! I’m a goddamn viral sensation. I’m unstoppable. I could swear everything looks brighter, smells sharper, but I’m not sure if that’s because I haven’t left my apartment in so long or because I’m in such a good mood.
Maybe the way I’d planned to propose didn’t go exactly the way I wanted it to, but I still want to make this weekend special for her, as much as I can. I end up filling the cart with a few extras: some chocolate chip cookies, fresh from the bakery I know she likes; smoked salmon; eggs; and an avocado so I can make her a fancy breakfast tomorrow. I stop by the booze aisle, reaching for a bottle of prosecco before catching myself, and grabbing a Mo?t & Chandon with wild abandon.
It’s not like extra special champagne can spoil the surprise now, right?
It’s a long walk home, and I probably (definitely) shouldn’t have gone so overboard. It’s warm out today, and between that, the weight of the shopping, and the fact that I’m not exactly what you’d call athletically inclined, I need another shower by the time I get back.
I spend some time trying to tame my hair, even though it’s a fairly useless effort. It stands up and out and across in a puffy mess. One of these days, I’ll bother to spend some money—and time—investing in some hair products that might make my hair a little less . . . well.
Just less.
Giving up on my hair, I notice a bruise on my forehead where I fell off the sofa yesterday. That’s going to look great in the selfies I know Charlotte will want to take, I think, grimacing.
I raid the makeup she left behind, experimenting with dabbing on some concealer. I accidentally use some highlighter the first time, though, ending up with a sparkly forehead.
“Maddox, you look like a fucking unicorn,” I mutter at myself in the mirror, turning at an angle to see the bump on my head, now shining in the daylight. I scrub it off and try again, pleased when I’m a little more successful this time—even if it does look a bit orange-y.
I potter around the apartment, but I already tidied and cleaned it up yesterday afternoon. There’s not really anything else to do.
I check on Find My Friends, but Charlotte’s still a while away.
Agitated, I sit on the sofa to play video games, but I can’t even focus on Animal Crossing for more than five minutes. My knees are bouncing and I feel sick with excitement. I go through some of my notifications; the proposal video is still gaining traction.
Charlotte giggled over the phone to me yesterday when I apologized and said I’d take it down. “Don’t be silly! People love it. It’s really cute, Ethan. I don’t mind if you want to leave it up.”
Now, I move to my computer, pulling up the YouTube Studio page, hovering over the trash icon beside the Dear Charlotte video ready to delete it.
I can still hear Charlotte’s giggle echoing in my ears, see the way she grinned up at me from the grass outside.
The only reason I was so devastated the video got out was because it ruined all my (not very) carefully laid proposal plans.
And Charlotte’s right—people do seem to really love it. I’ve noticed, maybe, like, a couple hundred or so trolls or mean comments—which is basically nothing, in the context of the number of views and comments the video has.
I move the mouse away from the Delete button, and turn on my camera instead.
I clear my throat, smooth back my hair, and start talking.