26. Glass Houses
Adam was about to leave the next morning when Ryan turned up, beating on the door like he was trying to bash it down. I knew it was Ryan because he’d called ahead, warning Adam to stay put until he got there.
“Dick,” muttered Adam, heading toward the door to let him in.
As soon as the door opened, he stormed in, waving a stack of papers at his younger brother. “Do you have any idea how much money you’ve just cost us?”
Adam didn’t seem at all bothered. He closed the door, strolled past Ryan and headed to the kitchen. I remained on the couch, trying to figure out what was going on. Maybe Adam had looted his apartment again and forgotten to tell me. “I didn’t cost us anything.”
His lax tone infuriated Ryan, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. His ensuing tirade gave me a chance to work out the source of his rage.
The liquor license for the new restaurant hadn’t come through. Adam was supposed to organise it. Ryan contacted the liquor authority to chase it up – only to find out there was no record of an application ever being lodged.
“You put the opening back another two weeks, Adam. All because you never got the paperwork in!”
“Ryan, I posted it days ago.”
The growing pit in my stomach was torturing me. Adam wasn’t lying. As far as he knew, it had been sent. He’d given me an envelope to post a few mornings earlier when I was on my way out the door. Once I’d slipped it into my coat pocket, I hadn’t given it another thought.
I was forgetful, but not a coward. I walked to my coat and reached into the pocket, retrieving the envelope. “I’m so sorry. I forgot all about it.”
Ryan snatched it out of my hand and began waving it at me. “Way to go, Tinker Bell. You’ve just cost us thousands in lost revenue.”
Adam snatched the envelope from Ryan and thumped it against his chest. “Leave her alone,” he warned. “It’s not her fault.”
“It’s absolutely her fault,” Ryan insisted, following up with an angry French diatribe.
“English!” My demand fell on deaf ears. Adam joined the French squabble, raising his voice to match his brother’s.
I couldn’t stand it. Knowing Adam was bordering being late for his first class of the day, I grabbed his coat and thrust it at him. “Go!”
“No. He can go,” he replied, gesturing to his brother with an upward nod.
I turned my attention to Ryan. “Get out.”
“No,” he snapped.
“What do you want from me, Ryan? Blood?” I yelled, exasperated. “I said I was sorry.”
“You are a square peg, Charlotte,” said Ryan. “Sooner or later, you’re going to realise that New York – and everything in it – is a round hole.”
“Enough,” chided Adam.
“No, it’s fine.” I kept my eyes firmly on Ryan. “Let him get it off his chest.”
“I know that none of this is important to you,” growled Ryan. He waved his arms at the room, but was clearly referencing a much bigger picture. “But we can’t all live our lives being guided by astrological charts and fairy stories. Some of us have direction. Some of us grow up. You can be as scattered and ethereal as you want to be, but don’t ever let it impact on me. Got it?”
“Oh my God,” muttered Adam, appalled. “Ryan, get out.”
“She’s detrimental to your brain function, Adam!” Ryan tapped the side of his head. “Collecting seashells on a beach is where you’re going to end up. That’s all she aspires to, and you’re so besotted you’ll be right beside her, holding the bucket.”
Adam opened the door, and pointed to the foyer. Thankfully, the angry evil brother stamped out without another word. Adam slammed it behind him. He pulled me in to his arms, resting his chin on the top of my head. I could hear his heart beating – much faster than normal. It betrayed his unruffled demeanour.
I selfishly wondered if a run-in with Ryan was traumatising enough to make him stay home for the day – something I tried every morning. Trying my luck, I asked him to skive class and hang out with me.
“I can’t. You know I can’t,” he whispered.
I leaned back, untangling myself from his arms. “You should go, then. You’re going to be late.”
I didn’t crumple until Adam was gone. I took a long shower, letting the hot water stream over me until the skin on my fingers shrivelled. I used the time to work out my next move.
Until now, Ryan Décarie had always been on my side – even when I was wrong. It was beginning to seem like my life was a game that I was never going to win. The rules kept changing.
Living in New York was like owning a fabulous pair of sparkly shoes that were two sizes too big. Obviously, I was never going to grow into them. But I loved the damned shoes. I just needed to figure out how to walk in them.
***
Time alone wasn’t always good for me, but I used that day well, painting our graffitied wall back to white. The look on Adam’s face when he saw it that night wasn’t one of approval. He seemed to take it personally, as if erasing the writing meant the dreams were gone too.
“Why, Charli?” he asked, slumping on the couch. “If this is because of something Ryan said –”
“I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.”
“Then why?”
I wriggled into his arms and rested my head on his chest, staring at the stark white wall before answering. “Too many people have seen it. Your mother has seen it. She thinks I’m disturbed. Those words were meant only for us.”
“She does not think you’re disturbed.”
If only you knew, I thought, unwilling to venture further into a conversation about the queen.
“Ryan saw it too. That’s why he called me Tinker Bell.”
Adam absently wound a lock of my hair around his fingers while he mused. It was his version of the airhead twirl. “Considering how angry he was, he could have called you much worse. You got off lightly.”
“I’m glad you found it amusing,” I replied.
“I found it intolerable, Charlotte,” he said, grimacing. “And I can guarantee it won’t ever happen again.”
“So can I. I don’t need you to fight my battles.”
Adam pulled me in close again. “Why does everything have to be a battle?”
If only he knew.
***
Avoiding Ryan might have been easier if I’d stayed away from Nellie’s, but hanging out with Bente occasionally, setting tables before dinner service, helped preserved my sanity. She was the only person privy to every little thing that went on with my life. Sadly, Bente knew more than Adam.
“I told you he’s a jerk. Don’t take it so personally” said Bente on hearing the details of Ryan’s rant. “He didn’t have to be mean. He just likes to be mean.”
I had no option but to agree with her, but felt incredibly sad about it. Team Charli could hardly afford to be losing members.
“Yeah, well, I won’t put up with it.”
“Are you planning to talk to him about it?”
Abandoning the place settings, I stared across the table at her, shocked that she’d even asked the question. “I wouldn’t waste my breath on Ryan Décarie.”
“You might want to leave now, then,” she suggested, pointing behind me with the forks in her hand.
I turned to see Ryan on his way through the front door.
“What’s he doing here?” I sounded more panicked than irate.
“He owns the place,” Bente pointed out. “He comes here almost as often as you do.”
I wanted to bolt, but refused to give him the pleasure. Instead I continued setting the table. Following my lead, Bente offloaded the stack of forks she was holding and began fussing with the already perfectly placed white napkins.
Ryan appeared by my side a second later, greeting us both cheerily – like the argument we’d had a few days earlier had never happened. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
Knowing I had nothing pleasant to say, I ignored him. Bente was more forgiving. “How are you, Ryan?”
He frowned across the table at her, probably trying to figure out the reason for her smile. “Great. Why?”
Dishing out the silent treatment was impossible for me. I dropped my stack of cutlery, making the entire four-place setting rattle. “There is something seriously wrong with you,” I growled.
“What am I missing here?” he asked, eyes darting between Bente and me.
“A sense of decency, a conscience – shall I continue?”
“Okay, I’m out of here,” announced Bente, throwing both hands in the air and backing away. She slipped through the kitchen doors, leaving me alone with the object of my wrath.
“Is this about the other day?” he asked, infuriating me even more. “I was angry, Charli.”
“And that makes it alright? You said some terrible things to me.”
“I was angry.” He said it slowly, as if I’d misunderstood him the first time.
I looked straight at him, speaking as slowly as he had. “There is just no good in you.”
“Look, if I’m the reason for your black little mood – “
I’d heard enough. I cut his condescending sentence short by pushing past him and making a dash for the front door.
“Stop, Charlotte,” he ordered as I made a grab for the door handle. Heeding his obnoxious demand was weak but I did it anyway, turning to face him. “Your feelings are hurt.”
“You think?”
“I’m sorry.” His words sounded strange. I imagine it was because he’d never said them out loud before. “Charli, I was upset with you. It doesn’t mean anything.”
I begged to differ. “You meant everything you said.”
“I didn’t mean any of it.”
I had to accept that Ryan truly didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. I didn’t really believe there was no good in him. Some days it just seemed that way.
“Bente was right,” I said, making another grab for the door handle. “You’re a dick.”
“Wait – Bente thinks I’m a dick?”
I turned back to face him, smiling because I couldn’t help myself. “She absolutely does, Ryan.”
His handsome face looked so crestfallen that I almost felt sorry for him. “That’s terrible news. How do I fix that?”
“Hello,” I cooed, clicking my fingers at him. “One drama at a time, please.”
He ignored me, still stuck on his train of thought. “I like Bente.”
It was laughable. The man with the biggest vocabulary in history had been reduced to three word sentences. “Whatever shall you do?”
My jibe was wasted on him. He was barely listening. After a few seconds, he walked toward the kitchen, whacking the doors with both hands as he pushed them open.
I was too curious to leave – even at the risk of appearing pathetic for staying put. He crashed back through the swinging doors just a minute later, looking as smug as I’d ever seen him. “Your fairy powers of perception are wrong, Tinker Bell.” I scowled at the nickname. “Bente just agreed to go out to dinner with me.”
I bit down on my lip, determined to hide the fact that I was secretly pleased. “Where are you planning to take her?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out when she calls and tells you all about it.”
“Better make it good then,” I told him, pulling the front door open.
“Charli,” he called. I turned around. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry I hurt your feelings.”
I believed him, but he had a long way to go before I’d let him think he was forgiven. “It changes nothing, Ryan. You’re still a dick.”
I walked out of Nellie’s feeling slightly vindicated. Ryan Décarie would probably never change his ways. But girls who live in glass houses probably shouldn’t throw stones.