Asleep

22 You Can Tell Us

Nora~~

Wrapped in a blanket forced on me by Charlie—he keeps tugging it back into place whenever I let it fall—I sit on Tye's couch, staring at the black screen of the TV, Charlie on my left, Tye on my right.

         None of us know what to say. The only explanation Charlie gave Tye was that I "had a bad day."

         When Charlie saw me open my mouth to argue that I did in fact not have a bad day, he sent me a warning glare.

         Tye's phone buzzes. He picks it up. "Radia's on her way home from work. I'll let her know to come by."

         "I'm fine really."

         Charlie shifts, his leg bumping up against mine through the blanket, and I contemplate driving my leg into his just to watch him wince. "No, you aren't."

         "Why are you still here?"

         "I'm making sure you're going to be okay."

         I press my palms against my eyelids, blocking the world out. "You are my boss." In the darkness I see chrysanthemums. Not the ones planted in the conservatory but somewhere else. When I reached out toward that chrysanthemum, I didn't see the conservatory that surrounded me. I saw a sidewalk, part of a door hidden in an alcove, and beside the sidewalk berry red chrysanthemums in full bloom.

         I knew exactly where I was. Who it was that planted the flowers, but seconds later I was back in the conservatory reaching out to the flower, and whatever I knew, whatever I realized in that moment was gone.

         And maybe I freaked Charlie out, but he's overreacting. Especially with all this "we can't be alone together" nonsense, which he never explained how me being "different" has anything to do with that. If he has a problem being alone with me then he'll have to fire me because my job keeps us alone together for hours every day.

         Charlie sounds bitter when he answers me. "Does that mean I can't be worried about you?"

         "Well, you can't be alone with me, so you tell me."

         Tye stands, the couch shifting without his weight. "I'm going to give you two privacy."

         "No!" Charlie and I both say.

         I peel off the blanket and throw it on Charlie. "I don't care if you're my boss. You're being ridiculous." I didn't mention to him when my clothes were suddenly dry. I didn't even bring up the car that followed us to the conservatory. I didn't ask clever questions. "All I did was mention something that someone named Mom did, and you wrap me up in a blanket. What is a blanket supposed to do?"

         He stares at me, his mouth a hard line.

         Tye's tucked himself into a corner of the room, typing on his phone. "Who's Mom?" he asks, and Charlie's face pales.

         "I don't know," I say at the same time Charlie says, "No one."

         "I have some chicken I need to get on the stove, so"—Tye jabs his thumb toward the kitchen—"I'm going to do that."

         He leaves, and Charlie and I sit in silence, the blanket lying in his lap.

         I don't trust him not to lie. I know he keeps the truth from me. I trust him though not to hurt me, which is why I don't understand why he doesn't want us alone.

         Maybe he's afraid of me—wouldn't that be something? Charlie intimidated by me?

         The only sounds in the apartment come from Tye messing around in the kitchen—pots and pans clanging—and Charlie's soft breathing. He's so close, his arms mere centimeters from mine. I'm still in his shirt, and that is enough to make me feel some embarrassment about getting angry with him. Maybe his intentions are good. Just misplaced.