One Touch | Charlie Gillespie

F I F T E E N

"Would you be mad if I kiss you?"

He pulls out a picnic basket from behind the pillows.

It's all filled with fruit. He knows I like strawberries, so that's the first food he offers. He has also prepared some snacks, like mini muffins. He has even thought about the drinks, which is champagne in dignified wine glasses with a sugar rim at the top.

Charlie pours in the champagne as I lean
back comfortably and pull the strawberry leaf off before biting into it, causing the strawberry juice to spread in my mouth. "Mmm, these are good," I mumble, munching the fruit and licking my fingers after I swallowed it. "I know, I got them from the greengrocer in town. The salesman said they came fresh from the garden." He hands me the glass of champagne and leans back as well, sipping his drink before something snaps in his mind and his eyes go wide.

"Oh crap, I forgot the thing about the champagne...", he says, pointing at the glass in my hand as he scratches his neck, a wave of panic flashing through his body. I raise an eyebrow, not knowing what he's referring to, and he struggles to continue. "Well, that night you had the tantrum, you drank a little too much—"

"Champagne?" I interrupt him and smile softly at his concern. He nods silently and I shake my head, grab his hand and run my thumb tenderly over it. "Charlie, just because I was stupid enough to pop open that bottle doesn't mean every time I drink champagne reminds me of that night."

"Yeah it's just... I don't wanna make you feel uncomfortable. That's all." I nod but decide to drop the subject. I don't think it's necessary to talk about my problems right now, especially on our first date. It feels like my problems are all we've talked about since it happened, despite a few stories he had shared in between the conversations about the tantrum. But now, I just want to hear more about him, about his childhood, his family— everything.

I tilt my head back with the glass of champagne raised to my lips, letting the refreshing, refined taste of alcohol run down my throat. "So," I begin after swallowing the sip. "What about your family? How're they like?"

"You really wanna know about my family? 'Cause I can tell you, that'll take a while," he says as he grabs a muffin. I smile, curiosity taking over my mind, dying to know with whom he grew up with and what his childhood was like. "We've got the time."

He looks at me, little lights of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Okay then. Well, you already know I'm one of five siblings. We grew up along with music. My parents taught us every instrument that can be played, and every song that can be heard. My mom always called us 'The Gillespie Five'." He pauses and smiles at the memory of the nickname his mother had coined for the five of them. "And you know, the usual stuff. My brothers and I used to joke about our little sister, and then she would run to my mom with tears in her eyes, and we would laugh because we had made her cry."

"Oh, you were that kind of brother," I say with a laugh. He shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, but they're my older brothers as well, so when Meg was just a baby and too young to make fun of, I was their target. They fooled me all the time." He shrugs again and waves away the less fun part about his childhood. "But that's just the way it is with siblings. How about you?"

I pause to think of another lie I could use so that I wouldn't have to tell my pathetic, unhappy childhood story. When someone asks how I grew up, I usually come up with some typical, perfect family story that is far removed from the real story. But as I see Charlie sitting to my right, playing with the muffin cup while he waits to hear what I'm going to say, his brows raised and his eyes wide with curiosity, I realized I couldn't lie to Charlie and that I don't want to either. So in this moment, I decide to drop the perfect family story and tell the real one.