She’s the best little sister I could ask for.
I reply with a thanks and then get up. I try to devote one day a week to getting shit done, and it’s usually on the day I don’t work. Then the house is somewhat cleaned, groceries are stocked, and my laundry is done and, well, not folded and put away if I’m being honest. But at least the clean pile is separate from the dirty, right?
Going the extra mile today—because the house needs it, not because I’m distracting myself from thinking about Charlie—I strip my bed, put on fresh sheets and then dust and vacuum my room. I do the same to the guest room. There are two more bedrooms upstairs, but one is set up like a game room and the other is rather empty and is just used for storage. It was staged as a little girl’s room when this house was the model home for the neighborhood, and the walls are still a pale pink with an accent wall of polka-dot wallpaper.
Impressed with myself and how clean the house looks, I go downstairs, finish my laundry, and then wash dishes. I never understood when people wanted to downsize so they wouldn’t have so much housework to do, but now I get it. This house is meant for a family of four or five and has a full, partly finished basement that Logan and I converted into a theatre room the year before he moved out.
I’m mostly in the kitchen, living room, and bedroom. I don’t know the last time anyone even sat at the formal dining room table, and I don’t do too much work at home in the office. I’ve considered selling this place before, though since Logan and I bought it together, it would only be right to split the profit with him.
We got a good deal on it since our dad built it and it was a model home for a few years before we moved in. People trampled through here during several Parade Of Homes events, resulting in nicks and scratches on the walls as well as one huge scratch in the hardwood in the foyer. To this day, we have no idea how that happened, and I’ve successfully kept the mark hidden under an area rug.
The rest of the damage was cosmetic and has been fixed, and this house is too much space for me and me alone. But I like it here and it’s home, and I suppose in the back of my mind I held onto the hope that I’d settle down and start a family of my own as well. Though I knew there was only one way that was happening.
There was only one woman in this whole fucking world I want to spend the rest of my life with, and she’s—
Texting me right now?
I glance down at the preview of the text that just popped up on my phone. It’s from a number with an area code I don’t recognize. I unlock my phone at record speed to read the rest of the message.
Unknown: Hey, Owen. It’s Charlie. I ran into Quinn on my lunch break and got your number from her. Do you still want to do dinner?
I read the text three times, not sure I’m believing what I’m reading. Inhaling deep, I type out my reply.
Me: Yeah, I’d like that. What time do you get off work?
Three little dots pop up right away. I stare at the phone, heart in my throat, as I wait for her to reply. I’m pathetic, I know, but this woman gets under my skin without even trying.
Charlie: I can be there around six-thirty. Can I bring my cat?
Me: Is that code for a sex-thing?
Charlie: We’re having dinner as FRIENDS, remember? And no, it’s a “my sister’s dogs won’t leave the cat alone” thing.
Me: I don’t mind if you bring the cat.
Charlie: Thank you so much.
Me: You can thank me later.
Charlie: Don’t make me change my mind.
She sends an eye rolling GIF after that, which I top with a crazy cat lady meme. A laughing emoji comes through after that, and then nothing. Assuming she went back to work, I spring back into action, cleaning the rest of the house as fast as I can. I need to go to the grocery store, and I have no fucking idea what some of these steps in the recipe Quinn sent even mean.
I spend about half an hour watching YouTube cooking videos and then rush out to buy what I need to make dinner. With a full cart, I pass by the wine on my way to the register and grab three bottles of the red wine Charlie likes. At least that hasn’t changed. I remember the first time we snuck wine from the pantry at my parents’ house.