135: And Just Like That...

November 17

“Fuck!”  Charlie unceremoniously dropped the pot in the sink, pasta sauce and all.  The splatter decorating everything within a three-foot radius would be a hassle to clean up later, but the jangle of metal on metal was the most satisfying thing she’d experienced in days.

“Damn, Charlie.  How hard is it to remember to stir from the bottom?”

Slitting perturbed eyes at Dominick over her left shoulders, she flipped the faucet on and flooded the stench of singed tomato until there was nothing left in the bottom of the pot but a thick crust that may never come out.  A hundred-dollar pot that her brother said she “needed” because it heated evenly and would reduce the chance of burning.

So much for that.

“Bite me, Dom.  I hate this, I’m bad at it and it’s one more thing to make me crazy this week.  We just had to start with Ma’s pasta sauce, didn’t we? So you could make fun of me for screwing it up.”

Folding brawny arms over his aproned chest, he regarded her with disgust.  “We started with it because I figured you couldn’t screw up that bad twice in a lifetime.  For Christ’s sake, you’re Italian!  Why can’t you keep from frying the sauce?”

“Do not yell at me!  I don’t need one more angry man in my life right now, okay?”

There were already three men filling that role. 

The climate in the house hadn’t changed much by the time the boys left for Stanford on Sunday.  Although grudgingly speaking to her, Caleb was still ticked at Charlie, and Noah was continually berating him for it.  They had two more days before their commercial flight back to the East Coast and if they had the same attitudes during their entire Fall break, she was going to lose her mind.

Their imminent return was the source of Jon’s irritation with her.  After asking him to stay in his own apartment Saturday night and being a cranky and withdrawn bitch when he came back on Sunday night, he’d decided to give her some breathing room to “figure shit out” since she wasn’t talking to him about it.  The only exception to that was last night, when he called to offer a flight home for the boys. 

It was a lovely gesture, but Charlie had just gotten off the phone with the funeral home that had Owen’s body, and they were pressuring her to decide on his final arrangements.  With his parents gone and no siblings or any family to speak of...  That left her in charge and with the boys at each other’s throats, she didn't know what to do.

Rather than telling him that, Charlie let her frustration bleed over into the refusal of Jon’s offer.  Every time she thought of snapping that getting her sons home was one thing she could actually manage to do by herself, it made her cringe. 

When she recalled his cold agreement and declaration that he’d talk to her when she wasn’t possessed by a “motherfucking demon”, cringing didn’t cover it.  Shuddering nausea was closer.

So, naturally, what did she do?  Rather than going to his place to explain and apologize for her behavior, she called Dom and asked him to come by for her first cooking lesson today.  Jon may not know it was happening or that it was for him, but suffering through Kitchen Hell was her self-imposed penance. 

“Maybe stop pissing people off, then,” her brother suggested in all his infinite wisdom, which pissed Charlie off. 

He knew what was going on with the boys, how heavily it was weighing on her and that it was the reason she wasn’t on the best terms with Jon, but it didn’t matter.  In the eyes of him and her entire family, she was the argumentative one who couldn’t stand to be wrong.  That automatically made her to blame.

“Sometimes it’s not my fault, you know!”

Unruffled by the fire-breathing dragon routine he’d seen a million times, Dom shrugged and reached behind him to untie the apron.  “Sometimes it’s not.  I agree there’s not much you could do about the boys, but as for Jon?  It’s totally your fault.  The man has gone above and beyond for you.”

The dish cloth flew from her hand into the bottom of the sink with a wet splat that didn’t begin to vent her frustration, so she turned on her brother instead.  “Don’t you think I know that?” 

“Then swallow your damn pride and do your own above and beyond for once!” 

Was there anyone who didn’t think Jon was getting the short end of the stick in this relationship?  She wasn’t that horrible of a person, for God’s sake.  Why did they all consider her some freaking curse that he was bearing? 

“He’s the reason I’m trying to learn to cook, for God’s sake!  You think I’m doing this for myself?  I’d be just as happy on takeout and microwave food for the rest of my life.”

She dumped the water out of the pot and decided to throw the stupid thing away.  Charlie simply wasn’t a Harriet Nelson or a June Cleaver.  It pained her to acknowledge that Roseanne Conner and Peggy Bundy were more her speed.

“Good.  But learn when you’re not so pissed off about doing it,” Dom suggested when turning away from the apron hook.  Crossing the kitchen, he waited for her to turn from the trash can, and then took her face in both his hands to press a kiss to her forehead.  “It’ll be dinnertime soon.  Why don’t you take him something from the restaurant along with a nice bottle of wine?”

It was true to Del Vecchio form – they gave one another hell and expected food to fix it all.  Or maybe that was just the perception of Italians in general?  Whichever it was, Charlie didn’t believe that food was the panacea for all the world’s problems.  It would be nice, but no.

“A little pasta makes it all better?”

He ignored the sarcasm to chuck her under the chin and theorize, “He’s Italian, so it sure as hell can’t hurt.”

She agreed with the laughing shake of her head.  “I guess.”

“Okay, if you’re not buying that, then think of this.”  Somber eyes that had never borne anything but the truth met hers.  “You’re happy with him, so make him happy and admit you’re wrong.  After thirty years of marriage, I can safely tell you that it only hurts for a minute – and the makeup sex is worth it.”

The truth was, it was harder feeling estranged from Jon than it would be to apologize.  He was acclimating her to the feeling of being partners instead of an individual who had to do everything alone.  The only reason she kept trying was that…  Well, it was just the idea that she depended on him when she had so little to give in return. 

He really needed a contract with better terms.

Lifting her eyebrows with a start, Charlie remembered their roller coaster conversation about his recording contract.  It was time to pick up the pieces of her perceived failure and try again to be an equal partner.  She still didn’t think she’d be of much help, and even if she was, it was just a drop in the bucket, but it was something to offer if she got in the door.

If the food and wine didn’t work, wearing the short burgundy dress in the back of her closet – the one whose side-slit made it almost indecent – with slinky black stiletto heels would almost guarantee her entrance.  Add in a heavy dose of makeup and a sexy up-do that begged be torn apart…

 “Thanks, big brother.  You’ve convinced me.”  Bussing his kiss with a cheek, she requested, “Have something ready at the restaurant for me to pick up in about an hour?  And let yourself out.  Love you!”

An hour later, she slicked a final coat of lipstick over her bottom lip and gave herself the once-over, deciding this was as good as it got.  The spaghetti-strap dress clung in all the right places, the heels lifted those places for better access and any more eye makeup would make her look like a hooker.  Pinned up hair made left her unadorned neck feeling naked, but it was just going to have to stay that way because Jon’s jewelry was all she would wear tonight.

The skinny heel twisted easily on the tile when she pivoted to leave the bathroom, and Charlie unscrewed the first pearl stud while walking into the bedroom.  It was carefully put away in the little glass jewelry box on the dresser, followed by the other pearl and both diamonds before the heart-shaped lid sealed them all inside. 

Now to find the black wrap to go over the dress... 

That was easier said than done. 

It wasn’t until she’d flipped through every hanger three times that Charlie remembered she’d last seen it downstairs in the hall closet.  Turning on the ball of her foot, she picked up her little handbag from the bed and moved toward the doorway only to draw up short.

There, lounging in that doorway and looking so sinfully good that she could cry, was Jon.  Dark jeans, black leather and a white t-shirt lent him a James Dean aura, and her heart seized when he cocked an eyebrow to muse, “Guess I should’ve called first.”

“Might’ve been a good idea.”  Her chin lifted to meet his silent inquistion.  “I was on my way out.”

“I see that.  Where ya goin’?” 

The casualness of the question was offset by the tell-tale muscle ticking in his jaw.  Recognizing that he was both irritated and grinding his back teeth, Charlie smiled to herself, feeling normal for the first time since they’d come home from Florida.  

“Dinner.”

“With who?”

Blue irises transformed to a flinty gray that she hadn’t seen in a long time as they skated down her bare arms, and Charlie was smitten with the realization that he was looking to make sure her bracelet and ring were in place.  The instant he located them, satisfaction flickered in his features and love stole her desire to quarrel. 

Instead, she softly murmured, “You.”

“Funny, I don’t remember having plans.”

He didn’t budge, but brawny shoulders relaxed just a bit at her answer and flinty gray softened to heather blue, unwittingly inviting Charlie to step close.  Sneaking a hand under the leather, she found the hard warmth of his chest and skimmed a palm upward until she could curl fingers into the hair at his nape. 

“I was going to surprise you with dinner and wine – and ask you to forgive me.”

"That dress goes a long way toward forgiveness.”

The words weren’t as warm as the skin at his neck, but this was going better than expected, and she tipped up an impish grin when muscular arms unfolded to allow her closer.

“I hoped it would at least get me in the door.”

 Stubbornness prevented him from wrapping those arms around her, and they hung idly at his side.  “Let’s assume you got in the door.  What comes next?”

“We eat…  We drink...”  She let her fingertips trickle along his jaw before coming to trace the bottom edge of his lip.  “We make merry.”

“Try again.”

The sight of that plump lip and the knowledge of what it could do had her mentally enamored, and it was a moment before she registered what he said.  When it did, her eyes darted up to find his guarded and unreadable, and their gazes remained locked for a long, silent moment.

“I’m still mad at you.”  It was him who broke that silence.  “And it’s the kind of mad that doesn’t fuck away, so you’re gonna have to do more than give me a hard-on before this is over.”

Dom says it only hurts for a minute.

Backing away was no effort since he’d never touched her, and Charlie did so with a tilted chin to concede, “Okay.  I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

The arms went crossed over his chest again as Jon sighed.  “Why do I have a feeling that what you’re apologizing for and what I’m ticked about are two different things?”

There was no point in continuing to clutch her handbag, so she moved toward the bed and tossed it in the center while pondering his question but was unable to come up with an answer.  “There’s only one thing I’ve done that warrants an apology, and it’s shutting you out so I didn’t have to admit I’m starting to depend on you.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

Whirling on him with bewilderment, Charlie asked, “And what’s another way?”

“You were testing me.  Pushing me to my house while you stayed in yours to see if I’d allow it, or if I was going to ‘hold you hostage’.”

With eyes flying open to the size of frisbees, she shook her head in immediate denial.  “No.  That’s not true.”

It had never crossed her mind.  Not once had she considered herself trapped or wanted/needed to escape.  The only thing going through her mind was taking care of it all so that he didn’t have to.  Because she accepted too much from him already.  That was all. 

Is it?  Or is your inner bitch playing mind games with you?

“It’s not true,” she repeated emphatically to both herself and the main who remained unmoving in the doorway.  The impassive expression made it hard to tell whether he believed her, and he didn’t bother clarifying with actual words.  Jon simply stood there, scrutinizing her in what felt like an attempt to make Charlie squirm.

She was on the verge of demanding that he say something when he tossed his chin along with an insistent, “Prove it.”

“And how in the hell am I supposed to do that?”

With frustration putting Charlie on the edge of a full-blow bitch fit, Jon was the ultimate picture of composure.  It might be the only time she’d ever experienced it during one of their “discussions”, but there was no sign of tension or irritation in his rugged features.  He was almost expressionless when tipping his tousled silver head to one side and evenly decreeing, “Sell your house and move in with me.”

And just like that, the world turned upside down.