old soul | matthew gray gubler

28. getting lucky

Charlotte's eyes bore into the door, confident she'd be able to tear a hole through the metal contraption if she tried hard enough. She loved the song playing, an upbeat tune she'd usually put on in the car with the windows rolled down. Right now, however, all of this noise, the talking, the hum of the air conditioner, the machines behind the counter brewing coffee, were just making her sick to her stomach.

She'd already puked twice before she came. And she never puked. She sat the base of the toilet, hurling that morning's breakfast while Matthew held her hair back from her face. She'd cried four times, once while getting ready, in the shower, at breakfast, hugging Matthew goodbye. He was going to come with her, but she insisted she do this on her own.

So, here she was, her pretty dress being washed on a man who was never there and never would be.

She glanced around the café again, wandering if he was already there and she just didn't know it. She felt like someone was watching her, judging her, sizing her up. She knew she was just being skeptical though, and glared back at the door. It opened again, the bell ringing causing her to jump in her seat.

Charlotte couldn't stop playing with her earring, pulling the backing off and pushing it back on. It tugged on her cartilage, irritating the skin there, but she wasn't fazed by the minute pain. Her knee bounced, heel of her sneaker squeaking against the linoleum floor again and again. She wanted to press her hand against her leg, force it to stay where it was, but she too focused on keeping her breathing steady.

Her hands were sweating, her chest felt tight, and she wanted to puke again.

The door rang again, and Charlotte jumped. Again. She met eyes with the man who walked in and all control she had over her breathing was destroyed.

Charlotte found herself standing up, moving across the café. She stopped in front of him, a deep frown on her face. She tried to push a smile, hollow out her dimple. But she couldn't.

He looked straight ahead at her, his height the same as her own. His eyes were blue, though, hair a shade lighter. But his nose was the same, button-like and small.

"Charlotte?" He stuttered, hands wringing themselves in front of him.

She nodded firmly, bottom lip wobbling with tears. "Dad?"

He engulfed her with a hug and she leaned nearly all of her weight on him. She thought that when she first hugged her dad, it would be uncomfortable. Stiff. Foreign. But his arms felt congenial, like she'd been there before. He smelled nice, too, looked like decently in shape and clean.

This was nice.

They sat at the booth, across from one another. Charlotte had left her tea cold, untouched. Now, she wanted to drink. So, he ordered them both another round of that tea.

"Oh, you can get something else," she gave a weak smile.

"No, no," he waved her off, "Green Tea's my favorite."

"Mine, too," her smile grew.

They stared at each other for a moment, 25 years worth of unspoken words lost amidst the shock. Charlotte played with her fingers, cleared her throat.

"I'm so sorry," he finally said.

Charlotte let out a deep breath. She never thought she'd be able to say this, but "I forgive you," came so naturally.