Chapter 3
Linda was the one who chose the restaurant for lunch.
James said we should all sit down as a family and hash things out. I didn't object.
The moment the door to the private room opened, Maggie was already parked right next to James's usual seat.
She had a gray-blue cashmere shawl draped over her shoulders.
I knew that shawl all too well.
Last winter, James came home late, freezing cold, and shoved a gift box into my hands.
"Here's a belated birthday present," he said.
He didn't even stick around to watch me open it. His phone rang, and he was gone in a flash.
Inside the box, there was just a blank card with Maggie's favorite poem written on it.
Later, he said his assistant had picked out the wrong thing, and I believed him.
Now, that same shawl was draped over Maggie's shoulders, the edges still bearing the stitches I'd sewn myself.
James pulled out a chair and nodded for me to take a seat across from him.
"Quit standing there like you're about to grill us," he said.
Linda smiled as she piled some food onto Maggie's plate.
"Maggie, have some more. You look so skinny," Linda said.
Maggie gave a small, shy smile.
"Mrs. Whitman, I haven't been sleeping well lately. James has been staying up with me, watching old movies for days. It's the only thing that's helped me feel a little better," Maggie said.
Everyone at the table went quiet for a moment.
James kept peeling shrimp, didn't even pause.
"She's living by herself, gets spooked easily," he said.
He plopped the shrimp right into Maggie's bowl.
There wasn't a single shrimp on my plate.
Back then, I couldn't peel shrimp for the life of me. James would always laugh at how clumsy I was, then peel a whole pile and slide the bowl over to me.
Once, I asked him if he ever got tired of doing it for me.
He just smiled and said, "If you're happy eating, it's no trouble at all."
My stomach clenched.
Maggie glanced at me, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Charlotte, please don't misunderstand. Whenever James hangs out with me, he always says he knows his limits," Maggie said softly.
"So 'knowing his limits' means ghosting me for twenty-seven days?" I shot back.
James's expression turned cold.
"You've been keeping tabs on her posts?" he asked.
"She wanted me to see them, didn't she?" I replied.
Maggie started crying out of nowhere, just like that.
"I wasn't trying to stir anything up. I was just posting about my life," she said, sounding all innocent.
James set his fork down.
"Charlotte, do you always have to think everyone's so twisted?" he said.
The door to the private room wasn't fully closed, and the waiter hesitated in the doorway as he brought in the dishes.
Linda's expression soured, and she muttered angrily at me in a low voice.
"Who are you trying to embarrass out here?" she snapped.
I turned to James.
"So after sixteen days, you finally replied to me with 'Leave me alone'. Was it all because she couldn't sleep?" I asked.
His eyebrow twitched.
"Yeah, I was exhausted that day," he said.
Maggie jumped in right away.
"James was at the hospital with me all night, and when we finally got back, you kept blowing up his phone. So it's no wonder he was grumpy with you," Maggie said.
'Hospital. That's what he said.' Charlotte thought.
'That day was the anniversary of my mother's death.' Charlotte remembered.
'I got soaked at the cemetery, came down with a fever, and sent him thirty-two desperate messages.' Charlotte recalled.
'The last one, I just asked if he could come pick me up.' Charlotte thought.
'Sixteen days later, he finally replied, just three words: "Leave me alone."' Charlotte remembered.
James avoided my gaze.
"Don't dig up old drama," James said, his tone flat.
'Funny how his past gets treated like some precious memory, while mine just gets dragged out to shame me.' Charlotte thought.
Linda pushed the bowl of soup right in front of me.
"Drink your soup and zip it," she snapped.
The yam soup was swimming with a slick of oil.
I didn't touch it.
Maggie suddenly got up, looking like she was about to help me with some food, but her elbow ended up knocking the soup bowl right over.
Scalding hot soup splashed onto the back of my hand.
It hurt like hell, and I yanked my hand back without thinking.
James's first instinct was to grab Maggie, making sure she was okay.
"Did you get burned?" James asked, worried.
Maggie shook her head, sniffling, tears in her eyes.
"I didn't mean to," she said, her voice shaky.
James turned to me, his voice icy.
"Look at her. She's already so shaken. What's with that attitude?" he shot at me.
The back of my hand instantly flushed bright red, stinging from the burn.
I grabbed a tissue, dabbed at the soup on my hand, and stood up to walk out without another word.
In the mirror at the end of the hallway, I saw James hurrying after me.
For a moment, I almost believed he'd ask if I was okay.
Then I heard his voice behind me.
"Just go back and apologize to Maggie, and let's drop it," he said.
The elevator doors slid open slowly.
In the mirror, I saw my own hand, red and swollen, and James behind me, impatience written all over his face.