“If you break your ankle, you’re going home.” He points a finger at her. “I’m not letting you stick around here if you aren’t going to be useful. Understand?”
Wow, that’s almost exactly what my father said to me the last time we spoke. She nearly says that aloud, but catches herself just in time. The reminder stings, but perhaps she needed it: Her usefulness is the only thing she has to offer anyone, and there’s little reason to keep her otherwise. Her father might have been the most explicit iteration of that fact of life, but it’s a lesson she’s learned time and time again. But that’s not something she can tell Charlie. Instead she goes with, “Yes, sir,” and sinks her top teeth into her bottom lip as she looks him directly in the eye.
The remnants of pink in his cheeks rebrighten, and, oh, Gretchen experiences a miniature version of the gotcha euphoria then. Just enough of that familiar heady rush to make her want to bring that flush to Charlie’s face again and again. It’s not quite the same as the feeling she’s been missing, but it’s... almost better. Thankfully, she thinks, it’s not exactly difficult to fluster him; the man can’t seem to look at her for more than a couple minutes without presumably picturing her either naked or being marched away in handcuffs. Maybe both at the same time.
“There’s cereal in the pantry. Eat some and meet me at the barn,” he says, looking down again as if it’s important he watchhis feet in case they make a move forward without his permission. “Don’t dilly-dally.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she calls after him as he hurries down the stairs.
Everett is still lounging on the bed, arms folded behind his head, legs stretched out and ankles crossed. “Wow, the sexual tension between you and Charlie is really bomb-dot-com tasty.”
“Oh my god, where did you learn that term?” she asks, tossing the T-shirt and olive overalls on the bed. Maybe if she rolls up the legs a couple times and adds in one of her dangly necklaces...
“The spiky-haired guy on the food show says it. Didn’t I use it right?”
She thinks for a moment. “Do you mean Guy Fieri?”
“Yes, him! Ellen loved her some Triple D. I like it too. That cat is really money.”
Gretchen opens the dresser to retrieve a pair of the clean underwear she put in there last night, and grabs her now-clean bra from where she left it drying on one of the drawer pulls. “Mm, yeah, no. I can’t deal with you using Guy Fieri catchphrases.”
“Well, that’s not very Flavortown of you,” he says, frowning.
“Besides, the tension between me and Charlie isn’t sexual.” Okay, maybe it is. Gretchen is willing to admit that much toherselfat least. But it doesn’t matter, since they don’t like each other. And even if they did, this isn’t a conversation she wants to have with the ghost currently chilling on her bed. Speaking of which... “It’s all animosity-based. And if you want to talk about something that isn’t ‘very Flavortown,’ it’s that you slept in my bed without my permission.”
Everett opens his mouth to speak, but Gretchen cuts him off with a, “And if you’re about to say it’s actually your bed, don’t.”
He takes a moment to think, since that clearly was what he was about to say. Finally, he settles on, “I suppose me pointing out that I didn’t actually sleep doesn’t change your opinion?”
“Nope. That makes it worse, actually. What were you doing then? Staring at me all night?” A horrifying thought enters her mind. “Oh god, this isn’t a weird sex thing for you, is it?”
His eyes go wide in response to her expression. “Of course not! I already think of you like a sister. A hot sister, sure, but a sister all the same.”
Well, the hot-sister thing is still pretty disturbing, but better, she supposes, than the alternative. Then again, the last twenty-four hours have really raised the bar on what she’s willing and able to mentally accommodate.
“Usually at night I lie down in here, close my eyes, and pretend to sleep until I hear the neighbor’s rooster,” Everett says. “Helps time feel a little less wobbly if I stick to a living-person routine, more or less.”
That pinches Gretchen’s heart in a way she doesn’t appreciate. “I guess that makes sense.”
“But last night I did mostly stare at you,” he admits.
“That is extremely creepy.”
He shrugs. “You make funny noises in your sleep. And since Charlie turned off the TV when he got home—you need to talk to him about that, by the way—how else was I supposed to keep myself entertained?”
She’s about to protest that shedoes notmakeanynoises in her sleep, funny or otherwise, but it’s possible that she indeed does. No one’s been beside her in a bed overnight in... she can’t even remember how long. Maybe she’s never actually spent the night with another person since reaching adulthood. All of her hookups(not that there have even been many of them) over the last few years have been of the hit-and-run variety, neither party interested in lingering for more than a few minutes after the fun was over. How sad is it that her first time sharing a bed with someone was with a Prohibition-era ghost who thinks of her as a hot sister? Maybe “sad” isn’t the word for it. “Absurd” probably fits the situation a little better. But, well... it’s kinda sad too.
“From now on, you do your weird nighttime power down elsewhere,” she says.
“I can pretend-sleep on the couch, I guess.” Everett’s face is penitent, like he actually understands he crossed a line and is embarrassed about it.
His expression reminds Gretchen that this—having someone else see him, talk to him, even be aware that he’s in their space at all—must be a huge adjustment for him too. She supposes it’s a challenge for him to figure out what’s appropriate. Not only have societal standards changed immensely since he was alive, he hasn’t had to think through his interactions with anyone in almost a century. She should probably cut him a tiny bit of slack as they both adjust to this strange new arrangement of theirs.
“Thank you,” she says. “I’m sorry to have displaced you. But while we’re at it, let’s also agree that you never come into this room without asking and getting my express verbal permission first.”
“You told me you have one rule, but it seems like you actually have a lot of them.”
“These aren’t rules, they’re boundaries, and they’re healthy.” She holds the overalls up to her body to check the length; the pant legs reach the floor. Definitely going to need to roll them. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta get dressed and head out to the barn before Charlie has a conniption.”
