#nora's asks

Charlie has been back in New York for four months now, and in that time, we’ve settled into a routine. We decided immediately that he’d move in with me; the rent-controlled apartment, after all, was his before it was mine. The weekdays are full of the rushing New Yorkers are known for; I wake up before dawn to ride my Peloton, and we both work more than we should, me in his old office at Loggia editing books, him working from home doing the same, both of us slurping down exorbitant amounts of caffeine. Occasionally, we distract each other with sexy texts at lunchtime. When I come home, he pulls me into his arms, whispers my name into my hair, and we order takeout together–usually with me perched on his lap, the menu open on his laptop, and call Libby and then Charlie’s parents while we wait for our food. We eat, then work a little bit more on opposite ends of the couch, our feet tangled together, until we get too distracted to be any good at what we’re supposed to be doing. We stumble to bed together, fall asleep, wake up, and do it again. Saturdays are sometimes–usually–filled with more work, and what Charlie calls “expensive adult activities” (refreshing the sheets with my overpriced laundry detergent, placing a Whole Foods order to be delivered for the week, Charlie’s weekly haircut, my weekly blowout, etc. etc.). But on Sundays. On Sundays. We are lazy. We lay in bed. We make out, and read, and make out some more. Charlie goes and gets bagels, and I mobile order coffee for him to pick up on his way. If we’re feeling particularly energized, we go to Freeman’s. We have slow, hot, sex, and I wonder how I ever thought I could be as happy as I am without this man in my life. 

I pick up my phone to see a text from fifteen minutes ago. Just left for bagels. Order the coffee in twenty. I love you. I smother my smile against my pillow and place the order at our favorite over-priced local shop: an iced Americano with oat milk for me, and a nonfat mocha for him. We’ve reached the point in April that I believe calls for iced drinks to return, but Charlie disagrees. Apparently the 40 degree weather doesn’t scream spring to him. 

I haul myself out of bed and set about opening up all of our blinds to let the light pour in. The bookshelves in the living room are arranged alphabetically, and I light the candle on the table in the middle of the room before taking a shower. Just because Sundays are lazy does not mean I should be oily for them. I’ve just stepped in when I hear the door to the apartment open. Not five minutes later, the shower curtain pulls back, and Charlie gets in with me. 

“Hi,” I say, leaning back into him as he pulls my back flush against his chest. 

“Good morning,” he replies, mouthing over my ear and down my neck. 

I turn, reaching over his shoulders to get the soap, and he catches my mouth with his. I smile into him. 

“Have I ever mentioned,” Charlie starts, punctuating each word with a kiss, “how much I love you in the mornings?” 

“No,” I reply, letting him press me up against the shower wall, soap forgotten. “Do it now.” 

“Stephens,” he says, kissing a path down my chest, going to his knees, “you’re fucking perfect in the mornings.” 

When we manage to pry ourselves out of the now-cold shower forty-five minutes later, I go in search of our bagels. Charlie, God bless him, had the forethought to finish his coffee and put mine into the fridge, and I’m in the middle of a long pull when he strides into the kitchen. Some careful maneuvering had left my freshly blown out hair mostly dry, but his is still dripping down his neck. I stare at him. He stares at me. 

I speak first. “Two thoughts. One, I want to eat my bagel before you try to fuck me again even though you look more stupidly hot today than usual. Two, as soon as I’m done with my bagel, I would love to go for round two.” 

“God, our nightmare brains are the same, Nora,” he replies, reaching into the bag and pulling the food out. 

I shrug, and slather the cream cheese onto my bagel. He shrugs right back, a smile tucking up into the corner of his mouth. 

“So,” he says, mouth full of food, “sex, nap, Freeman’s, dinner?” 

I laugh. “Some might call that a perfect day. Can we go and get sushi tonight?” We leave to visit Sunshine Falls later this week, and I’m already going through New-York-food withdrawals. 

“Since I know you so exceptionally well, the reservation is already made.” 

I smile into my bagel. We finish in silence, basking in the day. I never knew that life could feel so relaxing. I’ve learned that Charlie feels the same way. We’ve both given up so much for the people we love, put ourselves under so much stress as we try to succeed, that it’s been hard for us to come to terms with the ending we got. I think both of us are more grateful every day. 

Charlie turns to put the trash away, and then I’m on him, lips against his, fingers twisting into his hair as I take us back down the hallway to our room. He scoops me up and then we’re tumbling onto the bed, his fingers pressing into the silk of my sleep set. I arch up into him, and he groans, rolling so that I’m straddling him. 

“I. Love. Sundays.” I say, pressing my hips into his as I pull off his t-shirt and then my own. 

“I’m partial to them myself,” he agrees, before pressing his hips up to slide his pants down. 

Mine follow a second later, and then I’m going down his body, tracing a path with my hands as I do so, until I reach what I’m looking for. He’s already hard, and we’re so comfortable with each other now that it’s as easy as breathing to slip him inside my mouth and have him shaking in minutes. He pulls me off before he can come, and I shoot him a glare, but then I’m underneath him and there’s a pillow under my hips, and then there’s not much room for much complaining at all, seeing as I’m completely occupied with Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. 

When I come, I squeeze around him, and he follows quickly after that with a choked “Nora,” and then we’re both still. He’s starting to fall asleep on top of me and I shove him off before he can. 

“Wh–come back,” he pleads. 

“You’re too hot,” I tell him. 

He grins much too widely at this, and I elbow him before pulling the covers up around both of us. “If you want to be woken up in twenty minutes by my overheated thrashing, feel free.” 

He groans. “But what if I like your overheated thrashing, Stephens? Have you ever considered that? Maybe the joy of holding you in my arms outweighs the potential annoyance that comes from–” he’s cut off as he yawns, and I huff out a laugh. Who would have thought? Charlie Lastra, stage-five post-sex clinger. 

“Your argument is tiring you out, Charlie,” I tease. “Go to sleep before you lose.” 

He hums in agreement, eyes already closed. “Love you.” 

“Love you, too.” I look at him for a minute. Sometimes, when I watch him sleep, I feel overwhelmed that he exists. 

I wake up in a glowy daze, sunlight pouring in through the windows, Charlie’s heartbeat echoing in my ear. I tilt my head up to look at him, and he cracks an eye open. “Freeman’s?” he asks. I nod, and we trip out of bed in our race to get dressed. 

We make it outside twenty minutes later, and Charlie pulls me against him as we walk. “I like it when you wear my clothes,” he declares a few minutes later as we cross a street. I have on one of his button downs with a pair of my jeans, and I look up at him in surprise. 

“What?” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve just noticed you doing it every once in a while and I just like it. It makes you look cute. And I think I like seeing that I’m such a big part of your life that you can just…grab something of mine and it’s not a big deal.” I smile, lean into him. “You know, most guys I’ve dated hated when I wore their clothes. I was always just as tall as them so they usually just looked like my own.” I shrug. “I should have guessed you were secure enough in your masculinity that that Bigfoot-esque quality doesn’t come through in you.” 

He laughs, and we start through Central Park. Our subway stop is just on the other side. As we walk in, Charlie nudges me. “Look.” 

I glance over to where there’s a couple standing underneath a tree. As we watch, the man kneels down, and the woman starts to cry. Before he can even get his ring box open, she’s kneeling down with him, saying ‘yes’ over and over. 

“She’s brave,” Charlie says, as we continue on. “Saying yes without seeing the ring.” 

I nod in agreement. “If I ever get married, I would choose my own.” 

He looks at me in mock horror. “If? You’re planning on leaving me, Nora?” 

“Did I forget to tell you? I just reconnected with my MOM date. Remember Blake? We leave for Vegas tomorrow.” 

“God, I forgot about him.” Charlie shakes his head, starting down the stairs to the subway. 

“How could you? If not for that failed date, where would we be?” 

“Nora,” he says, “as soon as you landed in North Carolina, I think both our fates were sealed. 

We ride the subway like the annoying couple we are, hands holding onto one loop above our heads, bodies pressing into each other, swaying with the movement of the train. When we finally reach our stop, I lace my fingers with Charlie’s and pull him up to the sidewalk. 

I push the door to Freeman’s open, and the smell of new books washes over me immediately. I take a deep breath in. Charlie does the same next to me. Fuck, I love a bookstore. We split up without talking about it, the same way we always do. No one needs the pressure of someone looking over your shoulder as you shop. 

My hands linger on a few different titles: a new adult romance about the son of the president and the prince of England, the fourth book in a romance series about a family set in the early 19th century, a Hollywood murder mystery set on a tropical island. I settle on a contemporary novel that’s been out for a few years; my coworkers have been telling me to read it since it came out. It’s about two college students and the ways their lives weave together, and it’s supposed to absolutely tear me apart. I can’t wait. 

I go to find Charlie, and he holds out his find to me. “Bank robber dressed as a bunny takes an apartment showing hostage.” He shrugs. “Thought it sounded different. Seems like it has a good bit of dry humor.” 

“You do love that,” I say. “If nothing else, it’ll be entertaining.” 

We pay, and make our way back to our apartment. I immediately plop down onto the couch. “What time is the reservation?” 

Charlie sits down on the opposite side, pulling out his book and handing mine to me. “Seven-thirty. So we have an hour and a half before we have to go.” 

I lean over to kiss him. “Perfect.” I twist so my head is in his lap, and pick up my book. Our lives are stressful, and busy, and I love everything about it, but it’s moments like this that I realize just how far I’ve come since Libby dragged me to Sunshine Falls, North Carolina for the summer. 

I’m able to understand now that Libby can take care of herself, that she’s my sister, not my child, and that taking care of myself should always be a priority, too. I’ve learned to let more people into my life; Charlie in particular, of course, but also the new friendships I’m growing at work, both with my coworkers and with my authors. Most importantly, I’ve learned to savor every moment that I have. I can’t live in survival mode for my entire life, doing everything I can to make sure my life follows a picture perfect plan. I do still, of course, have ideas of how I want my life to go, but I’m okay with the idea now that it might go in a slightly different direction than the one I have planned, and I have no one besides Libby and Charlie to thank for that. They’ve both given me so much, and I thank them for it every day. I look up at Charlie, his brow furrowed as he reads, and smile. I can’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but I do know that as long as I can have Sundays with him, I’ll be okay. I take a deep breath in, open my book, and start reading. 

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