#soft drop

“Actually, wait,” you say as you make up your mind. “Roll over onto your back.” Charlie snakes his arm back around you and rolls you over with him and it feels warm and soft, cuddled up to him like this. Too warm. He sighs as you run your hand over his chest. Your thumb snagging in the t-shirt’s wrinkles as you pass your palm over his nipples. Which harden satisfyingly under your touch.

You both silently watch your hand’s progress down his chest and stomach, pausing occasionally to pull up on his shirt or push down on the blankets. “Are you serious?” Charlie breathes as your hand slips under the waistband of his pants. “What?” you ask, wrapping your fingers around him. Goddammit! Goddammit, he feels good! “Doesn’t every guy want to get his dick sucked as he watches the sun come up?”

“Oh, fuck.” Charlie squeezes his eyes shut as his head falls onto the pillow. But he peeks back up as you begin to move your hand from the base of his cock slowly up to the head. “Hey, (Y/N)?” he stammers. “I know I keep asking you these awkward questions, but are you usually this…. insatiable?”

“Honestly, no,” you answer, looking into his eyes but keeping a hand on his cock. And you think back over past partners and relationships. “But Charlie, I’ve never wanted anyone like this!” It feels a little scary, saying it out loud and makes you feel stupidly vulnerable. Is it going to make him jump through the window and take off running as soon as he hits the pavement? You’re not sure if anything would surprise you at this point. But Charlie gives you a look that’s more sympathy than panic. “I get it,” he says, nodding. “Like, there’s just no way to get enough of the other person. And it feels like there never will be. Addicting.”

Of course, he gets it. You smile fondly at him before turning your attention back to the task at hand and working his pants down over his hips. You don’t even bother trying to stifle your moan as you free his cock. And again, you marvel at just how attractive it is! Long and thick but not to the point of being grotesque. Flushed red and curving up toward his belly button, with a nice roadmap of veins and one perfect pearl of precum gleaming at the tip.

“Oh, I love this thing!” you sigh as you give it a few quick strokes. You want so badly to worship him! Take your time and spoil his beautiful dick with feathery kisses and long slow licks until he’s squirming and sobbing underneath you. He deserves all that.

But you have needs too. And right now, you need to feel that thing halfway down to your stomach. You cast Charlie one last apologetic look, before you open wide and sink your mouth down over him, taking him in as far as he will go. All the way down in one steady motion until you can feel your throat as it squeezes around his cock and your nose as it presses into his pubic bone. Oh, that’s so much better, having him in your mouth like this. “Oh, fuck, (Y/N),” he growls as he pushes his fingers through your hair. “Fuck, why wasn’t this dick in your mouth 10 years ago?”

“Who cares?” you snap as you pull off him. “Just shove it back in there and stop dwelling on the past!” Well, you’re quite the little whore this morning, aren’t you, with your dirty talk? But Charlie is smart enough to follow orders and, keeping one hand on the back of your head, he grips the base of his cock with the other and guides it back into you and where it belongs. Good God, why weren’t the two of you doing this 10 years ago?! You could have been sucking him off in the booth instead of taking a nap up there. You could have been swallowing his cum in one the bathrooms in Bobst every day.

It's still early, but you could conceivably do this all morning. Last night, you marveled over how perfectly he fit in your pussy, but this is almost better. And it wasn’t that long ago that he was in your pussy, making you spasm around him as he filled you to overflowing with his cum. He fits just as well in the morning, slides all the way in just as easily. And you know already that you don’t ever want this to stop.

You imagine that you can still taste yourself on him, your own juices mixed with his sweat, mingling with the musky scent of pubic hair. The way it smells and how the curls tickle the tip of your nose as you bob your head up and down his length. Then all the way down. Then not quite all the way up, sucking gently on the head of Charlie’s cock, the tip of your tongue pressed into the frenulum.  

When you pull off to give your jaw a brief rest, you continue to jerk him wetly. Watching the red and swollen head of his cock emerge and disappear back into your fist with a delicious plek, plek, pleck sound is mesmerizing. And when Charlie runs his fingers over your forehead and groans, “God, you’re good at this!” he sighs. “And so fucking pretty! Look at you!” You’re not exactly in the habit of watching yourself go down on guys and had never really given much thought to whether or not you look porn-star perfect. You’re more of a task-oriented girl. But when Charlie tells you that you’re pretty, with your rumpled, too-big shirt, swollen lips and 1 hour of sleep eye bags, you know he’s telling the truth. You are fucking gorgeous! And you smile and you adore him and his hand is shaking as he touches you.

You dive back down onto him, spearing his cock down your throat. And the way he says your name would have made you smile even harder if your mouth wasn’t so full of him. Charlie grunts as he involuntarily thrusts his hips up into you, then chokes out a “Shit! I’m sorry.” You look up and lock eyes with him, raising your eyebrows and granting him permission. The feeling of him rolling his hips against your face to get just a little bit deeper, to find just a little more friction, it’s obscene! Your entire pussy is throbbing and your clit feels like it’s on fire. It’s obscene, but it’s divine, almost holy and so, so right!

It takes a minute until you’ve found the perfect rhythm, moving together and meeting each other in the middle. Up and down and in and out, twisting your hand at the base of his cock, squeezing your throat around him as he dips down into your pharynx. You keep him like that for a few moments, pushed in a far as he’ll go. With your mouth stretched wide around him, you imagine that you can feel him all the way down into your belly. Just like you could almost feel him all the way up there when he’d fucked you so hard last night. In addition to so many other attributes, Charlie Barber has an incredible dick!  

“S-sweetheart?” he croaks. “God! Honey? I’m about to… oh, fuck, fuck!” You feel his gigantic hands clutching at your shoulders, giving you a warning, a chance to avoid the inevitable. Bless you Charlie, but you’re a ride-or-die cocksucker. You slide up his length, keeping the head held loosely between your lips, your tongue flicking in and out of his slit.  And you scowl. Charlie’s sits propped up on one elbow. His eyes are wide and shiny, his mouth hanging open. You take in his pink cheeks and wild hair. And shake your head quickly. “Oh, please!” It sounds like a prayer as you sink your mouth down onto him, taking him easily back down into your throat. Above you, you hear the sound of him collapsing back onto the bed. And you hum as the motion briefly pushes him deeper.  

You’re almost ready to abandon his pleasure at this point and focus solely on your own. And if you end up coming before him, just from this, then that’s the icing on the cake. Because this! This is the fucking cake. Surely nothing could ever feel as good as this! You slide up and down his length several more times, building speed and sucking hard until you hear his breath catch and feel his cock swell inside you. And that’s it! That’s it! You slam down onto him, taking him down as far as he’ll go. Your lips are pressed flush against him as you swallowswallowswallow! You reach down and squeeze his balls, urging him to empty them into your belly. Breathing hard through your nose. My God, are you really doing this? Are you actually sucking Charlie’s dick?! You are and it’s so fucking HOT! A few more minutes of this and you would have come yourself!    

“Holy fuck!” Charlie pants as you pull off him and sit up. You should be flattered at his reaction, but the truth is you’re so turned on now, you could cry. “You swallow!” he sounds completely disbelieving and almost… grateful? What the hell did Nicole do, then? Leave the room so he could finish himself? Or just never give him head at all?

“It’s just courtesy,” you whimper, shifting your hips against the bed, seeking out some kind of friction. “If I care enough about a guy to have his cock in my mouth,” you bite your lip and inhale sharply through your nose. Did you have to say that? “Then I care enough to swallow his cum!” You last word ends on a plaintive whine and Charlie peers down at you, looking concerned. He must notice the growing wet spot between your legs. Then his eyes widen and he gasps in realization. “Shit, I’m sorry, honey! Here, come here.” He helps you lie down and moves between your legs.

You’re practically clawing at him as he yanks over the soaked crotch of your too-big shorts and you hear him gasp. Your cunt is swollen and pulsing and you’re honest-to-God flowing for him! You only need to say one word, “Charlie.” And he’s scooping up your slick and applying the prefect amount (God, how is it perfect?) of pressure to your clit.

Your orgasm slams into you suddenly with the force of an atom bomb. Unable to make any sound or even breathe, you lift your hips off the bed and twist your fingers into the sheet beneath you. “Oh, shit!” Charlie’s voice stutters and cracks and his thumb keeps circling your clit and it all feels endless! You continue to ride out the waves as you explode over his hand, spraying his wrist with your cum and soaking the clean bedding. “Make a mess, sweetheart!” he grunts under his breath. “That’s it.”

He shoves two wet fingers into you and feels how your cunt contracts around him like your throat had just done. “Fuck yeah!” Charlie groans. You feel him press into your g-spot as you’re coming and coming, grinding and fucking yourself on his fingers. “Keep squeezing that pussy on my fingers, Baby,” Charlie urges. “God, you’re so fucking tight!”

“Fuuuuck!” you wail as the pleasure begins to ebb. Charlie rubs one hand soothingly over your stomach as you sink back down, still shaking, onto the mattress.    

You press your fist against your mouth to keep from making any less coherent or more obscene sounds. As you catch your breath (Christ, you’ve never fucking come like that!), Charlie continues staring at you, at your stretched-out shorts and dripping thighs. And a small hysterical laugh rises in your throat.

“Oh my God, Baby!” Charlie whines as he looks down at you. “Fuck! Jesus Christ.”

“Are you having a stroke?” you giggle. “Speaking in tongues?”

“Yeah, tongues,” Charlie, answers, his hand still on you.  “I have never…” he shakes his head. “Not like that!”

  If you look at the ceiling and not his face, you won’t start crying. “Yeah, I know,” you whisper. And not with anyone. Not the high school infatuation, not the smattering of long-term relationships or the what-the-fuck fucks in between. Even your favorite vibrator has never made you feel this good. Or this loved. Or this guilty. God, not even Mariah Carey felt emotions like this!

Charlie rubs his hand on his forehead and you wonder if he remembers your cum that’s all over his fingers. “Do you want to take another shower?” he asks abruptly. “With me this time?” And that actually sounds really, really lovely and you realize that you’re cold and sticky. “Yeah,” you nod. “I’m starting to feel less sexy and more just gross.” Ever the gentleman, Charlie helps you up from the bed. “You could never be less sexy.” He shakes his head. “I’ll get your clean clothes,” he promises. “Meet me in there?”

It’s a standard bathtub sized shower. Roomy enough for two people to fit as long as they don’t attempt any sexy shenanigans. Or any kind of advanced bathing. But you don’t seem interested in either. Just a quick rinse of the bodily fluids, and there’s nothing left but the warmth of the water and the nearness of each other. You play a game of connect the dots with the moles and freckles on Charlie’s chest, but can’t picture what sort of constellation they form. He tilts your head back with his enormous hands, letting the water flow over your hair while he kisses your neck. Your nipples are hard, pebbled up tight as they brush against him.  Water drips from the tip of Charlie’s semi hard cock as his thumbs trace the veins inside your elbows. Your toes bump against his and you breathe the same steamy air. He rests his chin on the top of your head.

After you’re dressed in clean clothes with brushed hair and another load of laundry is going, Charlie has one more offer. “Breakfast?” You shrug. It’s a respectable breakfast hour by now and the café on the next block has pancakes that are truly worth dying for. You walk together, but not together. No handholding or deep, loving looks, lest some morning commuter sees you and broadcasts it over the airwaves, dropping script pages with a Mid-Atlantic accent. You don’t even walk arm-in-arm, dodging tourists and taxis like you used to. Nothing is different outside of the living room or the wide bed. An early breakfast with an old friend.

             “No, you’re totally right,” you agree. Parents? What parents? You never had any parents. No parents and that is not your boyfriend tight there. With the bowl of soup and the big brown eyes. Shit. “That’s going to be one hell of an interesting conversation though, isn’t it?” Ideally, you’d like to remain the Other Woman until the very last divorce detail is settled, then surprise your mom and dad with a flashy reveal. God, you’re so fucking in denial.

             “Your dad?” Charlie asks, gesturing with his spoon. “He’s not the ask-for-permission type, is he?” You snort a nose full of iced tea as you laugh mid-swallow. “Oh, hell no!” you cough. “We are too progressive for that.” Your dad would not be pleased at Charlie for asking a question like that. How dare you besmirch my strong, independent daughter’s honor?!  And though it won’t ever happen, you do like the fantasy scenario of your dad slapping Charlie in the face with a glove and challenging him to a duel over it. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Real-World Charlie says as he passes you a napkin so you can wipe your eyes.

             “Yeah, but Dad likes you!” And that part is, at least true. Even back in school, while you kept a steady stream of drama geeks coming through the house, Charlie and your dad always seemed to find something to connect over. Maybe it was because he was so mature. A wise and worldly graduate student.  And your mom? Well, she automatically became everyone’s mom, regardless of maturity. And you never said anything then and probably still wouldn’t bring it up, but you suspect that Charlie secretly enjoyed being taken care of.  

             “Yeah, well everybody likes you until you’re fucking their daughter,” Charlie mumbles as he glances over your shoulder and signals the waiter for the check. And you sigh. Really, who doesn’t live together and have sex on every single piece of furniture before their married? Or before they’re divorced?

             It’s a miracle how quickly schedules can be coordinated enough for everyone to be in the same place at the same time. Even so, you’re already hoarding newspapers and bidding farewell to a few of your more repellant articles of clothing (It’s your gym shirt! From high school!). The idea of co-habitation is absolutely intoxicating. But by Saturday afternoon, everything looks normal. Just bringing your frazzled, mid-divorce BFF over to Mom and Dad’s for lunch. And it really is all about the high neck blouse this season.  

 You arrive at your parents’ door with the customary bottle of wine. It didn’t seem like all that long ago that you would show up at their door with the offering of your dirty laundry. The Greeting Ritual continues with cheek kisses, hugs and handshakes. “How have you been?” your dad asks Charlie after one of those manly handshake-hugs where they try to knock each other’s vertebrae loose with the back pats. “One day at a time, you know?” Charlie responds. It’s a vague answer. A cop-out answer. Kind of like ‘Living the Dream’. No one even knows what The Dream actually is. Also, according to your dad, the wine is a ‘good year”. No one is really sure what that means either.  

             The subject of divorce follows you down the hall into the family room. Somehow, it makes you feel left out, makes you linger in the doorway like you’re watching your best friend from school and your best friend from music camp meet each other and bond without you. Your mom nods sympathetically. “Divorces have the power to cause so much damage, they really do. Especially with kids involved.”

             “You let us know if you need anything, all right?” Your dad settles back into his favorite spot on the sofa and pats the cushion next to him. Charlie hesitates and you meet his eye from across the room and duck your head. That way, no one can see you press your lips together and fight the giggle rising in your throat. He did say ‘anything’. Maybe asking for his daughter’s hand might be the right strategy after all.  

             “Drink, Charlie?” your mom asks as she breezes past you on her way to the kitchen.

             “Scotch?”

             “Rocks?”

             “You know me too well.” Charlie smiles fondly at her and you curse yourself for thinking that this would be awkward and awful. Your mom stops beside you and taps your arm. But you’re too engrossed in the conversation happening between Charlie and your dad to respond. It sounds like it might be important.

             “You still into Ken Burns?” your dad asks. Charlie nods as your mom taps you even harder. “(Y/N), come and help me in the kitchen for a minute.”

             “What an antiquated and sexist thing to say!” you hiss, but you follow her anyway. Behind you, you can hear Charlie and your dad continue their conversation. “1981,” your dad sounds almost offended. “A New Yorker, born and bred and never seen a documentary about the Brooklyn Bridge! Unbelievable!”

             In the kitchen, Charlie’s laughter is muted and your mom has already poured the scotch and uncorked the bottle of wine. She pushes the glass across the counter at you and fixes you with a patented penetrating Mom Stare. You feel a bit like a teenager again, like Y/N, did you sneak out of the house/raid the liquor cabinet/order a pay-per-view movie? You’re ready to confess anything when she asks, “Is Charlie all right? Really?”

Simultaneous relief and affection for your mom make you weak. Even if her interrogation skills are on point with you, she’s still “Everyone’s Mom” just like she always was, watching out for you and all your friends.

             “He’s okay,” you sigh, watching the ice cubes float and bump into each other in Charlie’s Scotch.  “Just… he’s just really stressed out. I admit, I have, like, zero experience with divorces, but this whole thing just seems like a complete circus. Like a circus on fire.” Your mom chuckles softly as she passes a glass of wine to you. “Welcome to being a real grownup, dear heart,” she says and holds up her own glass. “It’s weird and it’s messy and very seldom does any of it make sense.” She’s about to find out how “real” of a grownup you’ve become. Cheers!  

             The Ritual resumes as you eat and you and your three most loved people in the world are reduced to making small talk. You parents question you about work, sleep and vegetables. You compliment them both on dinner and your mom congratulates Charlie on the play. Your dad tells you that you have excellent taste in wine and you say thank you. Who’s turn is it next? Truth or Dare, Charlie? I dare you to eat my pussy after we get home tonight.    

             You fold your napkin in your lap and clear your throat. Should you tap your fork on your glass? That’s what people do, right? They’re all turning their eyes toward you anyway and you halfway expect somebody to pass you a mic. Dammit. You swallow a (rather large) sip of wine and continue.  “Okay, so, a thing happened,” you say. Well that sounded stupid. What thing?  The Russian Revolution? The Beatles at Shea Stadium? You peeing your pants at school in kindergarten? Both Charlie and your parents are giving you confused and concerned looks.

             “A reasonably sized thing,” you elaborate. Across the table, Charlie’s brows shoot up at your choice of words and you stumble. Size, right. Like his dick. Maybe if you just grabbed him by the collar and kissed the fuck out of him, Mom and Dad would get the message. Oh, you’re going to need more wine for this. “We,” you continue and pause again. You set your glass back down on the table. “We” sounds too accusatory and you feel like you should take more of the blame for this announcement. “I mean, I…” Shit! You’ve already blown it. It’s done. Seizing up your glass, you down the rest of your wine in two gulps. “Charlie and I have been sleeping together for the last, what?” You glance over at him for confirmation. “Six weeks?”

             “About that,” Charlie shrugs, following your lead and throwing caution to the wind. Your dad leans forward and frowns, resting his chin on his hands. You recognize it immediately as his “Physiatrist Pose”. Lord help you now, this is it.

             “Goodness!” your mom says after swallowing half of her own drink. “When I asked you if he was all right, that wasn’t quite what I meant.” And you’re a thirteen-year-old girl again whining, Mooooom, you’re emBARrassing me!

             But your attention turns immediately back to your dad. “Why?” he asks. A simple question, but one with so many explanations and excuses and little lies and apologies that can be woven into the answer. When Dad asks questions like these, they’re never mocking or angry. Just honest and open. But always expecting an honest answer in return.

              You hesitate and glance in Charlie’s direction because who else is going to help you when Mom and Dad have you on the rack? He’s frowning slightly, but still maintaining eye contact with all three of you. As you watch, he sets his glass down and tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear.              

             “Because I love him,” you blurt out. “I don’t know if I always have, God that sounds so stupid, or just if recent developments sort of made it happen.” Your dad is looking more sympathetic now and less like the objective medical professional and Charlie is looking only at you. “And it’s awful?” you go on. “I know that it’s awful to fall in love with someone who’s married and not even have the decency to wait for a divorce.”

             “People out there have done so much worse.” Your mom motions for you to hand her your empty glass and she refills it. “Lots of grey areas when it comes to issues of morality, my girl. And ‘Awful’ is always a relative term.” You smile gratefully at her. Suddenly, you can’t wait to strut down Broadway, wearing your scarlet A and you know you’ll rock that shit because you’re a grown ass woman who can fuck any guy she wants.  

             But the voice of your dad brings you back to earth.  He sits back in his chair and says, “You’ll have to forgive me for this, Charlie, because it really is a ridiculous question, but just what exactly are your intentions with my daughter?” Instead of bristling at the question, which you honestly expected, Charlie continues to look thoughtful. “It’s not a ridiculous question at all,” he shrugs. “I think it’s a totally valid question, especially considering the circumstances here. And I completely understand it.”  He glances back at you, smiles slightly and turns his attention back to your dad.

             “My son”, Charlie continues, “Now, granted he’s only eight, so there is quite a difference. But it scares the hell out of me to think that one day he’ll go out into the world and the rest of the world won’t love him as much as I do.” Are his eyes getting teary? You can’t tell from where you’re sitting. Tears are fucking pay dirt for your dad. A man who’s in touch with his emotions? He loves nothing more.

             Charlie continues. “I’d rather just keep him away from all of it, never let him experience anything that could hurt him. But of course, it doesn’t work that way.” Your dad nods knowingly at this statement and suddenly it’s just a chat, father to father. Only wanting what’s best for their children. You watch your dad and Charlie settle on common ground and meet in the middle. You realize how much your hand is shaking and carefully set down your glass.

             “As far as my intentions with (Y/N), I intend to love her. I already love her. And I intend to do everything I can to show her how much she is loved.” You know you should be watching your dad right now, scanning his face and body language for clues. Is he angry? Are his arms folded? Does he have a single glove in his hand? But even in the dining room where you grew up, the hallowed site of Thanksgiving dinners, birthday cakes and algebra homework, Charlie is the most familiar thing in the room. And you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

             “But I don’t want to spoil her and give her everything she wants, either.” Didn’t you warn him not to put you on a pedestal? And didn’t he tell you that he didn’t want you that far away? All that wine must be going to your brain, because this might be the part where you actually pass out. Charlie is frowning now, trying to find the right words for both you and your dad. “I want to work together with her,” he continues. “Create things with her and solve problems together. I intend to cherish her, absolutely, and always, always support her. But I’m not let her get away with shit either.” He looks from your dad to you and smiles. “Just like she’s always done for me.”

             Motherfucker, he’s going to make you cry too. In front of your parents. Your dad finally turns to look at you and you know he’s still expecting an honest response.  “I’m going to marry him,” you blurt. It’s one part defiant, one part simpering Disney Princess, but Daddy I LOVE him!

             Your mom coughs and splutters on her wine. “M-marry?!” she chokes. “Is it a little soon? Just a bit?”

             “Not right away!” you argue. “Jesus, Mother! Not like, before the ink on the divorce papers is dry, but eventually. Why not?” Why not watch him sign papers on the 3rd floor, fuck him in the elevator on the way up and have the Justice of the Peace marry you on the 7th floor?

             “Is this the first you’ve heard of this?” Dad cocks his head in Charlie’s direction with a playful smile. The camaraderie between them holding up still.

             Charlie scoffs and frowns. “No, of course not. I asked her. Last week sometime.”

             “Saturday,” you whisper. Then louder.  “It was Saturday, remember? We went to dinner that night.”  You can tell from the way he looks at you that Charlie absolutely remembers. But your parents do not need to be privy to the all the events of that night: fingering in the cab, fingering in the hotel room, sex on the bed, sex in the shower, Charlie’s tongue in your cunt. Nope, just dinner.

             Your mom scrunches up her face and shrugs. “Well, it would definitely be frowned upon in polite society.”

             “Considered adultery,” your dad adds and you deflate. Fuck you, A-Word! Charlie shakes his head, looking down at his napkin. “I admit, Mr. (L/N) the timing is not ideal.”

             “But polite society never had a place in this house.” And now your eyes are totally tearing up as you smile at your mom. She’s so great. “Speaking of houses,” you sniff and dab at your eyes. “I’m moving in with him. I gave notice yesterday.” And this might be the point where you push things too far. Your dad does an honest-to-God facepalm and Mom’s eyes are as big as Grandma’s Noritake china.

             “Is it…?” she asks. “Is it a great idea? Now? Ummmm. Jumping in a little soon.” You’re the impulsive, emotional one. But Charlie, older and wiser, a responsible father for God’s sake! He should be discouraging this! Well, fuck that. Time to bring out the princess again. But this time, she’s not a naive and insufferable twit. This time, she’s a real grown-up. Wearing a high-neck blouse instead of her frilly princess dress.

             And you explain to them, in detail, about offsetting the cost of Charlie’s court expenses, about the trial moving and all the strain it’s going to cause. Henry.  And, really, this isn’t just you impetuously throwing yourself onto some guy’s dick. It’s Charlie! Look at him! Sitting there at the table in his cardigan and his hair is so pretty and yes, it really is as soft as it looks! “Guys look,” you say to Mom and Dad. “This is something that we’ve given so much thought to! We’ve done the homework, made lists and crunched numbers.”

             “It makes sense,” Charlie adds. “It really does.”  

             “Plus,” you reach for your refilled wine glass and shrug. “I’m not exactly asking permission, here.” Jesus Christ, that came out sounding a lot nastier than you had intended and you splutter an apology. If the bratty princess’s parents don’t punish her, then her betrothed just may have to bend her over his own knee. That might be something that warrants further investigation. But it will have to wait until later. “I don’t have anything to hide from you guys,” you tell your mom and dad. “You deserve better than that. But this is what it is.” And they’re still there.    

             In the end, all Mom and Dad do is offer tentative congratulations and support you, and Charlie now too, with unconditional love. “Family is family,” your dad says firmly, sounding much more like a mob boss than a child psychiatrist. Of course, they also offer to help you pack and move. Since a crew of burly stagehands has also been recruited to help, it should be easy work now.