I did expect silence.

I knew she would not answer her personal phone, so I didn’t text her the morning after.

What would I tell her, anyways? Would I demand her to explain herself to me? To tell me what was going through her head, to make a move like hers?

No, not that. Definitely not that. After a shower and letting myself feel all the disappointment and something that was too close to aching but not quite, I paced around the room and dried my hair with the towel. I am kind of used to this anyways. Then, because being used to something doesn’t mean you can’t rant about it, I ended up calling my friend and flatmate Trent, the only jock I know who listens and loves stupid drama and also was probably the only one that’d pick up the phone at the time.

“Gosh, Charlie, just go after the sexy Brit now. You’re not seeing her again, are you? Make the best of the night before you come back, then forget it.”

Okay, so I didn’t exactly tell him the accurate version of who Amber is, but that’s because I technically can’t give up many details about my job or who I am with.

“I can’t do that, dude. It’s not that simple.”

“What do you mean it ain’t that simple? You’re a girl. She’s a girl. Simple math. You told me you almost kiss, no? I’ve never almost kissed someone I didn’t want to totally kiss.”

I bit my lip and sighed, tired. Did he truly think Amber wanted to kiss me? I mean, she did, I guess, but why?

Why would someone like Amber want to kiss me?

“I don’t know, man. I’m just so confused.”

“What do you mean confused, you don’t get her accent or what? Because it will get to a point where you won’t need much speaking to communicate…”

“Okay, okay, shut up. You know what? Worst idea ever, calling you. I’m gonna hang up, it’s late here, I need to get some sleep.”

“No, you need to sleep with the sexy Brit!”

“I didn’t say she was sexy, and no, I don’t! Good night!” I yelled, and after that he laughed and told me he loved me, and I hung up.

My lips were a little bloody again, but only because I was nervous. She had kept her —my— chapstick, so there was no way to fix them now.

So, yeah, I expected silence, but I also expected for my head to let this go eventually. Eventually meaning, soon. Because she’s not the first straight girl I’ve encountered, or closeted, or whatever she is—I don’t mind. The thing is that didn’t happen, only her silence did, and it got to a point where she didn’t answer her work phone either.

And you know what? I’m fine with lesbian crisis and her panicking so hard she wants to blatantly ignore me now, but that’s something between us and I don’t mind it. What I won’t allow her to do is for this to affect our jobs. To affect mine. 

She can do whatever she wants, but she’s not ruining Matt and I for this.

When she calls me back, I’m visiting Hyde Park (this time the real one) and I’m so mad at her I could just hang up, but after trying to reach her for hours, that wouldn’t be too mature.

“Where have you been?” I say as I pick up, angry.

She stays silent for a sec and, when she talks, she sounds tired.

“I had to go help Billie with her creative process. She told me she needed some functioning new ears and someone to feed the cat.”

To be completely honest, she sounds like she just made that up, but I’m not going to ask because I don’t care if it’s true or not.

“Right. Well, there’s some things you should go through before the big day, so spare me an hour and read what I sent you yesterday and this morning.”

“I left my laptop at the hotel. I’ll go pick it up as soon as possible, I promise.”

“Good. I would need your report by nine. Bye.”

When I hang up on her, my heart is pounding.

I close my eyes and a duck approaches me and tries to eat my shoelace. I don’t move. I just stare at him, think of him as a very brave duck, and then pity myself. 

I keep going over and over the stairs, and her hands, and the whole day before that, really. It’s like a broken record playing on repeat, like an endless song I can’t shake off, and I feel dumb for (potentially) being interested a girl that I hopefully will never see again in my life.

So much for a weekend teasing and pretending it could really be something.

So I try not to look at her for the whole trip to Wales.

I can’t. Looking at her means remembering the way she looked at 1:58 am, her glowing eyes, the words she whispered. I refuse. So I talk to Molly instead, I go through the (new) plan Billie has just changed (yes, again): now Billie wants a very prepared and pretty “stolen picture” for the paparazzi. Yeah, for them. They thought of selling the picture would be a good idea, even if I don’t really think this fits a lot with everything else we’ve been doing, but who am I to complain about yet another improvised stunt: literally no one, that’s been proven. So I don’t fight them, first because I’m more than tired, second because I don’t even feel like looking at Amber now, and I just inform my boss and then I check social media and my messages in case Matt had any doubts I could maybe answer.

But he hasn’t texted me and doesn’t reply to any of my texts. 

It’s okay, I guess family reunions can be like that sometimes. I hope he’s having fun and that he got to fish with his grandpa or whatever plans we had for the weekend.

Billie wakes up at some point and starts fixing her hair and make up.

“Aw, yes, I needed my beauty sleep.” She looks the same to me, but I don’t tell her. “How long have I been asleep? Are we there yet?”

“For like two hours,” Amber says fast, and I’m surprised she didn’t have to check the phone to know.

“We have another ten minutes left,” I add, turning in my seat to look at Billie. 

I smile a little, shily, and she smiles back at me before putting on a cardigan.

I think I just saw a bruise in her arm, but that might’ve been a shadow. Or maybe they got drunk again and it really was a bruise, I don’t know, but I’m not going to ask them.

“So, tell me, Charlie, how’s London been for you?” she asks. “This one doesn’t want to tell.”

I can tell Billie Grace doesn’t really want to know about my visit, so why does she ask? Did Amber ask her to do it or something? 

“It was nice,” I reply, nonchalantly. “I got to see a few museums and stuff.”

“That’s nice. Didn’t you guys go together?” Billie tries, and she glances at Amber just for a moment. “I bought those tickets for you.”

“No,” I say.

“Yeah, it was great,” Amber replies, at the same time.

No one says a word after that, and I sit straight and start looking through the window. But Billie’s getting bored, so only two minutes pass before she’s talking again.

“This view is actually really nice, don’t you girls think? Oh, to live on a farm in the middle of Nowhere, Great Britain!”

“The signal is terrible here, though. I miss my New York data speed,” Amber says, looking at her phone.

She’s been working a lot lately, maybe because I scolded her yesterday when she called me, maybe because working is a perfect excuse not to look at me at all.

“But there are so many things up here, come on!” Billie sounds especially loud today, as if she was nervous for what’s about to happen. She’s looking out the window like a little kid, pointing at signs and trees on the way. “Look at that car! And that cow! And, hey, that’s Matthew!”

“What?” I say, and I react so fast I practically jump over Amber to look through the window and see what Billie means.

We’ve just passed a tall, skinny guy with messy blonde hair in the middle of Nowhere, Great Britain. To be honest he could be anyone, I mean, most British guys look like that to some extent, but I have a feeling that Billie was right and that that’s my boy.

“Stop the car!” I tell the driver, and I can feel Amber’s hand in my hip before I move back to my seat and I open my door.

“Careful, there,” she says.

The guy has stopped too. I run to him, and his face is somewhere between surprised and upset.

“Charlie?”

“What are you doing here?!” I don’t get why he would think walking on the side of the road in a remote part of Wales is a good idea. What the fuck? Why is he not home? Why hasn’t he called to tell me he was away, where is he coming from, what…?

His eyes are red and I can see them now, so I stop dead in my tracks and just look at him.

He’s been crying.

Why?

Why?

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, and he looks just like a little kid, and I don’t know what happened, but I’m about to kill whoever made him be like this.

“Where are you coming from?” I ask, and I try to be soft, and I reach out to grab his hand.

He lets me. He probably needs a hug more than this, but I need him to tell me what’s going on first.

“I went to see Taylor,” he finally admits, and I can see he’s ashamed, but still I hold my tongue not to scream Fuck. “I’m sorry, Charlie,” he adds fast, as he sees it in my face; the fear, the wariness. “I’m sorry, I just had to…”

“You could’ve told me,” I say, and I regret staying in London more than ever.

I should’ve been here. I should’ve stayed with him to prevent this, but I trusted he could take care of himself and meanwhile I was just fantasizing and dancing with lies and impossible things.

This is my fault.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Charlie, I just needed to say goodbye,” he says, and he’s crying again now, and my heart is sinking at the sight. “I didn’t know if I’d get to see him again. I just… I just kept thinking, how is it possible that I’m home and that we’re not meeting? How could our last time really be our last? I didn’t want to end up like we did, Charlie. I didn’t want our last kiss to be like… that…”

Their last kiss was stolen by a paparazzi that sold it as if it meant nothing, just money. Taylor and Matt’s last kiss became something dirty so fast that it was forever corrupted. It’s still a secret, it was never published, but it stopped being sweet to become a threat. I can’t blame him for wanting to fix that now. I can’t scold him. I can’t tell him that I don’t get it and that he’s been careless, because I do get it, even if he has.

“It’s okay, Matt. It’s okay, come here.” 

I don’t think my hugs are very comforting, because my arms are short and kinda useless, but I manage to wrap them tight around him and he bends his body so his face is buried in my shoulder now. We must form a funny scene, seeing us from the outside. I wonder what the ones in the car think now, and if they’re watching,

“I will not do this again, Charles,” we murmurs, soft, sad. “I promise. This was really the end, and I will behave from now on. I promise.”

“You’re good, Matt, honey,” I say, and he moves away to look at me and I clean his tears with my fingers. “Come on. Billie Grace is in the car, but you shouldn’t see her yet.”

“My house is just a few minutes away from here.”

“Good. I’ll walk you home, then. I won’t let you go alone again.”

We arrive at Matt’s and I can see Billie’s car parked in the corner. They’re waiting for us, but I receive no complaints. I text Amber that he had an emergency, and she tells me not to worry. She gives me time.

I thank her.

I help the kid change his clothes, fix his hair a bit and lighten up. He looks so much better with a wool jersey and his new glasses, but anyone could still tell he’s sad.

“This is it, Matt. You’re going to do great.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, and then he stops looking at his reflection in the mirror and takes a deep breath.

Amber’s ready by the time I’m outside, her camera pressed against her face and her finger fast as she takes a few proof pictures. I don’t cover myself when I enter the frame, and she doesn’t stop either. We don’t speak. Billie gets out of the car, that they’ve now parked closer, and looks at us. Amber raises a thumb as a green light sign. 

I text Matt, and the door opens.

Matthew Berry comes out and he looks like he has cried because he has, but it’s good for the picture, so it’s good for him. It’ll sell the story better. It’ll add coherence to the narrative, the soft guitar boy who was so heartbroken he cried for literal days.

When he sees Billie Grace, his smile is mild, but real. He closes the door behind him and walks down the steps keeping them apart. He looks shy, and tired, and young. Meanwhile, in front of him, Billie looks like she’s just realized something vital. She looks almost worried. 

Then, she shortens the distance left and does something we had not planned and that surprises all of us.

I can hear Amber’s camera clicking non-stop when she grabs Matt’s face with both hands and just kisses him in a way that feels urgent, angry and desperate.

Click.

Click.

Click.