Charlie is still sleeping when I wake. My room is mostly dark, but I feel his steady breathing against my hair and his warm hand that rests between my thighs and I’m sure that he’s fast asleep. I quietly move my legs and sit up in the bed, taking his hand from underneath the covers and bringing it to my lips before laying it down near his face, where my body has left the bed warm. He shifts only slightly, but doesn’t wake as I crawl from the bed.

I go to my suitcase and pull from it a pair of black leggings. I normally wouldn’t bother putting on pants with an oversized sweatshirt in my own house before padding down to the kitchen for tea and breakfast, but I decide to present myself to my parents in the gentlest way possible after having a boy sleep over, regardless of if they would’ve said anything otherwise.

“Morning, Stella Lou,” my dad greets me over the popping noise coming from the pan that his spatula is turning about in as I enter the kitchen.

My mother sits at a bar stool in front of him, flipping through a magazine. She turns when he says my name and pulls her readers from her face, “Did you sleep well? Where’s Charlie?”

“I did. He’s still sleeping, so I just left him.”

I sit in a stool next to my mom and reach towards the plate piled with cooked bacon and some sausage that sits next to my dad. He notices my struggle and hands me the plate.

“Thank you. I’m starving.”

I have a waffles on, too, and these eggs are almost done. Your mom and I are going to see your aunt Margie, but we didn’t want you and Charlie to starve,” he smiles.

“Thanks, dad,” I say. I consider reminding him that I haven’t starved yet since I’ve lived without him and my mom making my breakfast, but I decide against it, because playing damsel isn’t so bad when I’m eating well because of it.

“You two are welcome to come, but we didn’t want to overwhelm Charlie by introducing him to the whole family all at once,” my mom says, laughing a little to herself.

“I’m going to have to unwelcome you both, then,” my dad states, turning off the burner, “Charlie is too polite. He won’t know what to say when Margie pulls out her nudie sketches for show and tell.”

My aunt Margie – who is actually not my aunt, but my mom’s cousin, likes to encourage every person whom she meets to take any opportunity that they’re given in life in which they feel both totally and completely uncomfortable and free, and to do that thing until they don’t feel uncomfortable any longer. For Margie, that thing was posing nude for art majors in college.

She’s kept copies of many of the sketches, and still takes the liberty of proudly showing off to her frequent visitors (she’s social, of course,) and inspiring all whom she comes in contact with to liberate themselves in whatever uncomfortable, freeing ways that they deem fit. I say, good for her. Still, time after time I’m shocked and a little frightened by the detail that some of these artists have so eloquently sketched her body. Talk about getting to know someone quickly.

“I’m sure he will be devastated to have missed the opportunity, but I’ll assure him that the sketches aren’t going anywhere.”

“They certainly aren’t. She keeps digital files now,” my dad dryly includes.

“We thought we could take you two into town today, though. You’ll be gone for your trip before you know it and you’ll probably want to rest during the days before your trip, or Charlie might want to go to the gym or something, so we want to take you out,” my mother says excitedly.

“Alright,” I agree, “I’m sure he’ll be up for it.”

I eat my breakfast with my parents, and then my mom makes Charlie a plate and a glass of water before they leave for my aunt’s. He still hasn’t come downstairs, so I decide to take him his breakfast.

The sun shines more brightly through my windows when I reenter my room, and I see Charlie’s elbow moving from where he still lies in my bed.

“I thought you were still asleep. You could’ve come downstairs, you know.”

He sits up as I approach, and cringes a bit at his own movement. I realize that his elbow movement came from him rubbing at his side, where he is hurt.

“Charlie, are you okay? Do you want me to call the doctor and see if he can call in a prescription for more painkillers? We can go by the pharmacy today –”

“No, baby, I’m fine. I must’ve slept weird. I think I tense up in my sleep.”

I huff silent laughter as I scoot closer to him on the bed and offer the plate and water glass, remember how completely relaxed and uninhibited he looked when I woke.

“I don’t know, I really think you should let me call. It’s ridiculous that they only gave you a weekend’s worth.”

“I don’t need any more medicine, Stella,” he says firmly, but with a smile as he props himself up on one elbow. Taking his plate and resting it on the bed in front of him, he picks up his fork and begins to cut into one of the sausages.

“I’ll just hold this for you, princess,” I tease him, gesturing to the cold glass in my hand.

“Finally, you’re being a decent hostess.”

“Hey, I’m as much of a guest here as you are.” I say, pulling the water away from him as he reaches for it. I smile then and offer it back as he follows it with his eyes and a hint of a frown.

“You don’t feel that this your home anymore?”

He brings the glass to his lips as I consider what I’ve just said. I know what I meant, of course. But I hadn't considered what it might mean to someone else – isn’t that always the problem.

“I still consider it my home in that it’s where I’m from, but I don’t feel like I live here anymore really. I don’t feel like I ever really lived here. That sounds strange, but I was just staying here until I did something else. I’m attached to my parents and my family, I’ll always stay close with them and we’ll see each other often, regardless of where we live, but I’m just not attached to a place right now.”

Charlie offers me back the glass to hold and goes back to his plate, staring down at his fork as it cuts a bite of sausage.

“What about Clemson? I suppose you’re not attached to anything there either.”

He tries to look in my eyes for a moment but struggles.

“That’s a silly assumption, Charlie, if you consider yourself to be a part of that town. I don’t know if I do. You’re more than that to me, less temporary than a place.”

“Noted,” he smirks. “Regardless, I’m glad to have been invited to your place of previous, temporary residency.”

“Happy to have you. My parents like you. They want to take us out today, after they’re back from running errands. You ate that really fast,” I ramble.

“It was good, tell your mother and father,” He says, setting the plate on the table beside my bed. I offer him the water glass.

“How do you know I didn’t make that?” I ask defensively. He tilts his head back, drinking the last of his water. From the corner of his eye, he looks at me, amused, and raises his eyebrows.

I sink back into my pillows, “I think I could’ve managed everything on that plate, thank you.”

He follows my lead, moving closer to me. I lay my arm on his torso and play at the hems of the sheet that cover his waist.

“I still don’t like it that you keep feeling pain,” I tell him.

“It’s not bad. I would see a doctor if it were.”

Charlie stretches his arms behind his head and yawns and I roll my eyes before he can see me. I’ve no way of knowing how bad his pain is but I’m quite sure that no matter the severity, he won’t be seeing a doctor again by his own will.

“If you’re not better by the time we’re in New York, will you see someone. Please?”

He chuckles, clearly brushing off my concern, “Alright, deal.”

I ignore his passiveness on the subject, because I wouldn’t change him, even if I could. I love how selfless he is, how he downplays his own problems so that they don’t become anyone else’s. Of course, I want to be the exception, the person whom he goes to when he does need to be honest about whatever is affecting him, physically or otherwise.

I feel him opening up to me though, every single day I feel it, as I do with him. But I know this is very different. I know that there is an underlying circumstance that’s making it harder for him to admit that he’s hurting – the fight. I see him withdraw when either of us mentions it. I can try to ease his mind that nothing that could happen in the ring would change my opinion of him, but I can’t reason with him that he may not feel like he’s proven himself to everyone else if something should go wrong.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks suddenly.

I feel him move beside me and in a second he’s shifted and his head rests against my stomach.

“Will you run your hands through my hair?” He asks, muffling his voice by rubbing his hand over his face and eyes.

“Of course,” I respond. By his demeanor, I wonder to myself if he’s thought about asking on other occasions, but refrained to avoid feeling silly. I run both of my hands softly through my hair, scratching and massaging a bit at his head.

“I was just thinking about what it would be like for me to hear the things that you think to yourself.”

“About you?”

“Yes, but mostly about you. I think you’re too hard on yourself, I wish you wouldn’t be.”

He laughs, “That’s true. I don’t like myself half as much as I think you like me.”

“And you probably only think I like you half as much as I do. Why did you laugh?”

I start to twirl the shorter curls on the side of his head around my fingers. I watch the part of his face that I can see. He blinks once, slowly, and his rosy lips twitch a bit before he lets himself smile.

“You’re very frank. It would’ve been nice to have you around years ago to… simplify things.”

He moves then to face me, pushing himself up by his arms, one on each side of my body.

“I love you. I love how you think about me, and I love that you tell me so often. It’s helping me, even if it doesn’t show.”

Charlie smiles as he speaks and then kisses me. I raise up to meet his lips at first, but I soon feel his hand on my back, and he carefully pushes me back down onto the pillows with his body before breaking the kiss.

He smirks, “How long before your parents come back for us?”

***

“Are there any places in particular you two were wanting to go? That’s probably a silly question, Charlie, but if Stella’s told you about any place that’s interested you, don’t hesitate to speak up. Dad and I were thinking of maybe going to some of the shops downtown near the square, and then having lunch.” My mom chimes from behind her black, oversized sunglasses. She sits beside me in the backseat, insisting that Charlie shouldn’t have to “wedge himself” into the car, and that the front seat would be much more comfortable for him.

“That all sounds good to me,” Charlie turns to my mother and smiles charmingly.

On our drive into town, my mom and dad both tell Charlie bits about the town (mostly my mom,) and he listens intently, more intently than I do, even asking questions occasionally. I watch him mostly, through the crack between his seat and the car window. I see only his profile while he stares at the passing scenery. He, too, wears sunglasses that hide his pretty blue eyes, and it makes me wonder even more what this part of my world must look like to him.

When we arrive downtown, after my father has parked the car, Charlie moves quickly and swiftly to get out, and my father is caught off guard by the variation in his normally steady and controlled gait. Of course, I’m not surprised when my car door immediately opens. I grab the small purse that I’ve brought with me for the day and climb from the car.

“Thank you,” I mouth to Charlie with a smile. I look back to my dad, who is closing his own car door and grinning to himself. My mother comes into view then and slaps my dad lightly on the arm.

“You could take a few tips from him, you know,” She taunts, but laughs lightly after.

The four of us walk around some of our favorite shops for a couple of hours, and I’m relieved that Charlie actually seems to be enjoying himself. Of course, I shouldn’t be so surprised – we did do a great deal of browsing together in Charleston at his own free will. He even finds a new flannel and a t-shirt before we decide to take a break for lunch.

I decide that my favorite Italian restaurant – one that isn’t downtown, but is in a decent walking distance on days like today, when the weather is pleasant – sounds like the perfect lunch spot. Downtown in my town isn’t very busy, of course, nothing compared to even an average sized city or town, but only ten minutes away, where the family owned, Gianni’s is located, the surroundings are even more quiet and unbothered. The restaurant is always fairly busy, but it is tucked away so perfectly, and the interior atmosphere is so authentic and timeless, that it never feels too crowded, and it certainly doesn’t feel like stereotypical, small town dining. Not that there is anything wrong with our more typecast dining establishments.

We start down the long hill towards Gianni’s, my parents leading the way. Charlie and I stay a few feet behind so that I can tell him stories about when my friends and I would mix awful drinks and light bonfires in one of clearings just off the wood-lined street that we’re walking along.

“That was the last time we all hung out there. You’re not supposed to light fires in the wooded areas here, and that night, Marty – he’s Jason’s friend, the one who was with him in Clemson – he convinced me to drive off with him so that I could smoke my first cigar. I went with him to make Jason mad. I was stupid. He ended up with a flat tire only ten minutes away from the bonfire and my friends got caught after he tried calling someone to help. We thought we were further away, I guess,” I smile to myself, “That first cigar was my last one, too.”

When I look up at Charlie, he seems almost disappointed. I jump to the conclusion that my story must’ve sounded austere and nothing like the way I would spend my free time now. Not to mention the part about me trying to make someone angry with me.

“I was really different back then,” I tell Charlie, “I don’t even think about how different things were, because it makes me angry with myself. In the way that you’re too hard on yourself about your past – I ignore mine completely. Who’s the more decent person?” I ask dryly, but with a sarcastic smile. I look ahead to my parents and notice them whispering to one another, and I wonder if they’ve heard our conversation.

“It’s not that. It’s more that… well, I never thought about you being with him. I never really thought about you being with anyone but your old boyfriend.”

“Oh,” I say, confused, “Oh. We never–”

“Stella Lou, we’re passing your hill. Do you remember?” My dad asks happily.

“Of course I do. Have they finished the house yet?”

“Almost. No one’s moved in yet, though. You’ll hate it. Absolutely hideous, it is.”

“Oh it’s not that bad,” my mom counters unconfidently. “Gianni’s might have a wait, since we don’t have reservations. You could take Charlie and show him your dream plot that’s now destroyed by modernism and split level design.”

Both of my parents finally stop ahead of us, and Charlie and I slow down as we catch up to them.

“Would you want to?” I ask him. “Would you want to see it? It’s just a piece of land that I always loved as a little girl. I wanted to build a house there when I was older, but someone’s beaten me to it.”

“Sure,” Charlie says quietly, looking between my parents and me.

“Do you really think Gianni’s will have an actual wait though? I can take Charlie to see the hill another time. I know the restaurant’s busy, but…”

“I think there will definitely be a wait,” my dad nods solemnly.

I consider my parent’s behavior to be a tad bit suspicious, but I’m too distracted by the approaching view to worry for long. Charlie and I only had to backtrack a little before coming to the long, winding driveway that steadily, subtly slopes up to one of my favorite places in the entire town.

“I should probably feel silly, being so excited. All things considered, it’s a fairly unremarkable hill. But for whatever reason, I loved driving up here with my dad at night as a little girl. Probably because the lights of the town, when you look down at them, make you feel like you’re somewhere a little bigger, where more things happen. I used to pretend like we were in a big city, and we would make up stories about what was happening in all of the buildings and houses that we could see. Truthfully, the buildings were empty; everything around here closes at seven. In the houses, people were probably asleep. But to me, everything looked so alive. We would park almost precisely in the middle of that house,” I tell Charlie, staring at the large, somewhat obtrusive structure before me, “Your opinion? Is it as awful in the eye of an architect as it is to a commoner?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to find an architect,” Charlie huffs, smirking and staring up at the house. “It’s pretty ugly,” he finally admits.

I assess the ground around me and, when I decide that it is sufficiently dry and grassy, I sit down cross-legged and lean back on my arms as I continue to stare at my perfect hill’s new feature. I hear Charlie sigh contently as he sits down beside me, and then lays back into the grass, folding his arms behind his head.

I stare down at him for a moment, smiling at how serene and relaxed he looks. He pulls one of his arms from behind his head and holds it up, encouraging me to lie against him. Once my head is on his chest, he starts to brush his fingers through my hair.

“I’d still like to live on a hill like this when I’m older. Somewhere quaint and simple in itself, but where you feel like you’re never far from everything you could want. It’s the best of both worlds, you know?”

“I like hills,” Charlie considers, “But I’ll build you a prettier house, baby.”

I smile wildly against Charlie’s chest – so much that I know he can feel how ridiculously full my cheek became at his simple promise. I stay still for a while, while Charlie’s hands continue to play through my hair. I don’t overthink what he’s said – I’m careful not to ruin it. But finally, I find something to say that feels right, and that I can’t resist.

I sit up quickly and unzip the small purse, hoping to find what I’m looking for in the many items that have been left in it over the years. I don’t have to search long before I pull out a pen and offer it to Charlie.

“Draw it for me?”

“What?” He asks, or rather, defends, because I know he understood me exactly.

“This isn’t about me pushing you into anything Charlie. I have simply observed your talent for drawing houses and you’ve just mentioned that you’ll build me something pretty one day. I want to see. That’s all.”

“I don’t have anything to draw on,” Charlie says, sitting up and taking the pen from my hand.

I look around at what we’ve brought with us: my purse full of mints and aspirin and tampons and stray change and lip-gloss, and shopping bags. I grab the simple, brown bag and pull its contents – a new shirt and a new scarf for my hair – and stuff them into another bag. Then, I rip and flatten the brown-bag paper and lay it in front of Charlie.

“Your canvas,” I present.