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He cancels the plane tickets.
It breaks his heart – no, shatters it, like his heart was a fragile, beautiful thing that is now just millions of shards of glass, piercing his chest from the inside. And suddenly he can’t breathe, he’s clutching at his shirt, loosening his tie, gasping from the pain of it. He stares at his phone, and he knows the cancellation button must be staring up at him but he can’t see it for the tears welling in his eyes.
Charles fumbles a thumb for the button even as one fat drop tickles down his cheek and he swipes at it with his other hand. Well, he thinks, at least the tickets were refundable. And it’s not like they can’t go to Rome some other time.
(‘Like tomorrow,’ his brain supplies, instantaneous. ‘You could take Vivian to Rome tomorrow. Or Dubai! You were just talking last night about what a tragedy it is that you’ve never tasted grilled camel!’)
Still, the loss is acute. He was going to give her Rome, and now he’s walking home alone, and Jake is back at the restaurant, explaining that he’s having a bathroom emergency. Charles stuffs his phone in his pocket and sniffles, and he rubs his hands over his eyes, and through his blurred vision he sees it: a sign. It’s flashing neon and two of the letters are burned out and his heart is suddenly beating again, the broken pieces reforming into an organ more powerful, more full of love than ever before.
The sign says: PAW HOP. Charles steps into traffic without looking, and when a taxi screeches to a halt mere feet away he just waves distractedly and keeps walking. He doesn’t stop until he’s at the window, nose nearly pressed to the smudged glass, and there, right in front. It’s like it was calling to him. A ring. Platinum, princess cut diamond, bezel setting. It’s screaming “Vivian” at him. His ears are ringing with it. He can’t hear a single other sound – not the traffic behind him or the people pushing past him on the sidewalk, not even his own pulse thumping in his temples or his panting breaths.
Charles keeps his eyes on the ring as he steps to the side and pushes against the front door, which is a pull, so he pulls it instead, yanks it open, and only then (and only very reluctantly) does he tear his gaze away.
“How much for the ring in the window?” Charles calls out as he walks down the narrow center aisle to the counter at the back of the store. He’s fishing for his wallet in his back pocket. “I can pay you $2,000 right now.”
The woman sitting at the counter is filing her nails and she just stares at Charles for a long time. Her hair is pink and tied up in a ponytail on top of her head, and she has a tattoo on the side of her neck. It’s a dragon holding an umbrella in its tail.
“Which ring?” she says.
“The one in the window!” Charles shouts again, and points over his shoulder. “The engagement ring!”
“Uh huh,” the woman says. She blinks at Charles. “It’s $200 if you pay-”
“Sold!”
“-in cash,” the woman finishes.
“Oh.” Charles butterflies open his wallet. He pulls out all of his cash and lays it on the counter. He has $52.
“There’s an ATM down the street,” the woman says, nodding her head to the right.
“And risk someone else coming in and buying it out from under me? I think not,” Charles says. “How much if I put it on a credit card?”
The woman sighs and sets down her nail file. She pulls a keyboard toward her and begins punching at it one-fingered. Charles is bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and trying to decide if he should propose tonight or tomorrow. His body is thrumming with such furious electricity that he’s not sure he can wait more than the 15 or 20 minutes it will take him to buy this ring, but his heart is singing at him too, that he needs this to be perfect
Is it possible to rent the entire top of the Empire State Building and have the ring delivered by helicopter? Should he arrange for the ring to arrive by ferry under the Brooklyn Bridge at midnight? He could cling to the bottom of the ferry and crawl up the sides and surprise her – does he have time to learn how to scuba dive?
“It’s $500,” the woman says.
Charles practically throws his credit card at her.
+++
He knows Jake is right. As he stands over his kitchen sink pouring goat milk into his eyes, which are still weeping from the pepper spray exchange, he can admit that now.
Charles loves fast and he loves hard and he wouldn’t have it any other way. When he connects with someone, he commits. He’s all in. He doesn’t actually understand how people can be any other way. If someone is important to him – if someone is Jake, or Eleanor (before it all blew up), or Vivian – he wants to be the best version of himself he can be for that person. He wants to be with that person all the time, and learn everything about them and experience every part of life through their eyes. And he wants to do everything in his power to make that person’s heart burst from the same joy and love and lust (as appropriate) that he feels when he’s with them.
It’s simple, really. But he does understand that somehow not everyone feels that way, and that some people might find him – overwhelming. He understands this because he’s been told it’s true, even if he doesn’t quite get it.
Charles goes to bed that night with a tea towel soaked in milk draped over his burning eyes. He dreams of Vivian. She is wearing a golden caftan covered in pink and purple flowers and her hair is flowing, and she is feeding him bites of camel. On her left hand a ring catches the sun, and the glint of it is blinding.
Charles’ heart sings in his sleep.