Ava & Charlie, Part 6 (to heck with the roman numerals)

* To play catch-up, read the previous chapters here.

(My grandfather, Forrest is standing on the far left, and my great-aunt Dorcas and great-uncle Cecil are the bride and groom.)

Charlie bought our ice cream and we strolled in silence through Central Park. Horse carriages clip clopped past us, taxis honked in the distance, and we walked in easy silence under the black starless sky. He ushered me towards a bench tucked between a pair of trees as I tried my best to keep strawberry ice cream from running down my arm. I was deeply engrossed in the task when something made me pause and glance at Charlie.

Charlie smiled, his eyes mischievous as he tossed his half eaten ice cream into the darkness.

I frowned disapprovingly at the waste of a perfectly good pistachio cone when it dawned on me what he was doing. Charlie was trying to kiss me.

He leaned closer to my face; his serious expression making me want to burst into a thousand idiotic giggles. I could punch myself. There is absolutely no reason I should be acting this way. After all, I’ve smooched my fair share of men.

First there was Wilson Parker, a shoe salesman at Woolworths. He was tall, gangly, and kissed me three times before Mother made him cry over a dinner of pot-roast and mashed potatoes. Afterwards I dated Robert Matthews, a nice, boring man who worked in the subways.

But most recently there was Burt. He always had sweaty palms. Burt also patted my hand gently one night and said, “Ava, I can’t believe someone as pretty as you is an old maid. I don’t know how you’ve escaped for so long, but let’s get married.”

And that was the end of Burt.

Old Maid. According to my mother, once an unmarried girl is my age, the best she can hope for is a steady job and a good pension. And now, as I inch my way into my 30’s, people equate me with one of those aged WWI ships in the harbor. They're rusted, creaky, unfit for current battle duty and just float until someone decides to dismantle their parts.

I don’t feel old. I don’t feel like I’m missing anything. I like my job, I like making money, and most importantly, I like not answering to someone else. The reasons for getting married (a nice apartment with custom made drapes, a pudgy baby with dimples on his knees) rarely cross my mind.

But regardless of all the men I’ve kissed, all the men I’ve run away from, right now, at this very moment, my stomach feels like a metal fishing boat with hundreds of crabs crawling around in the bottom of it. In a good way, of course.

Charlie leaned even closer as I nervously cleared my throat, “It’s awfully warm this spring.”

“Hmmm.” He wasn’t listening to me at all.

I repositioned the purse in my lap and began to fumble around for a nail file, “I get the worst hang nails.”

He paused, his face inches from my cheek, “Will you hold still? You make me feel like I’m trying to skin a live deer.”

I pursed my lips, staring straight ahead. On one hand, the mental image of a dead deer was less than romantic. On the other hand, Charlie’s slow, even breathing was creating a flush of goose bumps on my arms.

His lips brushed my ear. I couldn’t decide whether to swoon or knock him out.

I shook my head, gathering my faculties, and turned to glare at him, “You’re kidding right?”

“I never kid about important things,” his lips brushed my neck.

“So help me,” my voice sounded unconvincingly shaky as I tapped the nail file ominously in my hand. “ I’m going to ram this file into your eye if you dont stop."

He paused right below my ear, grinning, “Let’s have two kids. We can name them Nail and File. They’ve got a good ring to them, don’t you think?”

I tried to straighten my spine and crossed my arms, "I'm not joking."

He brushed my ear with his lips again and I nearly fell over sideways.

“Umggmmgghhh.”

I had no idea what sound I’d just made, some sort of addled combination of Um, Huh, and Grrr. Great, not only does he think I’m a prude, but a mentally handicapped one to boot. I gripped the file so hard it almost cut into my palm.

Charlie chuckled and eyed my nail file, putting his arm around my shoulders, “Fine. I’ll stop. I’m not a fan of getting stabbed.”

I glanced sideways, heat rising on my neck as I gazed into his violet eyes. I had no intentions of letting this soldier make me swoon, even if I did want to wrestle him to the ground and kiss the lips right off his face.

He leaned back farther, assessing me with a frank expression, “I’ve been thinking.”

“I bet you have,” I fanned myself with my hand.

He pulled me closer, “Let’s really get married.”

I rolled my eyes.

“We can go to city hall. Just you and me.”

“Get real.”

“I mean it,” he placed one hand on the back of my neck and before I could utilize my nail file, Charlie kissed me squarely on the lips.

I had every intention of not liking it. I’d planned to sock him in the jaw. And if worse came to worse, I’d planned on calling him a name that would no doubt insult his deceased mother, God rest her soul. But none of these things happened. In fact, the nail file slipped past my fingers and fell into the darkness.

Instead of charging into combat, I closed my eyes, wrapped my arms around his giant shoulders and hung on for dear life.