old soul | matthew gray gubler

23. abandonment issues

Charlotte walked the length of the living room, trash bag tucked beneath her arm as she cleaned up paper plates and cups forgotten by those who had attended the reception. Soft music hummed at the front of the room, emitting from the stereo Daniel had brought out of his room. Apparently the songs playing were Joan's favorites, and it made more than one person cry tonight.

Charlotte had abandoned her heels since she ushered Joan's last work friend out the door. She had on her familiar pink slippers as if she were in her own home. Her black dress, simple enough for a funeral, swung around her legs, and she wore a cardigan, considering the air conditioning had been jacked up due to all of the body heat.

Charlotte finished her sweep of the living room and headed back for the kitchen. As far as she knew, Sheila was in bed, Daniel went to a friend's house, and Uncle John was on the front porch, sharing a drink with Charlotte's grandpa and his own father and mother. When Charlotte had first spotted Hugh step into the funeral procession earlier, she nearly choked on her spit.

She hadn't seen him since her mother's own funeral, when she was 2 years old. She barely remembered him, and wouldn't have recognized his face if Sheila had shown a picture from her graduation party a month earlier. He avoided Charlotte the entire time, barely meeting her eye when she shook his hand. She was helping greet guests, but he didn't take her friendly advances.

She knew it because her grandma has raised her. It was a controversial topic in her family because her grandma had never been there for her own kids. Everyone always wondered why Amy, the famous movie star, free-bird at heart, had wanted to raise her grandchild when she'd left her own daughters at 2 and 1. Charlotte had spoken to her grandma about it before and she understood her need at a second chance at motherhood. Nobody else did.

Charlotte tossed out the garbage and was about to wash the dishes when footsteps drew near to the kitchen. She looked up from the sink, catching her grandpa's eye in the dim light of the room.

He nodded once at her, cradling a glass of Scotch, leaning against the doorway. "You look so much like her."

Charlotte tore her eyes away, instead focusing on squeezing soap onto a sponge. "Who, mom or grandma?"

"Both. You're mom, more or less. That dark hair, round face. Your nose is your father's, though. As is that height," he let out a low chuckle at her shortness.

Charlotte rolled her eyes, though he couldn't see it. "Thanks."

"I know you don't like me, Charlotte," her name sounded like venom when it came from him, this old, rich, white, straight guy.

"Oh, and you're suddenly the organizer of my fan club, are you?" Charlotte hastily rubbed at a dish, focusing her anger on the soap suds.

Hugh stepped up to the counter beside her. He set down his glass of Scotch and turned to look at her, "There's the Amy in you. Fiery, passionate."

Charlotte crinkled her nose. "Hugh, you don't have to talk to me just because I'm here. You don't like me, and that's fine. Just go in with your night and-"

"Charlotte, I don't hate you," he set a hand on her wrist when he noticed she was nearly going to break the plastic cup she was washing.

Charlotte's hands dropped to the edge of the sink, her head falling forward. "Then why did you never come see me? You never came my graduation, never came to my party, my first movie premiere. 25 birthdays, Jesus, fuck! You didn't come to grandma's funeral!"

Charlotte let the tears in her eyes slip down her cheeks. Hugh didn't look stunned or offended. He just smiled a sad, aged smile at her. He tapped her wrist and pulled away.

"Your grandma and I were never destined to be together. We were too different, but we shared our stubbornness enough to push us apart. She was talented, Amy was. And when she expressed her interest in moving to LA to become an actress, I can admit that I wasn't as supportive as I could have been. There wasn't anything holding us down in Illinois, yet I insisted on staying.

"I don't regret it, Charlotte. Not for a second. Your Aunt Joan had a happy, long life here. Who's to say that would've been the case in LA? Her drug addiction probably would've cost her her life. But, I was still proud of your grandma. I didn't come to the funeral because I couldn't bear facing her after everything I said to her when she left."

"And what about my mom?" Charlotte challenged. She turned to him fully, drying her hands in a writhing manner.

"Your mom was successful, too. She was a sophomore in college, studying business. She would've worked for me, ya know. Would've taken over the family estate. She would've been happy."

"But she's not. Because she's dead. You were never there for me. You can be regretful for everything you said, but I was the one who had to grow up without any family. I had Aunt Joan barely a few summers out of my life, and I have John and Dan and Sheila now. But you...you were never there. I didn't even recognize you! Did you know that? I barely know your face."

Hugh sighed, running a hand over his face, "I had a new family, Charlotte. I had other children to raise. I didn't think it important for you to know me. You had Amy."

"Yeah, you replaced your broken family with one you didn't have to fix," Charlotte laughed bitterly. "Don't worry, I get it. You know, I barely care that you were never in my life. You're a pathetic excuse for a father figure anyways. It's just that I had to put together an entire fucking funeral on my own. I was 21 years old, did you know that? 21. I was barely old enough to drink, I was filming for my first TV show and when my only family dropped dead, I had to go through it all. Alone."

"Charlotte, I'm sorry for that-"

"You're not. And that's okay," Charlotte pushed herself off the counter and tossed the rag at the sink. "You don't have to pretend to want to be here, with me, in this kitchen. You're just trying to preserve your image because you know you're going to be the next one to drop dead. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed before you can break my heart any more."

Charlotte walked out of the room, arm's crossed and chest fuming with anger. Hugh followed her, caught her arm at the base of the steps.

"Charlotte," he tugged her around.

She pulled her arm from his hold harshly, "Just stop, please!"

She was crying hysterically now, shoulders shaking and eyes puffing up from the tears streaming down her face.

"Charlotte, I know you don't like me and I know I wasn't there and I know I don't need to force any relationship on you," he explained. "But, before you shut me out anymore, you have to know something."

"What?" Charlotte spit, chest heaving with emotion.

"I know who your father is."