"Oh, hello, Chuck."

Charlotte didn't pull the cell phone away from her ear but greeted him with a firm handshake. Chuck winced but thought it would be rude, not to mention unmanly, to complain about a woman's handshake. Although, admittedly, Charlotte Pickles was no ordinary woman.

"Hello, Mrs. Pickles."

"Oh, Chuck, you've been dating Angelica for a long time now…what is it, almost two years?"

"A little over a year and a half."

"See? There's no need to call me Mrs. Pickles. You can call me Charlotte…what? No, I wasn't talking to you. You do have to call me Mrs. Pickles."

Chuck just stood on the doorstep while this exchange went on. "Oh." said Charlotte, finally noticing that he was waiting to be invited in. She motioned him in and turned her complete attention back to the phone conversation. "No—No, that is not what I said. Do you people ever listen? I said…"

Drew looked up from his newspaper. "Ah, Chuck. How are you?"

"Excellent, sir. Thank you."

Drew adjusted his glasses and grinned. "We've been through this. There's no need to call me 'sir' or 'Mr. Pickles'—"

"Ok…Drew."

Drew went back to his newspaper. "Angelica's in her room."

Chuck climbed the stairs, just in awe as he always was when he was here. Not that he was a stranger to cleanliness—his parents' house, although considerably less impressive, was probably ten times cleaner than the Pickles' house. But it was always so quiet here, so different from the house where Chuck had spent his childhood—and very different from Tommy's house. Tommy and Dil's fights had been much worse than Chuck and Kimi's.

As he admired the crisp lines of the Art Deco that adorned the walls, he had the (often recurring) thought that living in this pristine palace, with no brothers or sisters to play with, must have been lonely. Of course, he never said this to Angelica. She wouldn't appreciate the pity.

At the top of the stairs was Angelica's room, perfectly preserved as though she'd never left home for adulthood.

"Hey…"

She was at the desk, tapping away busily on her laptop. Although she didn't look up, she smiled.

"Hey, you."

He warily sat down on the bed, which was covered with all sorts of pink and fluffy things.

"Whatcha up to?"

"Working on my résumé."

"Angelica. Again? You just updated it the other day."

"I know, I know. Just a little last minute tweaking before I send it in. I really want this internship."

"I know, Babydoll."

If Williams and Clyburn actually accepted me—that would—I—I…"

"You're speechless. It must be monumental."

She ignored his sarcasm. "It is—It would be—if they did accept me into the program. Williams and Clyburn is the most respected firm—I—my career would be off. Unstoppable. Straight through the glass ceiling. Before graduation, even."

"Well…your mother would be very impressed."

Angelica looked at him for the first time. "That's not what this is about, Charles. None of this is about that. I'm doing this for me. I want to be successful."

"Ok." he said quietly. She went back to her work.

"Angelica?"

"Hmm?"

"You know that I just want you to be happy, right? Whatever makes you happy…I want you to do it."

She looked at him gratefully. "Thank you." With one more click of the keyboard, her résumé was printing. When it was done, she reviewed it once more, fretting over every detail. Finally satisfied, she ran down the stairs. When she returned, she was smiling (thank goodness) and seemed to be back to her normal self.

"I just faxed it…Oh God, I hope it goes through!"

"Angelica..."

"Oh no, what if they take one look and just laugh in my face. Except that I'm not there to hear them. Oh, no! What if they call me up just so they can laugh in my face!"

"You're acting ridiculous, Sweetie."

She laughed as she came to that same realization. She jumped on the bed next to him and pulled him close to her. "Your face is ridiculous, Finster."

"Hey!"

"Nah, I'm just kidding. I'm actually quite fond of your face."

She kissed him. Then she pulled away, grinning wickedly. "Hey, I have an idea." She jumped up and closed and locked the door. When she settled back on the bed next to him, he raised his eyebrows.

"Angelica…"

She kissed him. "Hmm?" she asked, tugging at his shirt.

"You can't be serious. Your parents are right downstairs."

"Duh. That's what makes it exciting."

"I don't do exciting. I'm boring."

"No, you're not boring, Carrot Top." She kissed his mouth, his neck. "You weren't boring last week, in the shower. You weren't boring—"she started unbuttoning her shirt—"in the kitchen…"

"Angelica, I don't think this is such a good idea."

"How often do you say that very same thing to me?"

"All the time."

"And doesn't it always turn out to be a very good idea?"

Well, he couldn't argue with that.