Can't Help It

Chapter 10

"No, you can't always get what you you want

But if you try sometimes

You Just might find

You get what you need."

Once again, I wake up groaning, still laying in that damn beanbag chair, Charley poking me repeatedly in the nose. I open my eyes to see her sitting beside me, cross-legged on the floor, her hands propped up by a bottle of champagne, her head propped up by her hands.

"Want to go to our favorite breakfast place and drink mimosas?" she asks, grinning at me as I blink back at her in confusion. I rub my sore, dry eyes and look around me. The room is entirely empty, except for Rich sprawled out on his back nearby, possibly dead.

I groan and try to sit up. I attempt it too quickly the first time, and end up back in my chair, spinning for a moment before Charley offers me a hand and between the two of us we manage to get me to my feet. "Ugh," I groan, a hand to my head, "I think I'm too hung-over to drink any more. Or eat. Or be awake."

"Come on. Let's have some girl time."

Charley laughs and leads me out of Rich's man-cave (why the hell did I decide to sleep in there of all places?), nudging me from behind with the champagne bottle while I toss out feeble protests.

"But, Charley, we're obviously walk of shaming. I'm still in last night's clothes and you are clearly wearing a man's wardrobe," I mutter, gesturing to my own rumpled and shameful appearance, my dress way too bold for the morning's sunlight, and her in one of James' button-ups and her miniskirt.

To this she only giggles and continues to lead me out of the house. "Wear you shame with pride, Darcy." She grins at me. "Own it."

"Ok, but don't question it when everyone is staring at us," I reply knowingly as she leads me outside and I cover my eyes to shield them from the horrific sunlight. We end up in Charley's car and she hands me her sunglasses, which I gratefully put on, ducking my head behind the sun-visor.

By the time we get to the restaurant, I'm half asleep against the back of my seat and my drool is running down Charley's leather interior. Charley shakes me awake without even a moment's hesitation; her engine still rumbling as she throws an elbow against my shoulder and yanks her keys from the ignition. "Get up, lazyface," she sings, sliding out of the car and rounding our vehicle until she standing outside my window, her hand on the handle. I press the lock button and curl back up. Within moments she opens the door anyway, staring at me disapprovingly and jingling her keys in my face. "I have the keys. Did you really think that would work? What, are you an idiot?"

"Leave me alone, mom. I don't want to go to school," I grumble as she yanks me from the car and pulls me to my feet. I bristle in the damp morning air, standing on the sidewalk outside our favorite breakfast place and rubbing my arms from where she'd yanked me. "You are like freakishly strong, did you know that?"

She just rolls her eyes and heads towards the entrance, me following lazily behind her. "Great parking spot, too," I congratulate, sliding in across from her, having been seated much more promptly than usual at said restaurant due to the ridiculous hour in which my best friend chose to raise me from the dead. What a jerk.

"Thanks," she grins, wigging her eyebrows and already starting to peel off the foil around our cheap champagne.

As soon as she has the thing popped, I drop my head into my arms, crossed nicely on the table, and begin to grumble. "Oh god, do we have to? I'm still mildly inebriated from last night."

"Excellent, this will keep you from withdrawals," she grins wickedly, taking a quick swig from the bottle before our waiter comes over and asks if we want orange juice to go with it and she orders two glasses. "Plus, the thing's already popped so you're drinking it."

I groan again, but lift my head. "God, even our waiter is judging our lives right now. We are a cautionary tale."

The waiter comes back, placing two glasses of orange juice in front of us. "Fun night ladies?" he asks with a grin.

"Why?" I scowl at him. "Why would you even ask that?"

He falters. "I just figured cause of what you were wearing—"

"This is my everyday apparel!" I shout back and he steps away quickly.

Charley merely chuckles as she continues to fill each of our glasses of juice the rest of the way full with champagne, watching the liquid rise and fall as the bubbles deflate. "Darcy, you're scaring people again," she sings warningly at me.

"Well, he was being judgmental," I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning against the backrest of my seat petulantly. Charley just stares back at me with a knowing grin. I deflate under her amusement, realizing I have no actual reason to be upset. "Whatever," I concede, whirling my hand dismissively. "I'll tip him 30 percent. He'll get over it."

Charley just shakes her head and hands me my mimosa, sipping happily at her own. "You know, Darcy, you really should start watching the way you portray yourself to new people. You know, work on your first impressions?"

"Why?" I frown and take a swig of my mimosa, washing it around my mouth like mouthwash, hoping to cure my epic dry-mouth. "It's not like I'm trying to make new friends. And the people who are my friends already know what I'm really like, so what the hell do I care what other people think?"

Charley rolls her eyes. "Maybe if you'd made a better first impression with Ethan, you wouldn't be—"

"Leave Ethan Bennet out of this!" I interrupt. "I am like 110 percent over Ethan Bennet."

Charley lets out a long-seeded breath of mild frustration. "Yeah, ok." She rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her drink while I pick up the menu and pretended to peruse it when in fact I know it by heart and merely want to hide my pink cheeks from Charley after last night's embarrassment of seeing Ethan at the party with Jocelyn freaking Wickham (she should consider making that her middle name…).

"But seriously, Darcy," Charley starts in again and I put down my menu expecting another launch about admitting my feeling for Ethan and blah blah blah, but instead Charley is staring at me in an unsettlingly serious manner. "Maybe the day will come when your old friends will leave and you'll have to make…" she takes a deep breath, "…new friends."

I shrug casually. "That's what I keep you around for, social crutch." I grin at her cheesily, shooting her with a hand gesture and a wink before picking my menu back up.

Another deep breath. "And what if I wasn't… around?"

I lower my menu slowly, watching her across the table from me, trying to sip her mimosa casually and failing miserably. She looks uncomfortable—shifting around in her seat and trying desperately to avoid making eye contact. "What aren't you telling me?" I ask slowly, cautiously, almost 100 percent positive I won't like the answer.

Charley winces and slowly sets her drink back on the table. "Maybe we should order first?"

I feel my heart drop. Oh. God. "Charley," I almost growl, not liking this extended agony.

Again she winces, her eyes screwed up in pain so she won't have to face me as she replies in one full breath, "Beauseivebeenofferedmydreamj obinnewyorkcity."

A rushing sound blows through my ears. "Wait. Slow down. What?"

"You know that job I applied for a few months ago? For the Met in New York?"

I nod once and gesture for her to continue.

"Well. I got a Skype interview. And then. And then they offered it to me."

I blink at her. "When did you find this out?"

"Friday." She winces. "I didn't tell you cause I didn't want to ruin my birthday. Plus, I'm not even sure if I'm going to take it."

I frown. Confused. "Why wouldn't you take it?" I ask, trying to process this entire thing still.

Our waiter chooses that exact inopportune moment to come over and request our orders. I order for both of us briskly, hoping to be rid of him as quickly as possible.

"Uh. Rude," Charley mutters, shocked by my dismissive and brisk presumption.

I glare at her and whirl my hand dismissively. "Oh, you always get the same thing anyway."

"Yeah, but what if I'd—"

"Well now you can't," I interrupt. "Now. Will you just answer my question. Why wouldn't you take it?"

Charley sulks briefly, pretending to pout to stall for time. "Because," she finally answers sheepishly. "Because I like my life here." She shrugs as if that was the perfect answer. "I like our apartment. I like living with my best friend. I like… going to my favorite breakfast place and already knowing what I'm going to order. I'd miss this. I'd miss you."

I watch her for a prolonged moment, somewhat skeptical. Finally something clicks. Saying goodbye to Charley would be one of the hardest things I'd have to do in my life, but we'd keep in touch. That wasn't a good enough reason for turning down your dream job. We'd write. We'd fly out to visit each other. It's Best Friends For Life, not Best Friends For Now.

"Bullshit."

Charley reels back as if bit. "What?"

I tilt my head to the side, considering her, realization dawning, a small smile gracing my lips. "You want to stay for James."

Charley frowns, a staring match breaking out between us before she realizes I can see right through her and flicks her gaze away ashamedly. "Well would that be so horrible? I really like this one, Darcy."

Oh man. Was I really going to have to do this? I lean across the table, trying my best to bore into her the significance of this situation. "Charley. This is your dream job we're talking about here. This is The Met, for Christ sakes! Yes, will you miss your life here? For sure. And your life here will miss you, too. Me especially. Don't let your complacency here be an excuse to not go out there and give your life a shot. But, Charley, you've been given an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here. This is a life-changer. Do you really want to throw that all away and risk everything you've worked for for your entire life for a guy?"

Charley seems almost pained. "Its just—James is just—"

I nod eagerly. "Yeah, James is great. Heck, maybe you guys would beat the odds and make it long-distance, you know? I mean, it's unlikely, but if you want to give it a shot, by all means!"

Charley pouts and goes to interrupt me but I silence her with a stare, my eyes locking onto hers, trying very hard to convey the seriousness of this decision.

"I just want you to think very seriously about this, Charley. Is James worth giving up your dreams for?"

One might almost say this update was quick, even? I don't care, just say something about it. Please?

Thanks to all of last chapter's reviewers, it was great to hear from you guys again, too!

Be kind, please review [again?].