The door to the garage opened slowly, and Amita cautiously poked her head inside. "Charlie?"
At the far end, Charlie was once again scratching away furiously at a chalkboard already nearly covered in equations. From her spot by the door, Amita could see he was wearing headphones. Venturing further into the room, she called again. "Charlie?" She took a few tentative steps toward the mathematician.
Just then, Charlie turned to consult the papers lying on the table in front of Amita. He caught a glimpse of her and then did a double take. "Amita!" he said, pulling the headphones from his ears. "What… what are you doing here?"
Amita put her hands behind her back, somewhat shy now that she had his full attention. "I came by to see how you were doing," she admitted. "What with the holidays and everything, we don't get much of a chance to talk anymore."
Charlie sidestepped to the end of the table. "No, well," he began clumsily. "I've been really busy and…" His gaze was drawn to the boards around him. Looking at his equations and expressions gave him an excuse not to address her directly. "You can see I've made quite a bit of progress on my theory," he gestured to the symbols written there. "It's actually been consuming quite a bit of my time…" His voice trailed off into silence. When Amita didn't respond, he looked over at her. "I haven't been avoiding you, if that's what you…" he began.
She cut him off angrily. "Yes. That is what I think. That's what everyone thinks. Because that's exactly what you've been doing, Charlie." She took a step forward. "Larry knows it, I know it, your father knows it…" Another step. "For all I know, even your brother knows it." And another. Charlie started backing up. "You've been avoiding everyone lately Charlie. That is true. But mostly you've been avoiding me." Amita took another step forward abruptly, causing Charlie to back-pedal right into a precariously perched chalkboard. Suddenly aware of what he'd done, Charlie turned in an attempt to grab the board before it fell. Amita rushed forward to help and inadvertently bumped into him, causing Charlie to lose his grip. The board crashed to the ground, landing on his foot.
"Oh my God, Charlie! I'm so sorry!" Amita said.
Standing on one foot, Charlie rubbed the top of his other foot with one hand. Without looking at her, Charlie said through gritted teeth, "Never mind."
"No, really," she tried again. "Can I help? Do you want me to take a look?" She bent as if to see, but he hobbled out of reach.
"No, I'm… I'm fine. Just…" Charlie gingerly put his foot down. Turning to face her, he continued, "Amita, can you… I just…" He sighed. "I don't feel like talking right now, okay? Can you understand that? Not just you… anyone." Reaching down, he grabbed the edge of the board and stood it against the table. "Just… would you please…?"
Amita nodded. "I'll go. Maybe some other time, huh?"
Charlie's only response was a quick shrug. He shuffled the papers on the table, unwilling to meet her gaze. Amita turned and hurried out of the room.
He watched her go, ducking his head when she turned back at the doorway to wave goodbye. After the silence returned, he limped to the sofa and sat down. He removed his shoe and rubbed his foot absentmindedly.
Alan poked his head in. "Is everything alright in here?" he asked.
Charlie looked up. "Yes…" he began, then changed his mind. "No. No, everything's not okay in here."
Alan came fully into the room, sensing Charlie needed someone to listen to him. Leaning against the table, he folded his arms and waited. Charlie remained silent for a moment before speaking.
"Ever since Penfield came and gave that lecture, I haven't been able to spend time with Amita," he said. "Not the way we used to."
"You mean," Alan clarified. "Ever since Amita went out with Marshall Penfield, you haven't wanted to spend time with her."
Charlie nodded. "But she didn't go out with him – not like on a date. She just…"
"Hung out with him."
"Yeah." Charlie's voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. "Why am I angry with her? It's not her fault."
Alan uncrossed his arms and moved to sit next to Charlie. "You're not," he replied.
Charlie shook his head. "No, I guess not," he sighed. "I'm angry with myself." He thought for a moment and then added, "I've been around Amita for a long time. I guess I always thought when she… when we didn't have to worry about the rules anymore…" he trailed off.
"…You two would get together as a couple?" Alan finished.
Nodding, Charlie continued. "But when we tried it, it didn't work. We both agreed it didn't work. We have nothing in common outside of CalSci."
Alan pursed his lips in thought. "I fail to see what any of this has to do with Marshall Penfield."
"I don't know." Charlie ran his hands through his curls in a gesture of frustration. "She got along with Penfield just fine! Maybe…"
"Maybe your jealousy has gotten the better of good judgement?" ventured Alan. "Maybe all your training in logic is being overruled by your irrational reaction to all of this?"
Charlie stood. Throwing his hands in the air, he cried, "But what is 'all this', Dad? There's no 'this' to it! There's nothing there!" He moved to the table and picked up a sheaf of notes. Brandishing it, he said, "The only thing Amita and I have in common is the math. Nothing more. I thought…" He threw the papers down and rested both hands on the tabletop. In a quieter tone, he said, "I hoped…"
Alan regarded his son for several moments before rising from his seat. Two steps brought him to Charlie's side, and he rested a hand on his shoulder in silence.
"What, no advice?" Charlie asked wryly. When his father didn't respond, he looked up. Alan was shaking his head slowly.
"The truth is, my son," he paused and let his hand drop. "There's nothing I can say. This is something you're going to have to deal with on your own." Alan turned away.
"Wait," Charlie began. "What…"
Alan cut him off. "No, Charlie. In this, you're on your own. You're a grown man." He walked back into the house, letting the door swing shut behind him.