The Charm Offensive(100)
Some of the audience members laugh. The rest make sounds of sympathy.
“It was tough in the beginning,” he admits honestly, because honesty is what the audience wants, and because being his most honest self is all Charlie wants. “Having your heart ripped out on national television kind of sucks. But thankfully, I made some amazing friends on this show. Angie and Daphne, but also crew members who’ve helped me get through it. Ultimately, I wouldn’t trade my experiences on this show for anything.”
Mark nods knowingly, because of course, he does know. Charlie emailed him his answers beforehand. “Talk to us about that.”
“As you all now know,” Charlie starts, gesturing to the audience, “I came on this show because I thought I had something to prove to the world. I was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder when I was twelve and diagnosed with a panic disorder in my late teens, but I grew up with a family that didn’t recognize, honor, or validate those parts of me. My family always made me feel like those aspects of my identity made me less worthy of happiness.
“When I started my journey on this show, I wanted to convince the world I was someone that I’m not, but ironically, my time on Ever After helped me become my more authentic self. I learned I deserve love—both platonic and romantic.”
The audience erupts in another round of boisterous applause. The feelings are his, but the words are mostly Parisa, who sat on his living room floor with him three nights ago, helping him find the right way to express what it’s all meant to him, being given permission to be himself.
“I know your goal was to work in tech again,” Mark asks, flawlessly rehearsed. “Has that happened?”
“I’ve had a few job offers, yes, but the truth is, my desire to work in tech stemmed from my belief that my profession was the measure of my worth. It never made me happy. I’ve realized the work we’re doing at the Winshaw Foundation is important, so I’m not looking for any other job opportunities at the moment.”
“Everyone in the Fairy-Tale Family is very proud of you, Charlie,” Mark says, transitioning smoothly. “But now let’s get to the stuff we actually care about.” The audience laughs. “Have you talked to Dev at all since filming ended?”
He feels his throat catch fire around the collar of his shirt, feels his chest constrict. He takes three deep breaths, drums his fingers against his knee, and answers. “No, I haven’t. I don’t think he wants to talk to me, but honestly, I think it’s for the best.”
Mark doesn’t say anything, and Charlie knows he’s supposed to keep talking to fill the silence, but he didn’t script this part. It was too hard to sit across from Parisa and imagine telling her about the voicemails, about the imagined conversations with Dev, about walking into rooms and still expecting him to be there. That despite all the evidence to the contrary, he truly believed he could reach out for Dev and hold on.
“The thing is, sometimes this show—and I mean no offense, Mark. You know how much I’ve grown to love Ever After. But sometimes this show makes you believe a relationship can help you fix yourself. As much as I grew over the course of the show, that growth was dependent on Dev, and when he left, I realized my happiness can’t be contingent on another person. I’ve been learning how to be healthy on my own, and wherever he is, I hope Dev’s doing the same thing.”
“If you could talk to Dev again, though,” Mark goads, leaning across his chair. “What would you say to him?”
“I… I don’t think I can talk to Dev again,” Charlie says. It’s the kind of honesty that surprises him, the kind of honesty that leaves him breathless. All he does is talk to Dev in his mind, but the idea of seeing him again—the idea of learning to say goodbye again—hurts too much. “It would be too hard to talk to him. I think maybe Dev and I are two people who were meant to enter each other’s lives very briefly. We weren’t meant to have a happily ever after, but that doesn’t mean the happiness we had was any less important or any less real. I think—”
Behind him, a producer is yelling, and Charlie breaks off, thinking they’re finally going to commercial break. Maybe he’ll finally have two minutes to rush behind the risers and cry in private, because no matter how honest you’re trying to be, some things should only belong to you.
Skylar doesn’t call cut, though, and the producers keep screaming, keep cursing at a volume the studio microphones will definitely pick up. When Charlie turns toward the sound of the commotion, he sees someone rushing onto the stage. For a moment he’s terrified. While most people responded to his season with an outpouring of love, there are still some dangers to being a queer person who discusses their mental illness on the internet, even for extremely privileged white men like him. He knows Angie and Daphne both had to deal with much worse after the show aired.
“Well, this isn’t quite how we planned to do this,” Mark says with an edge of annoyance as he studies the man on set. The gate-crasher stops on the edge of the platform, and Charlie squints through the studio lights, sees black skinny jeans and a ridiculously oversize jean jacket.
It’s Dev.
Dev
I don’t think I can talk to Dev again.
That’s what Charlie said. That’s what Dev feared. As he got on a plane, as he sat in the backseat of a town car on the way to the studio, as he sat in a greenroom watching the man he loves talk about how happy he is now without him. Why would Charlie want to talk to Dev again? After everything, why would Charlie ever want to see him?