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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 17 days

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Sweet Dreams--Part 11

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted.

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

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Melvin, reads the contact name. The 11 digits that follow stare back at you from the contact record of your phone. There’s never once been a text thread. His name wouldn’t come out on your phone outside of the contact in a search. But you had your distraction. You had your time to wallow and time to let pity make a fool of you. You can’t stay there. You refuse to stay there. So you tap the phone icon. It rings and rings. It might be a bad time, you realize now, as there’s no guarantee that Melvin will answer at ten in the morning. But that doesn’t matter much now.

Melvin answers the phone breathlessly. Your name tumbling from his lips in a rush. There’s concern in your name that paints his voice as he asks, “Is everything okay?”

“I’m calling to ask you that, actually,” you answer. The words nearly don’t leave your throat. He’d always been the easier of the two to interact with. He cared--you saw that with Teagan and Charlie. He seemed genuinely interested in your life when you spoke of it. But you didn’t think the care or the concern he had for your siblings would make him worry about you. Maybe now you’re even afraid of what that means.

“What-what are you referring to? Did something happen?”

You can’t get off track here. You’re calling about Diana. You’re calling to fact check the conversation from last week and to make sure they’re not drinking again. “Do Charlie and Teagan have new winter coats?”

“Uh, yes, they do. Diana and I--we got them nearly a week ago. There’s no guarantee now either that they don’t have another growth spurt, but we’re hopeful these coats will last the season and into the next.”

The more you talk with Melvin the more you realize Charlie got the gift of talking from him. At least Diana hadn’t been lying about the coats. But the bitter bite of her words rings back against your ears. “Diana called me last week,” you start. It’s the safest way to start.

The line crackles and you hear the sigh from Melvin. Something shuts--you hear the creak of hinges in the background. “I was worried when I saw the two ignored calls from you on her phone that something might’ve happened.”

“Is she drinking? Are you?”

“I’m not, no. God, no,” Melvin returns. His offense is palpable. He sounds as if the thought disgusts him.

“And what about Diana?”

A pause. Moments are passing by, the clock in your room ticking loudly as you listen to Melvin breathe. He better say no. He better answer with the same disgust. But the longer the two of you stay in silence, the more dread leadens in your gut. “I’m trying to get her some extra support,” he answers slowly. Like he might even be unsure of the words himself.

Not an outright denial but not an outright confession either. “Could it be vodka this time that gets her to her senses?” It’s a vile question to ask. But it falls and behind it comes more vitriol. That old wound, exposed again to the elements. “Could she go zero for three with her kids?”

“Enough,” Melvin commands. It falls clipped but tired. “We didn’t do right by you and we know that. We live with it every single day. We failed you in ways no child should’ve ever been failed by a parent. But it is not easy to watch from the sidelines now. And I don’t want to make it your responsibility to let us back in after what we’ve done, but please, do not mock us. The closer you get to Charlie and Teagan, the more hope grows in your mother. And the more you shut her down, the more she crumbles. It’s not your fault. She’s got to get better, face the consequences of her actions like we all must do. But she is human.”

“A terrible condition to be human, I’ve heard.” Your chest aches. It certainly still feels like your responsibility; it still certainly feels like that wound will never close up right. You still wish to every god that you could’ve had what Charlie and Teagan had. Wish you could move the stone of anger off your chest when it comes to Diana and Melvin. But you cried for them. You begged for them and it wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t enough.

“Just, please give her grace. I’ll get her help. I will.”

“Grace is Charlie and Teagan. You can give her grace.”

“And what about you? Is there satisfaction in wrath?”

“Wrath is rather hollow.” You don’t know what you have anymore. There is something between contempt and regret filling you. Yet, you are tired of both of them. You’re tired of the wheel you feel stuck on. You’ve got to let it go. It’ll kill you if you don’t.

“We hurt you. I know that. It was easy at first to keep our distance. It gets harder now—sometimes. She just needs some extra help.”

“Then you get her help. But I don’t like knowing she’s on a spiral in the same house as Charlie and Teagan. They don’t deserve that pain. I will do whatever possible so they are not subjected to the same thing I was.”

“As you should,” Melvin agrees. “As you should. I’ve been worried about disrupting Charlie and Teagan’s routine too much. I don’t think the kids are catching on.”

You have to tread lightly. You can’t tell him that Teagan’s caught on, as unknowingly as she is about what she's stumbled upon. But you can warn him. “Children are more perceptive than you give them credit for. You can hope. But that’s not the same as the reality.”

“Was it Teagan? What did she hear?”

“I hope Diana’s kept up with bedtime stories.”

“Fuck,” Melvin whispers. You’d never be able not to answer his question. He’d hear what you’re saying between the lines. “I can’t lose them too.” It’s soft as Melvin says it, thick with emotions you can’t see, but can hear. A true terror shakes his voice.

Here you think is where you might reassure Melvin. That he won’t lose them. But you can’t promise that. You’d possibly be the hand that orchestrates it. You remain silent.

Melvin fills in the gap of silence in a flurry of panicked words. “There’s a birthday party this weekend and then a field trip next week. Please give me some time. You have every right to save them from the fate that fell you. But they’re just kids. They’ll only see what they lost out on. Give-give me just a little bit more time. If things are getting out of hand, let’s arrange something then. Okay? Just give me a few more weeks to get through to Diana.”

You only remember what you lost out on too. The dances you never attended, the nights spent hoping that your parents' breath didn’t reek in the morning. Praying you had just a little bit more attention so you could ask them about field trips, tell them about the things you were learning about in school. All you wanted was a crumb of attention, more than just the plate of food at dinner. You wished you could’ve told them about the crushes, the dreams you had--that maybe one day you’d been a veterinarian as all children hope to become. Maybe even then you could’ve told them how much you wanted to paint too.

You don’t know what’s more important, to save Charlie and Teagan from a potential fate or let them live their lives as children knowing what looms for them if Melvin is not successful. But they are just kids. They might hate you either way--if you pull them now, if you save them later. They’re just children. You don’t expect them to understand it all right now.

“You’ve got until of November.” October’s nearing its end in another week and a half. “But if I get wind of anything that even smells like Diana’s losing her grip, I’m taking them.”

“That’s only--”

“I know. And Christmas will be right behind that. But I’d rather they hate me for ruining Christmas than letting their lives be at further risk.” Doing good might mean at times having to be the villain. A spark never knows it’s going to start a wildfire, but you’re wiser than that ember. You know the damage that could be done. You know the damage you will do as well.

“End of November,” Melvin agrees. “I’ll, uh, we’ll have to come up with a contingency plan. I don’t know where you’re living these days. But I don’t want to pull them out of school.”

“We’ll figure something out,” you agree. Your hours at work will allow you to drop them off in the morning. But you’ll need help in picking them up in the afternoon. You wonder if Calum would be okay to do it. Though you don’t want to interrupt or commandeer his schedule either, you’ll still ask him. It’ll take a village to help now. You’ll need to figure out where they’ll stay. You have no qualms with them taking over your bedroom in the place you’re staying. But it couldn’t be a long standing agreement. You’d need to move and give them their own bedroom at the very least. You don’t have a lot saved, but you could afford a two bedroom apartment on your own now. The first few months would be tight, but it’d be doable now.

“Thank you,” Melvin nearly whispers. “I see how much you care for them.” The weight rounds your shoulders at his words. Is this what it means to be recognized—quiet and weighty recognition that feels like relief and lead?

Beyond a sense of duty, you only want for them what you didn’t get. Teagan and Charlie are getting everything you wanted. Watching out for them is everything you needed. They’re children who do not deserve to be punished for what was between your parents and you.

“It’s what they deserve,” you return. Melvin let’s you go and you blink up at the ceiling, swirling in your vision. You want them to be safe. You need it. But you still feel the whisper of Melvin’s gratitude. How it feels like thick humidity on your skin in the middle of summer. Your skin is hot and the tears caress your cheeks as they descend to your chin. As stupid as the thought feels,, you hope Melvin can find it in himself to be proud of you no matter what you wind up having to do.

_____________________

It’s bright--the windows to the right bring in streaks of sunlight and though Calum sometimes wishes he’d opted for a slightly lighter brown, there’s few clouds today which makes the shed feel lighter. The clear skies make the deepening chill tolerable. Your slippers rest on the floor right under the easel you sit in front of. Your socked feet tapping lightly against the metal bar on the stool you perch up on. The stroke of your brush scratches against the canvas--a deep red cutting through the top left corner.

Calum’s sure that even with your apron on the sleeves to his black and white striped long sleeved shirt will be stained forever. Not that he minds. He’d prefer to carry that little piece of you in the threads. He’ll be able to say that it’s your work if anyone asks about the stain. He’s supposed to be doing preliminary comments on this briefing. It’ll become part of the address he gives at the charity event in December, but given the magnetitude of the event it’s best to get started on these things earlier rather than later. Yet, he has no interest in the words on the document in front of him. He’d rather watch you as you gather more paint onto your brush. You stroke once, twice, and then reach for something else in the glass jar which holds other brushes and tools.

From this angle, Calum watches the twist of your lips, fingers fluttering over the jar. Debating, he concludes--you’re debating which tool to go for next. The bottom right part of the canvas is still blank. He traces the faint line you’ve etched into the white fibers. You’ve told him that you plan to include pages from several print media types--books, pamphlets, and missing posters-- layered and attached to the canvas. You don’t want to add those yet until all the painting is done and can cry before you glue them up there to keep bleeding minimal.

A knock sounds from the door and Calum turns to see his mum at the door, thanks to the addition of the glass cutouts in the door frame. He waves her in and she only opens the door just far enough for her head to poke through. “I don’t want to interrupt,” she starts. “Just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi, Mum. You’re not interrupting. They’ve got headphones in and I’m not really doing anything much myself,” Calum laughs.

She laughs, sliding in through the crack. “So only one of you is being productive. But that’s alright. Rest, too, is important.”

“Something like that.”

His mother nods and shuffles softly over to you. You turn at the touch on your shoulder, slipping your headphones down off your ears. “Hi, Joy,” you laugh.

The embrace is tight, even Calum can see how tightly his mother winds you into the one armed embrace. “The painting looks good, sweetheart. It’s coming together nicely,” Joy comments.

“Thanks, I’m trying over here.”

“You’re succeeding. How was the feedback from the check-in?”

“They’re excited. They did ask to see what printed materials I’m using for the piece and said they were a little outdated. But they replied with some other books and materials that are more updated and relevant to their mission I could use. It was constructive at the end of it,” you explain.

“And those pages are going here, yeah?” Joy asks, pointing to the blank corner.

“Yeah, they are,” you nod.

“Okay, okay. I’m excited to see where it goes. I hope you’re proud of the work you’ve put in.”

“I think I am. For right now. I’m sure once I start painting in the gold details it’s going to kick my ass again,” you laugh.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so. It looks good.”

“Thanks, Joy. And I finished off the last of those beets.”

“Oh, good, good. I was wondering. Did you roast them again?”

You nod. “Easiest way for me to get through them. But they were really good. Better than store bought.”

Joy’s laugh is loud, taking a firmer grip on your shoulder and tugging you into her. “You wouldn’t be attempting to butter me up, would you?”

“I’d never attempt such a thing. I always succeed.”

The shed falls into a round of laughter, even a round of small snickers from Calum as he unabashedly watches the two of you. Joy never falters, squeezing one more time at your shoulders. “Succeed, you do, I’ll admit. Don’t tell Calum though.”

“I won’t,” you promise.

“Hmm, well, I guess I’ll leave you to work. Need anything?”

“No,” you return with a small shake of your head. “I’ve got everything.”

“Good.” Joy presses a kiss to your forehead and then steps away.

Calum watches the way you linger, still pushed forward into where her embrace once was, like you might chase behind her. But you don’t. You lean back and put the headphones back on. But there was a pause. Long enough for Calum to see it. And he knows--or at the very least figures--what that pause means. How much you get from the small interactions with his mother. He’d be glad if you did steal his mother, as you called it, if it means that you were getting the pieces of what you’d missed.

And it’s only a moment--the briefest of pauses. The headphones are settled back on and pick up your paints again. Joy slides into the bench next to Calum and nods in your direction.

“Everything okay?”

“With them?” Calum clarifies, pulling the top of his laptop down as he sits up a bit straighter.

“Yeah. With them. You’ve been a little tight lipped lately. If it’s not something you can share I get it. Just want to make sure of course.”

Calum looks back over to you. Your foot’s tapping again, the brush ever so gently scratching over the canvas again. You’d been tight lighted about it too to some degree. The only thing Calum has is that you asked if need be, could he help pick up Charlie and Teagan from school. He agreed that he could. Considering that sessions were closing in another two weeks for the holidays until January, his free time was considerably much larger than usual. And even if you needed help once sessions resumed, he’d always be able to take a recess whenever Charlie and Teagan were almost done with school to get them.

He’s not sure what’s caused you to ask this--if you’re planning something for Charlie and Teagan, but the alternative is much more sinister. Calum turns back to his mother and she’s only watching. Her fingers are wrapping around his and he exhales. “We’re okay. But something might be happening with Charlie and Teagan. I don’t know.”

“What makes you think that?”

“They asked if I could pick them up from school in the afternoons.”

Understanding crosses her face, brows rising before she looks your way. “Parents drinking again?”

Calum shrugs at the question, but tightens his hold around his mother’s hand. He felt more comfortable telling his mother more about your situation than his dad. She was a bit more careful with what information she was given. “If anyone, it’s probably Diana. But they haven’t said anything to me. Not yet anyways.”

“Will their current living situations support Charlie and Teagan?”

“Temporarily, I’m sure. But not long term, I don’t think.”

Joy hums and it’s a sound that Calum knows well. Her wheels are turning. “Well, we shouldn’t assume. But if they need help relocating, we can help. If not here, then wherever they feel most comfortable being of course.”

“We will. We will,” Calum agrees.

The conversation between you two had been short--that you needed a plan in place should you need it. Only as he rethinks through the conversations, does he think it was confirmation. I just need to have a plan, sooner rather than later. He should’ve pressed more about it, he thinks. But he does trust you. If there’s anything he needed to know, you’d tell him. But that doesn’t mean Calum can easily swallow down his desire to help. Yet, trust is the only way any of this will work. Choosing you means choosing trust.

“How’s the garden going?” Calum asks.

“It’s all mostly harvested. But good.”

“Any new recipes you think you’ll try?”

Joy laughs, patting at Calum’s hand. “Oh, no, not this time around. Gave it to the staff mostly. But if you are interested, I could always use a second pair of hands for the spring planting. We can put something together.”

Calum knows that dance--dangerous as it is. He laughs. “Do you need some help right now?”

“Oh, no, no, I came out here just to say hi to the two of you. Feels like I haven’t talked to my boy properly in a few weeks.”

Calum waves her in, arms opening for a hug. “Love you, Mum,” he whispers into the embrace.

“Love you too.”

Calum remains until she lets go first and when she does, he slides back into this original spot. “It's been rather boring lately if I’m honest.”

“Hmm, nothing from the boys either?”

Calum shakes his head at the question. “Nothing that I’ve heard. Well, there is Michael’s birthday next month”

“Yes, yes, his mother was talking to me today about that. She said he’s just doing dinner?”

“That’s what he said he’d prefer. Ashton, Luke, and I are still working out the details and getting a table reserved.”

“Do you know who I talked to recently?” Joy asks. She grins as she speaks, a little bop to her head as well. It’s good news then.

“Who did you talk to recently, Mum?” Calum laughs.

“Do you remember Ms. Brenda, Joshua’s mum?”

Calum nods. He still keeps in contact with Joshua from time to time. It’s not nearly as frequent as Luke, Michael, or Ashton. But Joshua and Calum were thick as thieves as kids on the time. “I remember Ms. Brenda.”

“She told me Joshua is proposing at Christmas.”

Calum whistles. Joshua had told him that he was dating seriously and they were moving in. That was only a few months ago, maybe almost a year, but not more than that. “Wow. God, we are really growing up, huh?”

“Oh, god, you can say that again,” Joy laughs. “When’s the last time you talked to Joshua anyway?”

Calum had texted Joshua a few weeks ago, mostly to say he hoped Joshua was doing well and Joshua replied with his usual, hanging in there by my toes, but hanging. As they’d gotten older Joshua moved away from football. In high school, he’d gotten a little gig to help out at home. But he didn’t talk about it much and since, Joshua mentioned he’s swapped from trade work to an office job. But the conversations were filled more with jokes and laughter than catching up on their lives.

Calum shrugs a little. “A few weeks ago. He said he was doing alright, but not this alright to be proposing. Has Ms. Brenda given up her banana bread recipe?”

“No,” Joy laughs. “But I’m going to get it from her eventually.”

“One of these days,” Calum teases. “If I get any more updates from the boys, I’ll be sure to share. As long as you share too.”

Joy holds up her hands, one at her chest. “Swear it,” she grins.

“The holidays are coming up soon too. I’m sure they’ll have some juicy stories then. ”

“Never fails,” Joy hums. “Anything you want? While we’re on the topic of the holidays.”

The question does make Calum ponder. There’s nothing that he wants that he thinks could be given by his parents. His gaze falls back to you. The sun cascades down around you, propped in the almost perfect center of the room. It's a small floor plan to begin with--the shelves help give storage without sacrificing the too much square footage. But finding a good place to put the easel for you really only had a few places to go--along one of the walls that was taken up by the bench and table or go into the center. But it’s nice to have your work at the center. What Calum really wants is time with you, time where you don’t have to worry about anything, where nothing is hanging over your head.

“Something that I could get would be ideal,” Joy laughs.

Calum snorts. There’s no embarrassment about being caught. “Can I take a rain check on that question then?”

“Absolutely, son. Absolutely. But besides the stuff with their parents, you two are okay, right?”

Calum regards his mother. The grays are prominent and continue to grow more so as the years pass in her hair. She shares a nearly identical cut to Calum’s though her sides are cut nearly as close as his. Calum had teased his mother when she first cut it that she was copying him. Joy never denied it. Just hugged Calum in tight and laughed. It’s going to destroy him when he can’t get one of those hugs--bone crushing and warm. Calum wonders if he’ll ever be able to recover from such a loss like that--death or not. He doesn’t know how you do it. How you’ve survived this long, but you do. He’s glad that for the time being the both of you can get soul warming hugs from his mother.

Because she’s real and present and looking back at him with the same concern she used to direct his way when he’d talk about a bad day at school. But instead of feeling like a child, instead of feeling small, he finds himself proud that he looks back into his mother’s face and knows that he’s got nothing to hide, that he can put it out on the table and she will always be there for him. He’s a little scared, how much he feels and how much of him is so willing to take the risk to get hurt again.

“We’re okay,” Calum answers. “I told them about Nora though.”

Joy whistles, brows rising at the news. “How’d that go?”

“Better than expected.” He’d prepared for the day he told you about Nora. How it might send you into a panic or even worse might cause an argument given how some that hurt still lingers, how he still mourns what could’ve been while discovering how much of the desire isn’t broken or gone with you. But thankfully it didn’t. For all that could’ve happened, nothing bad did.

“How do you feel about that? Now that it’s out there?” Joy asks, reaching for his hand again.

Calum shrugs, gazing back up as a shadow passes. A few birds flying overhead, he assumes. “It feels like I’m hiding less things now. Like I can be human with them more. But it’s hard. I-” His throat jumps. Fear he can place as it thumps in his veins. “I love them. But the last time I loved someone like this…” The words are catching. He wants to get them out but the emotion seizes his throat.

“It ended poorly. I know, I know,” she whispers in return. Both her hands wrap around Calum’s left hand.

“Yeah. But it’s so strange. To know that this all falling apart is still a possibility but not caring as much. All I find myself focused on is what I can still experience. Like even if it does have to end, and I don’t. I really don’t want that. But if it has too, I don’t want regrets on the table.”

“Well, that sounds like something to me. Like you know what you want,” Joy returns. “Sounds like you know what’s worth taking the risks for, which in turn, means you don’t have regret.”

Calum notices the hand retreating now from his space. A bottle of water rests onto the table, on the coasters you insisted on having for the shed. “It’s a good thing I don’t have plans on leaving. I’m right here, love,” you whisper against his cheek before pressing a kiss to the stubble he knows he needs to shave.

Calum takes his free hand and tugs you back when you go to step away. Your legs hit the edge of the bench with a stop thump. There’s red and gold paint on the end of the sleeves decorating the threads. Your fingers are stained too, but that doesn’t make Calum hesitate as he threads his fingers through yours. “You’re supposed to be painting.”

“I took a hydration break,” you laugh. He spies now the second bottle of water in your hand that’s now being lowered to the table. With your second hand free, you reach into the pocket of your apron and unearth a clean rag and drape it over his shoulder. “For any snot.”

Calum laughs, head dropping into your stomach. “If we’re keeping score about who’s cried the most, I think you’ve got me beat.”

“I’m a water hose, sue me.” You press a kiss to the top of Calum’s head though.

The paint is tacky against Calum’s fingers. His skin will be stained red and gold too, but it doesn’t matter. He drags his thumb over yours, a soothing action back and forth. You are there. You are just within reach. “I won’t,” Calum answers. Your hum is reassurance coupled with the squeeze of your hand.

Calum takes a deep inhale, attempting to commit to memory the way you smell in his clothes. The smell of paint powering over everything and yet, there is something so deeply you at the root of it--fresh like how clean linen smells. He tries to only take a minute or two, knowing that you’ll probably draw back first to head back to your painting. But you stay in the embrace.

“You two hungry by chance?” Joy asks. “I’ll go fix us something.”

Calum nearly tells her that she doesn’t have to go. But she’s giving his one hand one last squeeze as she slips out from behind the table. Joy gives your shoulder a squeeze and then slips out the door; it shuts softly behind her. You stand, towering over Calum. But he pulls you even closer into him, hands winding around your waist.

“You’re going to have paint all over your face,” you laugh.

“I don’t care.”

“Is everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah. Just…I love you, that’s all.”

“I love you too.” The return is even and quick. You ease him out of his embrace and Calum looks back up at you. “Is now an appropriate time to make an inappropriate joke about why I’m not leaving you?”

“No,” Calum laughs. “Now is not the time for an inappropriate joke, but thank you for asking.”

The cap on the water releases with ease and you pour a little bit of your bottle onto the rag. The touch is tender as you swipe it over Calum’s cheek and forehead. “You’ll let me know when I can, right?”

“Yeah, of course. The world needs all your inappropriate jokes.” Your work is steady on his cheek, one hand holding ever so gently against his chin. “Sorry to interrupt your hydration break.”

“Not an interruption at all,” you laugh. “How’s the speech coming along?”

Calum gingerly tugs at the rag in your hand. “You see how that laptop is closed?” You nod. “That’s how well it’s going. I don’t even need to worry.”

“Or are you too distracted?”

“Some might say those are the same.”

“Yeah, all people named Calum Hood,” you snort, before taking a sip from your bottle. Your gaze is steady. But Calum can see it, the question brewing behind your eyes. “Would I be correct in assuming that I’m the first person since Nora?”

There it is. Calum doesn’t even need to ask what you heard. “You are.” He’s sure it’s more obvious than needed but at least you asked.

“I know I can’t promise not to break your heart. But I’d like to politely ask for the space to prove to you I’m not her.”

Calum knows you’re not her. It’s not even a comparison of people, just a comparison of situations. He’s right where he was before. And it’s all different than it was before. Less tense, more space to converse and to be. But he’s scared. He doesn’t want to fall on his face again, doesn’t want the person he cares about most taken away from him. “Since when do you have a polite bone in your body?”

“Since my sarcastic timing isn’t always well loved. And I know that’s rich coming from me, considering everything I’ve done and yet to tell you. However, still, I wanted you to know that I want this relationship with you.”

Calum knows that on an intellectual level. But it’s nice to hear the words again. “Thank you.” It feels too small a phrase for what he means. Because what he means to say is that you are right--you and Nora are two different people. These are two different relationships. But the fear has a strong hold. What he means to say is the sound of you saying that you want him makes his stomach knot, makes his toes curl, makes Calum feel like a kid again in the most innocent of ways. What he means to say is that he never wants to forget that, but he knows he’s human. So he will forget, but please always remind him.

The kiss to his forehead is wet, no doubt to the water on your lips, but gentle. “I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear.”

If he could have you say it all the time, he would. But Calum revels in the whisper of your voice even as you slip away. He knows you’re in a bit of a time crunch. The paint will need plenty of time to dry so you’re trying to get through this with enough time to spare. He lets you go, promising him to himself that he’s going to spend the entirety of the night having you say it again and again how much you want him.

“Baby,” he calls out, just before the headphones cover up your ears.

“Yes, my love?” you ask, turning on the stool.

“I’m glad it’s you.”

“You’re glad it’s me?”

Calum nods. “Yeah, I’m glad it’s you.” He’s not sure if you understand, if you’ll get what he’s saying. But he is glad it’s you. Someone that got to know him from the ground up, someone that he got to know out of pure interest. He’s glad you’re who you are and that the two of you have this. Truly, what other ways can he say it? He’s just really glad it’s you.

You smile, headphones covering your ears, but you’re still facing him. “I’m glad it’s you too.”

______________________________

The heat from the oven grazes your arms as you slip the tray onto the rack. The orange pumpkins dyed into the white dough smile back at you--gaps between their carved teeth. You hope it’s not too much--that you’re coming over with a basket of things for what might be a pretty small holiday. But you are curious--has Mevlin made progress with Diana? Charlie makes no mention of noticing anything strange. Teagan hasn’t tipped you off that more things are happening out of the ordinary. It looks as though things might be on the up and up. Yet, you know looks can and will be deceiving. Its hardly been a week but the anxiety is gnawing on your innards—a feast for it and starvation for you.

With ease you wind the white timer for 10 minutes and set it down onto the counter. The ticking seconds are background noise for you cutting persistently through the crackle of plastic as you tear open the package of black tissue paper. The orange plastic pumpkin mirror the cookies--blackness around their gaped teeth, a hollow but practiced smile. You line the bottom of the buckets with a couple sheets and then start to toss in the socks, and stickers. They get a book to color in each, a fresh pack of coloring pencils, and Halloween pins for jackets or backpacks. Charlie gets one in the shape of a ghost and you slip a bat theme pin packet in for Teagan.

The candy waits in big bags--an unfortunate reality that you’d waited a little too long to get the smaller bags for the occasion but Calum promises to help when you get back to divvy up the remaining lollipops, chocolate, and other sweets into bags for people on staff and their children too considering he’d gotten a hefty amount of the remaining bags as well when he accompanied you on your errand run for the baskets. Teagan likes the sweeter stuff and Charlie’s a big fan of chocolate. So you slide a bag of the respective kind of candy in front of each one of the brackets for them.

“Oh my god, a ghost,” Declan laughs, sliding in next to you at the kitchen island.

“Boo,” you smile in return.

“You know that you and the Prince are both adults? I didn’t suspect the two of you to be into Halloween this hard.”

“These are for my siblings,” you return.

Declan pauses, hands having stretched out towards the back of Snickers, Reeses, Almond Joys and other chocolates. “Oh. Well, that makes a lot more sense. Need help?”

You know you don’t. There’s only the candy left aside of their bags of cookies that you’ll be putting together after they cook and cool. “If you’re truly that bored, sure,” you offer.

It’s an easy out, a way for Declan to slide into the bench at the table and take a load off before he works. Dinner will most likely be starting soon and you’re hoping that your timing hasn’t interrupted Declan’s work. He started to take weekend dinner shifts most often. “I’ve got time. Just vouch for me if Janet chews out my ass.”

“I hope I’m not in the way. The cookies only have like another 8 minutes or so and I will always vouch for you if Janet comes.”

“You’re not in the way,” Declan answers, but takes the bag into his grasp and pulls it open.

You slide him a few more sheets of black tissue paper. “I was trying to time between shifts,” you offer.

“You timed it well. How much candy am I giving your dear old sibling? Whole bag? Half?”

“No more than half? They’ll be going trick-or-treating this weekend too.”

Declan laughs, reaching into the bag for a handful. “Oh, your parents are going to hate you for all this extra sugar.”

“Perhaps that’s the point.” Perhaps, you’re adding fuel to a forest fire. But you’ll add it. You shimmy a few extra packets of the nerds into the bucket.

“Are they still super young? Your siblings, I mean.” Declan tips the bucket in your direction a little for you to get a better view. “Too much or too little?”

You peer onto the bucket. It’s not empty, but it does look a little sparse. “Tiny bit more if you don’t mind. And they’re in middle school. 13 and 11.”

“And you’ve never talked about them before because?”

You didn’t know about them before. You were terrified of what it meant. There’s a small part of you that feels vindicated. You knew something would happen with your parents involved. You knew that if you got too close you’d wind up in a mess. But god, there’s a larger part hoped you’d been wrong.

“It’s complicated,” you answer. “My parents and I aren’t close. But I am trying to be there for my siblings at the very least. They’re important to me.”

“Well, I--should it matter in the slightest-- think you’re killing it. This enough?”

You take a peek into the bucket. There’s enough candy that you know Melvin will be dealing with wrappers and sugar highs for at least a week. You nod. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime.”

“How-how are things with you?”you ask. There’s a bit of hesitation. The timer ticks around you and with the baskets full, including the extra bits of tissue paper tucked in, there’s still something that lingers. Something that you don’t want to fall flat with Declan--like you know how friends do.

Declan shrugs. “They’re going.”

The shrills interrupts what you think might’ve been on his tongue. Declan turns, kitchen towel already fall off his waist as he tugs on it. “Just going?”

“These extra shifts are a little bit killer, but they’re helping pay off the work I had to get done to my car, so it’s all evened out.”

“What happened to your car?”

“Brakes needed to be replaced, and new tires.”

You hiss at the answer, watching Declan slide the tray onto the aisle. The cookies are a golden color now around the edges--perfectly cooked. “At the same time?”

He nods. “Same time. I could’ve done the brakes myself but they were closing in on being dangerously thin. I was already going to have to go in for the tires so I just tacked on the brakes and figured I’d work out the money later. Was not the smartest financial decision, but it was either taking two days off from work or just one. I need my remaining PTO for the holidays.”

“Your sister’s graduation right?” He’d mentioned it once to you before but hadn’t really talked about it since.

Declan nods. “Yeah.” It comes slow. And you’re not sure what’s causing his hesitation but he laughs with a shake of his head. “I shouldn’t be shocked you remember that.”

“Yet you are, you jerk.”

“Credit where credit is due. My apologies.”

“What is your sister studying?”

“Data Analytics. She’s got a job lined up too once she graduates.”

A feat you know given the current landscape. A whistle leaves you. “A whiz, I see.”

“Just don’t let her hear that.”

“Promise,” you laugh.

“Her plan is to move out in another two years time, I think,” Declan offers. “Of course it all depends on how the market stabilizes."

“Do you know if she is looking for roommates? Could help her a little bit but it comes with its own risks of course.”

Declan shrugs. “I’d offer for her to move in with me. I know our parents are going to be a little overbearing, but it’s not cool to move in with your older brother and his roommate. But I did at least tell her that if she’s interested in my complex, to let me know. I’m only a ten minute drive from our parent’s place so she’d still be close enough to them too.”

“Sounds like that’ll be nice if it works out.”

“Time will only tell in the end. Things still going good at the new job? You sure you don’t want to come back to us?”

It’s a tease and you can tell by the way he bats his lashes. But even just the offer makes your heart leap. You think you’d take this job back in a heartbeat if you could. But Forest has its perks. There was a reason why you had to leave. “It’s good. It’s a lot more hectic than here on average. But pays the bill. Health insurance is a small step down but not that I needed more than yearly check ups for anything.”

“Good health is a fountain of wealth in the end,” Declan returns. “I’m glad it’s going well. I think Val said she tried to pop in but didn’t see you.”

“I’m back of house right now. Until I get licensed to bartend. When that happens I’ll be on the front a bit more.”

He nods, a hum falling from his throat. “Sounds like the place is still stretched thin though.”

More than a handful of times you’ve heard runners complain about how many shifts they’ve been asked to cover. The kitchen staff is pretty solid. It’d come up as you worked more than the person you took over for left because of needing to move back home for family needs. But Turner seemed to still be struggling to retain servers. You were sure that she’d train you up by now but perhaps the concerns you voiced about your relationship with Calum were keeping her from getting you onto that boat. Though, once you got on the bar you’d undoubtedly have to learn tables too.

“It is,” you agree after a meaty pause. “But it’s not so much that I think I’m getting screwed over. I guess. I know my time will come once I move to the bar.”

“Does it make you nervous at all? To move to the floor? Given your relationship, I mean.”

“Makes Calum more nervous than me. But seeing what I have of the bartenders right now, I’d run food and take care of those right at the bar. Right now, it’s like a bridge that I can’t see enough to worry about if I'll have to cross it or not.”

You slide over to the cookies, testing the temperature with your finger. They feel cool enough and you gingerly wiggle them loose from the sheet. Declan slides you two plastic bags. “I guess in some ways it’s like not trying to stress yourself out twice about things,” Declan states.

“Yeah,” you nod. You seal up the last four cookies for Charlie. Two more remain on a piece of paper towel. Declan takes the sheet and moves it to the sink. “Oh, I can wash it.”

With a pointed stare, Declan turns on the water and squeezes a bit of dish soap onto the sheet. “What was that? I can’t hear you over the water,” he shouts.

You’re not sure what you expected but when he’s done, you toss him one of the remaining cookies, hoping he doesn’t drop it but hoping just a little that it tumbles. Declan catches it with ease. “For all your hard work,” you return.

He snorts. “Thanks.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Oh, anytime as long as I get fed cookies at the end of it.”

The door to the kitchen opens, you catch the movement from your peripheral and look up from Declain. Calum peeks his head through the door. “Ready, baby?”

“Yeah, I just finished up.” You offer Declan the second cookie as well. He waves it off.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll see you around.”

“I’m not going to eat it,” you laugh and Declan huffs before plucking the sugar cookie from your fingers.

“You owe me,” he calls out around his bite. “I need advice on what to get my sister for her graduation present.”

“Call me. I’ll help. But you can’t go wrong with money.”

“Aye, yeah, I thought about that. But I want to do something more personal. As the oldest, I can do better than that.”

The bags of candy rattle in your grasp as you slip the shopping bag they’re in on your wrist. The two baskets are wrapped securely into the curve of your fingers from the plastic handles. You get Declan’s concerns. The pride in his voice makes you realize perhaps you’re less alone than you felt with Charlie and Teagan’s situation.

You nod at Declan. “We’ll cook up something. Be thinking about what she likes or what she needs. Text me whatever you think of and then we’ll grab coffee or something to solidify a plan.”

“Thank you,” Declan grins. “You’re a life saver.”

“Don’t I know it,” you laugh over your shoulder. Calum steps in closer, his fingers brushing over your wrist as he takes the Target bag with the leftover candy.

“Shut up. No one told you to brag about it.”

Calum holds the door open for you. “Sorry I couldn’t help with the baskets. But it looks like you still had some help around.”

“Don’t worry. I know you had other obligations. Declan sort of forcefully helped out. In a way.”

“Declan has a sister?” Calum questions. “Didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, he does. She graduates university in December.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I didn’t realize Declan was old enough for a sister graduating uni.”

“He’s 27. So not that much older.”

The lights on Calum’s truck light up briefly and you two slip inside. You’re not sure what you’re about to head into. Though you hope it’s good news, there’s dread in the bottom of your stomach. Calum doesn’t know. You only asked if he could help pick up Charlie and Teagan from school. But he doesn’t know.

“When’s your next day off again, baby?” Calum asks. You were off today--having spent most of that time doing laundry and cleaning out your car. But then came by after were done so that both you and Calum could go over to your parent’s place--at Charlie’s request that Calum come.

“Uh, next Tuesday, I think,” you return. “I have to look at the schedule again.” You take a picture of it when it gets posted. You can only imagine what haunts you in the photo album of your phone should you ever go back through it more thoroughly.

“When you do, can you let me know? Next month we’ll need to schedule a fitting for outfits to the auction and banquet. It’ll be pretty straight forward for me. But I know they’ll want to do your measurements, talk about what you’re comfortable wearing and show you some pieces. It’s….going to be a lot. But it won’t take the whole day.”

That part you hadn’t considered. Though you were still working on the painting religiously in the evenings, the banquet was being pushed further and further down on your list of concerns. Having to actually go was a dream, or perhaps you held onto some delusion that you wouldn’t have to go. Though you definitely did. “I’ll let you know,”you return.

“I’ll be there, the entire time,” Calum promises, a hand on your knee. “It’s really not bad. If you want, we can sit down together and look at stuff to help you prepare. Brands, maybe colors, silhouettes and such.”

“That would be nice.”

“Of course, baby. I’d be happy to.”

The first part of the journey is smooth, the tires gliding down the road. Calum seems to find a sense of content with his hand on your knee, a gentle gliding up to the middle of your thigh and then a slide back down. Rhythmic in a way that you’re partially sure it’s not conscious. It feels unbothered, unworried in a way that only the subconscious is capable of doing. And the longer his palm slides along your denim cladded knee, the longer you think about the mess Calum could be walking into. He might already suspect, but it is still your responsibility to be transparent, to tell him what’s going on in your life even if it’s hard, even if it’s tiring.

“I want to say thanks,” you start, capturing Calum’s free hand for a moment to give it a squeeze. “For agreeing to help me with my siblings. I do know I need to explain what’s going on right now. It’s just hard—I guess it’s also shame. But Teagan noticed that Diana missed tucking her in a few nights back in August or so. And things just sorted to feel off with how pushy she started to get. Melvin confirmed a couple weeks ago that she’s drinking again.”

Calum hisses, his hand squeezing against your knee. “I am so sorry, baby. That’s so awful.”

“Melvin asked for some time to get her more help. He’s worried about disrupting too much of Charlie and Teagan’s schedule. I gave him until the end of next month to make progress with her. But if she’s not better, I’m taking them in for a little bit.”

“Outside of pickup from school, what other help do you need? I-there’s-whatever you need, I want to help.”

You know Calum’s being careful. You can hear how much might be behind those words. “We might need a room at the palace if that’s okay. I don’t know how suitable my room is long term. Until my lease is finished and I find a two bedroom apartment.”

“We have space. That’s not a problem.”

Your cheeks are warm. He says it so easily like he doesn’t have to think. And some in ways he probably doesn’t have to. But the deep pressure of his hold tells you that he means it deeply. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m really sorry that this is happening. To them. To you all over again in a way. All three of you deserve so much better. But I think you’re doing what you might’ve wished someone did for you. And that in and of itself is incredibly powerful.”

The tears burn. You watch the way the highway signs wave in their wake. It’s not exactly what you’d want, though maybe in your younger years you did wish someone to save it before it started. And you can be that light. You can be the hero that your siblings need, even if they’ve never wanted for one. “I just hope they don’t hate me.”

“I can sympathize with that fear, baby. They’re kids right now. They maybe won’t get it immediately. But when they get older, you can explain more. And maybe you and Melvin find a way to frame it so it doesn’t seem so bad right now and they don’t take it so hard. And I hope they don’t hate you either. I can’t say they won’t. But Charlie and Teagan seem like kids that would at the very least listen.”

You hope. You’d beg of the universe that Charlie and Teagan at the very least listen to you, understand that you don’t want to make any changes to their lives unless it’s to improve it. But they are just kids. Temporary displeasure for more stable and permanent change seems like a fair price to pay, but you know they’ll take years to see it that way.

“I hope,” you return softly, sniffling back the snot that threatens to slip down your cupid's bow. “I hope.”

Calum motions to the glove box. “Tissues if you need them. But I’m here. Mum is too. So is Dad. You’ve got people in your corner. I’ll talk to security and we can get Charlie and Teagan set up so they’re safe and they have a nice place to hang out. We’ll create a plan so that they’re always on time to school and picked up and for any after school activities they’re in as well. All hope is not lost.”

Hope is not lost. Just beaten and maybe a little battered. “You sure you still want to be with me?” you tease, taking out the small pouch of tissues from the glovebox.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. But I am going to make sure Charlie and I have the best jack-o-latern on the block, so be prepared for that.”

“Not if Teagan and I have the best one.”

“Oh, game on, baby. I hope your mouth is not writing checks you can’t cash.”

“All my checks are good.”

Calum gives a disapproving hum but risks a glance in your direction. “We’ll see about that. We’ll see. Is it this exit or the next one?”

“Next one,” you answer. “Once you got off, I’ll help more.”

“Next one. Got it. Thanks.”

“No, thank you.”

The front of the house is dark when you arrive. There’s no lights bleeding through the curtains. There’s no flutter or wide swinging of the door as you and Calum ascend the stairs. You’re not sure what this means and from what you can see there is at least one car in the driveway at the very least. There were two--a car for Dian and Melvin each. But you’re not sure who drives what. It feels a little pointless to knock on the door, but you do so anyway. It sits unanswered for a minute or two.

Calum’s hand rests gingerly in the dip of your lower back. “Want to try the door bell?”

It feels silly to think you haven’t had to use the doorbell in months. But you wait a moment more and then reach for it. The toll rings out, so much so that even you hear it from behind the closed door. The seconds pass and you don’t hear anything. Melvin had told you to come at this time. You worried nothing had happened in the meantime but a few seconds later you catch a faint call, “Coming, coming!”

Melvin smiles as he opens the door. There’s light but from deeper in the house, from the kitchen you think. The front of the house is dark. “Uh, we’re in the backyard,” he notes, pushing his glasses back up on his face.

You nod and step inside. “Okay.”

“That’s cute,” he comments, pointing down to the buckets in your hand. “For Charlie and Teagan?”

“Uh, yeah. There’s a lot of sugar as a warning.”

“To be expected,” he laughs. “Just head straight back. I’ve got to run upstairs and I’ll be right back down in a minute.”

Calum slides in around you, giving Melvin a passing greeting before taking a couple steps further ahead of you. You watch Melvin though, as he ascends the stairs one hand on the railing. He moves quietly though you distinctly remember the sixth step always having a little bit of a squeak to it. So far, there’s no Diana. Not that you can see but you know you’re staring too much when you notice just how Melvin skips over the second noisiest step too.

“Ready?” Calum questions.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you return and then catch up. “It’s just this way.” You lead Calum deeper into the house, past the living room and kitchen to the sliding glass doors. Charlie and Teagan sit at the wooden bench in the backyard, two pumpkins resting already on the table on top of newspaper. The big kitchen trashcan sits outside--ready and lined with the black garbage bag.

The two turn at the sound of the door sliding in the grooving, faces immediately brightening up when they spot you and Calum. Teagan slides out and rushes up the porch steps. “Hi!” she laughs colliding into your lower body.

“Hi,” you laugh in return.

Charlie follows up behind his own cheer leaving his throat. You wrap him up in a hug as well. But as you do, you pause. He’s hitting the middle of your chest nearly. Just a few weeks ago he was maybe at your waist. But now you feel it in your bones. In the next year, you’ll be looking him directly in his eye. It would break your heart for it to be sooner, but the longer you take in the extra inches, you think it might be sooner.

“You’re getting so tall,” you marvel.

Charlie laughs. “Yeah, I guess so. The basketball coach asked me if I’d considered joining the sport last week.”

“No more baseball?” Calum questions, slinging his arm around Charlie’s shoulders.

“Never giving up on that. But I might consider basketball too. If they don’t share the same season schedule.”

You know you shouldn't be shocked. It’s supposed to happen. They’re supposed to grow up. But as Charlie collects his basket full of goodies and carries on back to the table, you find yourself still in awe of how much he’s grown. They won’t be little forever--a terrifying thought to have. But they still laugh, digging into the baskets for their first pick of candy.

“We’re supposed to wait,” Charlie notes, warning Teagan of some previous agreement. You think you hear somewhere in there where his voice cracks too. Just a little, hardly enough for you to think it’s real. But you swear you can catch it.

She huffs, but places the box of Nerds back onto the table. “You could let me slide.”

“No, Dad said to wait, so we wait.”

“Where is Dad anyway?” Teagan questions. Her gaze falls behind you back towards the house but when she doesn’t seem to garner enough for an answer she looks back to you. “You going to help me destroy Charlie and Calum from over there?”

The shock glued your feet. You hadn’t made it from the bottom of the steps of the porch but you soldier on and settle onto the bench next to her. “No, sorry. Any ideas on what you want to do with this here pumpkin?” you ask with a slap to the side. It’s a dull thud, but the gourd is still firm under the weight of your hand.

She nods, reaching for a stack of papers. “I drew up some ideas at lunch. Which one do you think is best?”

As you begin shuffling through Teagan’s ideas, you can catch the murmur of Calum and Charlie discussing too. For a brief moment, you lock in again on Charlie’s voice. There’s nothing there, not another crack. It’s enough that you think you could convince yourself that you imagined the earlier sound. But you know it’s a fruitless wish. So you zero back in on the four sketches--one has furrowed brows and though the brows aren’t quite even in the drawing, you do like the added touch. You slide it out towards her. “I like this one.”

“That was my first choice. But I liked this one too a lot.” She reaches for the drawing with the word, Boo written in a speech bubble out from the pumpkin’s mouth.

You look back up to her pumpkin. Charlie’s chosen pumpkin is shorter and wider, which you think would fit the words a bit more. But Teagan’s pumpkin is much taller and a tad bit narrower. The word would inevitably wrap around the side. “I think given the pumpkin you’re working with this one is the best bet,” you return, holding the picture in your hand up a little bit more. “The pumpkin’s a bit too narrow for the word. But if you really want it, we can try to make it work.”

Teagan holds the design up to the pumpkin, eyes flickering up and down from the picture to the pumpkin, around the edges of it. “I think you’re right.”

“Save that one for next year, if you want. Then we can make sure you get the right size pumpkin for it.”

“There’s also the tiny pumpkins we’re going to paint too today,” Teagan begins, “so I’m sure I can use that design on one of them.” She points to the side of the table you’re at but there’s nothing a top of the table so you look down and spot a collection of six mini pumpkins waiting.

“Oh, yeah, that works too.”

The four of you wait for another minute or two, but you can see how antsy Teagan and Charlie are getting. They fidget near their boxes of candy and near the tools assembled on the table for carving. Melvin made it sound like it would only take a minute or two. It settles into your gut that Diana’s the reason for the hold up. And behind that lead is bile at the realization that Melvin may not be getting to her. If your lungs could collapse at a thought, this would be their undoing.

Charlie looks back to the house. “I’m going to go look for Dad,” he states.

It flashes before your eyes--how he might discover Diana drunk, Melvin doing his best to coax her from the glass, or worse, an argument. His world would crumble in an instant. You know that it might be the wind to bring the house of cards down and it might make whatever you do in the future make more sense, but you call out his name instead. He doesn’t need to be dropped into reality just yet.

“We can get started, if you want. I think Calum and I count as adult supervision,” you tease. “Even if just barely on Calum’s part.”

“Excuse me?” Calum laughs. “I have been well into adulthood for quite some time now. Not nearly as old as you, but it still counts.”

Charlie laughs at the exchange. “No, but like, we always do it with Dad,” he counters. He’s not moved closer back to the bench, hovering in the few feet between the bench and the deck steps.

“You can blame me,” you counter, nodding for Charlie to come back. “C’mon. Teagan’s got ass to kick--yours specifically.”

“Oh no, now that’s unfair,” he retorts, inching back towards the table, back towards safety. “And you owe money to the jar.”

“Add it to my tab,” you grin, sliding him an apron.

“Game on,” he grins. Devious as it is, you count this as a win. You know the trouble won’t get smoother, won’t get easier, but Charlie doesn’t need the veil torn down just yet.

As you help Teagan into her apron, you notice her own concern, the flickering of her gaze back up to the house. God, what you wouldn’t have done to save her the first time, when she snuck down to that kitchen and caught those few seconds of the cabinets slamming.

“Do you want to scoop or cut?” you ask, trying to pull her back. You can save her now, even if it’s only for pumpkin carving. “After we get the outline done, of course.”

“I’ll take a stab at the cutting.”

You snort at the pun, but nod. “If it’s too tough, just let me know and I’ll take over.”

She nods and takes the sharpie with ease to begin outlining the brows, eyes, and mouth of her jack-o-latern. She works with little hesitation until she has to make the brow on the right with the one on the left. Charlie and Calum laugh from their side of the table as Charlie works to get the knife through the thick rine.

“Please watch your fingers, yeah?” Calum states as Charlie works.

Teagan slips out from the bench and takes a couple steps back. You watch her and she tilts her head just a little. “I can’t get the brows straight for the life of me,” she laughs.

You lean over to get a more straight one look. The right brow is just a little lower than the left. “It’s now an aesthetic choice. Adds to the character,” you offer.

She snorts. “We can call it that.”

As she returns back to her spot, you hear the slide of the glass doors. Melvin slips through but pauses with the door not fully closed behind him. You see it, the flash of fear and disappointment over his face. It makes you wonder if he ever consider that even this particular path of action would have its own cost? The hand of the universe is always perfectly balanced--for every x that is solved, there is a z.

The two of you lock gazes, as you stand to help Teagan with getting the gourd open, and you know that Melvin’s truly not prepared. Neither are you. The two of you are wading in the same sea. Neither one of you has a buoy, neither one of you have a life vest for what’s coming or what’s already here. The difference between you and Melvin are merely only the reasons that brought you into this stormy sea. You already know the cost of every choice. You already know that every action you take or don’t take will come with its own weighty consequence. You know the cost of keeping Charlie from going inside is that when the truth does come out, it will destroy him tenfold. You know when you take them in, when you do what you must do, there will be anger and resentment. As much as it scares you, you know you’re going to do it--regardless. You don’t know how to navigate those feelings. You don’t know how to live with the fear of what you know must be done. But you will still do it.

Does some part of this feel like deja vu for Melvin? Not that you envy his position. He is at the crossroads of his own impossible trolley problem. If Melvin wanted to save his wife, save the mother of his children, Charlie and Teagan would become the sacrifice. If Melvin wanted to save his two youngest children from the same fate that fell upon you, his wife would become the sacrifice. You watch the crushing reality swallow him whole. You’ve never seen true horror on someone’s face until now. Until Melvin watches as you work the knife through the flesh of the pumpkin and the foundation of a tradition cracks.

You could and would do whatever necessary to protect them. You wish you could tell him, say to him that this is the moment of sink or swim. This is the very second to decide if he’s going to let Diana’s own choices destroy what he’d worked so hard to build. But you’ve the rest of the rind to get through. There’s Teagan waiting eagerly to your right with the spoon to scoop out the innards of the pumpkin. So you look back down to the work you’re doing, sliding the knife through the tough outer flesh and resign yourself come the end of November, even if you have to sink, Charlie and Teagan will still swim.

You can only hope Melvin’s accepted that fate too.

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 5 months

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Sweet Dreams--Part 6

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted.

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

CW: Smut across the series. Mentions of parental neglect, and alcohol abuse across the series as well.

Series Masterlist

My Complete Masterlist

The collar’s stiff, not stiff enough that it’ll just stay flat, but stiff enough that it won’t flatten from the half curl it’s in. You don’t have much else to dig out. It’s this shirt or what seemingly feels like having to accept defeat--skip the interview, continue on this dead end journey. And maybe it only feels a little exhausting because you spend your days buried deep in applications--uploading resumes, retyping them, editing cover letters, adding the same information on the PDF you just uploaded into the HTML application that you’re clicking through. Your name, email, last known dates of employment and location, your schooling. You’re stuck on a wheel, a carrot dangling in your face and always just inches from actually getting your teeth on it.

This is your fifth interview in three weeks, but the track record you’re building is already speaking deeply for itself. Three of the four interviews have wound up being stark rejections. The last one was sweet, noting that your skill and caliber are impressive, but given the two year stint out of the cutthroat business they felt that you might be too much of a liability. So much that being a chef to royalty seems to get you. But you understand. The restaurant business is lethal. It is knife to throat at all times, no shut eye, always looking over your shoulder with a handful of salt at the ready. You have been out of that realm for quite some time. You still had plenty of time to look, but the frustration clouds all your judgment. You just know you need a job.

As you fight with the collar, you consider if it would be such a bad idea to look into becoming a private chef in the interim until you found something else, until you had a handle on what you’re actually looking for outside of desperation. There had to be someone right enough, much too lazy to do their own cooking to hire you on. And it would give you some of your life back. But you don’t settle for that idea just yet. You don’t give in just yet. You still have this interview in front of you and the collar that won’t fucking cooperate.

“C’mon!” Your voice booms more than you intend.

“You really ought to have a steamer,” Calum laughs. His voice is small through the speakers of your phone. You turn to face the phone now, realizing that you probably shouldn’t blow your top over a fucking collar. Calum he motions for you to turn.

You oblige, shuffling in a circle as you speak, “Buy me one and then I will have one.”

“Is that not classified as knight in shining armor bullshit? Or is that just your being frustrated?” Calum questions. It comes with a laugh, but you know the true meaning.

“It’s me being frustrated at this fucking job hunt. Is it a no on the shirt?”

“The shirt is fine, baby. You got a dryer in that establishment that I’ve only ever gotten to see on a phone screen?”

You nod at the question, fingers moving to the top buttons of the shirt to undo them. “We both know why you haven’t. I need to be in the new job before I flaunt you to my roommates.”

“Miranda did say that Josie was looking a little suspicious.”

Josie’s the quietest of the roommates, excluding you. She can’t even humanely capture a fly without the tears brimming in her eyes. Fortunately for her, when the insects do run amuck, you’re usually swift to handle them when you spot them or to call the leasing office to have them schedule a spray. She’s knocked on your door twice for her help with a bug and you’ve never been able to turn her away.

“About this dryer?” you ask, pulling your arms out of the sleeves.

“Yes, yes, sorry to Josie. She’s probably a nice woman. But mist that shirt. Don’t soak it. You just want it damp. Then put it on a low cycle for like 15 minutes max. You’ll have to hang the shirt up immediately after taking it out of the dryer though. Think you can handle that?”

“I think so.”

The interview is scheduled for late in the afternoon. You knew it would be rough for you, meaning you’d get little sleep potentially. But you had to do what needed to be done. So you’d only get up only after a quick nap to get ready. Calum promised to be free to help you prepare and the moment you texted him about being awake, he called. The last twenty minutes you’d been on the phone you’d huffed at the limits of your closest. There were only so many shirts you had to wear for the interview and the last thing you wanted to do was show up in a shirt that you couldn’t be sure if it was clean or not. So you were left to this one, a collar as disobedient as ever.

“You’re going to land something, baby. It’s going to be okay,” Calum offers.

“I appreciate it.” You know he means well but it doesn’t necessarily erase all the nerves. Time is the guillotine as it is. You’ve only got so much time to land on your feet before time takes your head. You try to tell yourself, when you lay down for sleep, not to listen to the tick of the clock.

With your t-shirt slipped back over your torso, you gather your phone off your dresser. “How are sessions?” You keep your voice soft as you ask the question. Calum’s no good as a punching bag. He’s not the person you’re angry with. Though, you don’t know if it’s a person you’re truly angry with anymore anyway.

“Long,” Calum returns.

“Any swingers?” you ask. You know it’s really not your business but there is a part of you that is curious. It felt like a slippery slope. As much as Calum wanted to play the game right, as much as Calum wanted to be the good guy, the game he’d been placed into was rigged. It always would be. It would just take Calum a little bit longer to see that, to understand just how much it was an old game with deep roots. He could play it the right way, but he’d have to be okay with a lot of failure. You wonder if Calum’s ever used to failing at anything. Not that you think he’s been handed everything in his life. But you know the wall for him was shorter. He had more people under him, more people to keep the ladder safe and still for him.

“A couple,” he answers. “It’s…slow, as I’m sure you know. So fucking slow.”

“People on the news say another vote is coming up next week?”

“There is. I don’t think we have the numbers. Not yet.”

There’s something in how Calum keeps his responses short that sets the hairs on the back of your neck up into the air. “What’s wrong?” You don’t want it to come out accusatory. You know that there may not be something wrong, but your gut tells you otherwise. And you’ve got no reason not to listen to it.

Calum’s exhale is harsh, head dropping back on his shoulders. You watch the expanse of his neck for a moment, how he swallows before bringing his face back into the frame. “It’s not working. It’s just not fucking working,” he huffs. “Playing this fucking straight is killing people. We just got the unemployment numbers. They’ve skyrocketed. When I talk to people about how this happened, I interview CEO’s or get statements from them and they say no one wants to work. So I go to the streets and I hear people are looking for jobs, they’re desperate for it. But not so much that they’ll be exploited. Nine, ten hour shifts with no breaks, no pay increases, buildings that aren’t up to code in the slightest, or just barely passing inspection. And I’m sure there’s some not so great people at the manager helm, but like profit margins are blowing the fucking roof but the employeess can’t afford medication. The people in the cabinet don’t care enough because their checks are still cash. Their coffee still comes out steaming and hot like it’s supposed to. They can still go to the dentist to make sure they don’t get a cavity or fill it without a blink. People are dying and no one wants to get off their asses. And I’m doing this the way it should be done. And the world--.”

Calum’s monologue comes to a crashing halt. His eyes are wild and unfocused. You can see the frustration turning the tips of his ears red. You can see it pushing at his chest. “And the world keeps fucking spinning,” he whispers to conclude the thought that stopped him.

“The last I heard Galileo had proven the earth orbited the sun, not Cabinet.” It’s a joke. One that you hope breaks Calum out of his daze. It seems to work--but only a little as his lips quirk into a grin.

“It’s a shame no one’s told the Cabinet that,” Calum teases.

“You did once. I don’t think that fire’s gone totally. Not if you don’t go it alone. I’m not a mathematician. I don’t know how many you need, who you need of course.”

“We just need enough,” Calum replies. “You deserve better than complacency.”

“Me?” The two of you are talking about thousands of people, hundreds of thousands. But the two of you are not talking about you--singular. Yet Calum is.

It’s only a nod you get and behind the silence the clock on your wall ticks and tocks. You catch the seconds like falling snowflakes--one by one--as you watch Calum’s face settle. He doesn’t seem to want to answer the question but after the quiet gets too long, you press again. “Calum, what do you mean that I deserve better than complacency?”

“You deserve better. Perhaps, you deserve havoc.”

“Done to, or doing?” you ask.

“Never done to,” Calum returns quickly. “You don’t deserve any more havoc in your life, but maybe you deserve to bear witness to something done by someone else.” You told Calum that--to wreak havoc until he could get seats turned over. You don’t even really know what it was supposed to mean. You’d hope it would’ve just been comforting enough to help him get through the door and back into the room. You don’t think you would’ve said it if it meant what it does now to Calum.

“What if there’s no stick or shovel?” you ask. If Calum’s going to get into the deep end, if he’s going to wade through the tall grass, you don’t want him to do so blindly. You don’t want him to do without recognizing that he might become the very thing he was scared of.

“At least we’ll both know I tried my best then, right?”

You nod. But you remember--how Calum worried about if he didn’t play this game right and got into the mud then he would consider himself as having failed. “And we’ll both know you weren’t a failure, right?”

Calum nods in return. “I think I’d be more of a failure if I didn’t do something.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You don’t know what this is actually referring to. You don’t know what Calum’s got planned but you do know that look in his eyes--a laser focus. You’re sure that if you were to see his jaw, there would be a small tick to you, the final testament to his resolve. “No bullshit. No bravado. Is this what you actually want to do?” you ask.

“Have I ever done something I didn’t want?”

You remember though. You remember how Calum spoke softly about his childhood, how he was allowed the space to be a child, let abandon fall by the wasteside. He always knew where he was going. His path was predetermined by fates outside of his control, his path paved in ways that do not allow for yearning. “Have you ever wanted? Not placed, not disciplined, not assumed. Have you ever actually wanted for something? Do you want this? You can build a house with integrity. It will stand.”

You think Calum’s going to blow you off, the camera shakes for just a moment and you’re praying to the heavens he doesn’t undermine your question. But his face stays. He leans in. “But it’s too damn slow. Besides, this isn’t about my morals anymore, baby. This is about what needs to happen. Those emergency funds need to go out. Legislation needs to change. Asses need a fire under them, more now than ever.”

There’s no turning this tide. Like waves follow the moon, Calum’s being pulled by something. It’s invisible to you right now and you know you can’t press on. Your alarm to remind you about the interview in another hour rings out. You swipe it away to snooze it, knowing you’ve only got nine more minutes before the alarm comes back around. But you can hear the crashing of the waves. You hear what Calum is saying: I need to do it this way.

“I’ll pick up spare matches.”

“I hear there’s a two for one special,” Calum laughs. “Now I think I heard your alarm. Go on. I’ll call again when you get to the interview. You’ve got a shirt that needs a flat collar.”

A knock sounds from Calum’s end of the call that interrupts your response. “Yes?” Calum calls out.

“You’re late!” you faintly catch and think it’s Miranda.

“Shit,” he whispers and then focuses back to you. “Best of luck, baby. Don’t forget to call when you get there! Love you.”

He smiles at you one last time and then the screen goes black. You’re left standing there, phone held up to your face and your reflection staring back at you. Shock’s never looked more like a painting, your mouth agape but not quite in the oval of the scream, as you catch sight of your face in the black screen of your phone.

“There’s no way he means that right now,” you whisper to yourself.

You’d always thought the guillotine would drop when you couldn’t find a job and the notices came for all your possessions, and you were left with nothing. You’d yet to consider the guillotine to fall over a phone call, over two words.

Love you.

Your alarm sounds again. Right, you’ve got the interview. You’ve got a shirt and collar to get sorted.

Love you.

You scramble to get the shirt damp and into the dryer. Thinking the guillotine was losing and handling change is a childish thought. The guillotine is really a fear of what’s been brewing. You can no longer say that you hope or want for Calum. You can no longer say that you watch with curiosity.

You pray, and fret, and hope with care, with love. You worry because you know the thing you want. You know the thing you’ll fight for now isn’t just selfish anymore. It’s mutual. It’s mutual and all it took was two words: love you. Perhaps, you will find two boxes of matches.

The building in front of you reminds you of your days with Mrs. Shirley--it looks industrial with the gray walls, like you’re stepping back in time. Though all your missing is Mrs. Shirley maroon pickup truck and the radio. This parking lot is quite full though instead of empty. A shopping cart or two are left behind on the sidewalks. You can hear the twinkle of dog tags. But the building’s mural looks fresh. Like it might’ve just been painted up there. Not what you expect from the restaurant, after reviewing the ratings, but something about it feels comforting.

Your fingers hover over the phone icon. If you call him, are you even going to address what he said? Are you going to light the beacon or let the words carry on like an undercurrent? You can’t not call though.

“Hi, baby,” Calum answers. You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Made it to the restaurant,” you return.

“What’s the first impression so far?”

You shrug, looking out around you from the shelter of your car. “Still assessing. But promising, I hope.”

“We’ll take hope. You’ve got your copies of your resume, right?”

You turn to look at the blue folder on the seat next to you. “I do.”

“At least three questions to ask the interviewer, right?”

“Always,” you laugh. “It’s not my first rodeo, cowboy.”

“No, you’re an experienced rider. Just gotta make sure though.” Calum’s laughter follows his sentence.

“I appreciate your concern.”

Softly, oh so softly, does Calum’s voice fall and filters through the line. “I think I’ve got a good feeling about this one. Need anything before you head inside? Pep talk? Going over your questions?”

You shake your head no again, knowing he can’t see. Calum’s had a good feeling about the last two interviews. The last one he was sort of spot on until the rejection came. But maybe things were moving in the right direction.

“No, I’m good. Just wanted to call like promised,” you eventually settle on. Though in the back of your brain you can see still the echoing of Calum’s earlier statement. Would you return it? Should you? What if Calum doesn’t mean it the way you would?

“Hmm, I do appreciate the call.”

Is Calum going to bring it up? Would he call attention to his own actions? Were you putting too much weight behind the words?

As the silence stretches on for a second, then two. The time on your radio clicks over. You still have to get inside. Calum’s words are soft--accented in a way you don’t think you’ve heard them spoken before. But a warmth settles over your chest.

“Good luck,” Calum whispers.

“I hope your good feeling is good for one more time.”

“It will be. I put in a good word with the ancestors.”

You snort at the joke. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

That’s all there is--you hang up after your goodbyes. The clock on your radio ticks over another minute. The phone feels like lead in your hands and you want to call Calum back. You want to ask him what he meant when he said Love you but you’ve got to go. You grab your folder and push against the door handle of the car.

At the front of the building, you watch through the glass front windows at the people smiling. Servers drop off plates, patrons focus in on the food in front of them. The place looks inviting. You are intrigued to see more of the inside, see what the inner workings hold for you. So, you press forward. The hostess greets you with a bright smile. “Just one today?”

You shake your head. “I’m actually here for an interview.” You pass along your name and she nods.

“Just one moment. I’ll be right back.”

From the foyer, you take note of the aroma--it’s earthy but the fringes of it feel heavy. “Here for the interview?” The voice is thick and soft.

You turn to find an older woman, maybe in her fifties or so. Her skin is dark, nearly matching the black t-shirt she’s adorning. “Yes, that would be me,” you return, pushing up from the plush bench.

She grins, taking your hand to shake. “C’mon then. I believe you spoke with the assistant manager, Glenn, previously.”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’m Turner. Let’s head back.”

“Nice to meet you, Turner.” You follow behind her through the crowds. You’re careful of course with the servers coming through. The kitchen is alive--you can hear the orders coming through, a string of laughter following behind it though. You’re much more used to shouts of frustration. The kitchen is no place for thin skin, but it intrigues that even on a busy afternoon there’s laughter.

Before you even realize it, you’re in the back office, settling into the computer chair across from Turner. She pulls a pen out of the bun. “When we saw Vista on your resume, we were quite impressed. I will admit, very few come from fine dining down to us. We’re still pretty young in the game.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s a downgrade, that’s for certain,” you counter. Not after what you’ve seen just so far. Of course, things can and will change once you start. You know that it won’t be rainbows all the time at the job. Yet, you feel a calling in your heart that this might be the right place for you to go at the end of it all.

“Well, thank you,” she laughs. “I understand this might be a personal question, but if I can, what are you looking for in your next place of work? Were you missing something at your previous jobs?”

That’s the question of the hour. You weren’t missing anything at your current job. It had what you wanted. But matters of the heart with royalty have a complicated path. “I left fine dining because of life situations demanding it. The thing I’m looking for in my next job is not just a place to cook, but a place to grow. I’ve learned a lot in school and use it daily, but I also think there’s only so much you can learn in a textbook. You learn a lot more when you work with a variety of techniques and cuisines.”

Turner nods. “I see. So you’re looking for a place that has a bit of a challenge for that healthy growth?”

“I think that would be the best way to put it, yes.”

“Your references speak extremely highly of you. I believe Ms. Janet was nearly in tears on the phone with us. It’s a good sign to us at the least. I am interested in hearing a bit more about times where you feel like you learned more outside of your technical training.”

“Of course.” You dive into the time you spent with Mrs. Shirley and what you learned--inside of the world of culinary arts and outside of it. For the entirety of the interview you and Turner trade questions and expectations about the role. The restaurant opens 11 to 8 every day except Sundays, that’s 12-6. Once a month the restaurant connects with a local shelter to house a potluck and provides meals for those in need. You learn that there is talk of expanding the franchise into a non-profit, but the pipeline to get employees who’ve been with the company into the non-profit is the highest priority of course while also including experts to ensure the longevity.

As the conversation continues you learn about the expectation of the daily operations. You’d be expected to work in the kitchen and unfortunately due to being slightly short staffed, you might have to handle some serving duties. They’d want someone who could man the bar as it could provide a bit more flexibility with other staffing structures. But should you be hired on, they’d pay for the training and licenses when it comes to the bar and mixing drinks. While the staffing concerns raise a small alarm in your head, you know the potential that you’d be called in on your days off would be extremely high, you are a little intrigued to have some normalcy back by having more conventional working hours. It would be nice to grab your siblings for dinner, have dates with Calum at a reasonable time.

There are efforts to work with other venues and opportunities in the community--seafood festivals, catering corporate picnics and holiday parties. But management does try to balance the demand as best as possible according to Turner. It feels like a lot of cookie jars on the table, but the priority first is always the restaurant. When you ask about the kind of demands on a slow day as compared to that of a higher volume day, specifically in how food is prepared and what the shipments look like, Turner gives you a laugh.

“I don’t know why I expected anything else from a seasoned vet.” But Turner goes on to explain how the kitchen is prepped and what kind of support to expect.

You grin. “I’ve been burned in some hot fires before. Experience is the best kind of teacher. But thank you for taking the time to answer that.”

“Of course,” Turner returns. “Training, as you probably already know, is a bit more like that trial by fire. You’ll work with some of our seasoned chefs and they’ll work with you through the menu. Expect this to take you a few weeks to get comfortable with and we’ll take it slow if you need. From what I can see, you’ve been out of this particular game for a couple years and we’d hate to see you get burned again.”

You nod, a bit of your heart releasing from the clutches. Maybe your time away won’t be so much of a detriment here than other places. They’re still growing. They can afford a few more luxuries that other restaurants may not be able to spend. “Thank you.”

By the time you conclude the interview, you’re praying that you actually land this job-not for desperation, but because you think this might be the kind of place that would give you a feeling of peace. There’s care in this place and you don’t want to be left out of that. You settle into the driver seat and immediately pull up Calum’s name. It’s been an hour, much longer than you anticipated for the interview and you know he’s worried.

The call doesn’t get answered immediately, but you let it ring and ring. “I’m sorry I missed your call. Please leave your name and number and a brief message and I’ll return your call,” Calum’s voicemail echoes into the bowels of your car.

“Sorry I missed you,” you start, “Finished the interview now. And I think, well, no, no, I know I want this job. The manager seems really nice and it’s--it’s such a nice place. I want this job more than anything now and I know. I know I said before I’d take whatever, but Forest is actually the kind of place I want to work for. Have the ancestors gotten back to you yet? Hope you’re doing okay though. Call me back when you can. Love you.”

There--it feels a bit cowardice to leave it in a voicemail, but you don’t want to lose this courage either. So you leave it, on a recorded line, where you can’t take it back. But at the very least, it’s out there now.

______________________________________

Calum’s phone shakes from his pocket. He feels it against his thigh and his immediate reaction is to reach for it, make sure it’s not you calling him back before ignoring the call. But Miranda’s throwing another file his way and he reaches out to catch it. The call will ultimately have to wait. “A heads up would be nice,” Calum huffs.

“Keep up,” she laughs.

“Son, you don’t have to do this though,” his father warns. “I can take this angle. I can talk to her.”

“Everyone knows we talk shop, Pops.”

“You’ve--you’ve just always said you wanted a clean game.”

Calum shakes his head, looking up to his father. “It’s not a game, though, Dad. I keep treating this like it’s a match. It’s not a game. It’s never been one. Everyone else thinks it is. But we can’t pretend like it's just a game anymore, where there’s no stakes. There are real consequences for what we do and don’t do. There’s real life in the balance of what we do.”

“But what you’re asking for,” his father warns. “We can’t take this back.”

Calum shrugs. “Well, perhaps, they should’ve been thinking about re-election the entire time.”

Miranda has the spare keys though it’s not technically her job. Calum cracks open the file and peers up at the ledger in front of him. It’s a tally of the most recent votes--who voted for what. The goal isn’t to have dirt and blackmail. The goal is to have a firm line, a recounting of every choice and consequence that’s come because of it.

“People are looky quite cushy from my vantage point,” Calum notes. His phone vibrates again against his leg. He’d shockingly forgotten about the call.

“And you’re sure you can do this before the voting on Thursday,” his dad questions.

They’ll need the official tally before the end of the week and Thursday was the latest day they could go. Should the bill get passed, it’ll go into effect the middle of the following week. The treasury and department of taxation is just waiting on standby and has been for weeks to start getting payments to roll out.

“Pops,” Calum laughs, pulling his phone out from his pocket. “I wrote 12 page papers in college the night before they were due. A week is just perfect. I just need you lifting heavy in session, doing most of the talking if you can.”

His father nods. “Of course, I can, son. Of course, I can.”

Miranda settles a ring with two keys onto the table. “You’ll need those. And a lot of coffee. And maybe a miracle.”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, Miranda,” Calum laughs.

“And if I can say, which of course I can, I’m about damn ready for someone to actually get something done around here. My back is killing me,” she teases. There’s no worry on her part about the presence of Calum’s father. She’s always had the fearless streak.

There’s a pass of laughter and Calum turns to see a missed call from you. He notices there’s a voicemail too. Bringing the phone up to his ear, he listens to your voice, “Sorry I missed you,” you start over the recorded message, “Finished the interview now. And I think, well, no, no, I know I want this job. The manager seems really nice and it’s--it’s such a nice place. I want this job more than anything now and I know. I know I said before I’d take whatever, but Forest’s is actually the kind of place I want to work for. Have the ancestors gotten back to you yet? Hope you’re doing okay though. Call me back when you can. Love you.”

Calum’s heart pounds against his ribs. His own breath catches, he can feel the struggle to regulate his breath. Love you, rattles in his brain. Love you. He was hoping you hadn’t caught that. Calum prayed he could somehow pretend that he hadn’t let those words slip. He’d gone on about the rest of his day and you hadn’t said a word. You hadn’t texted him about it. It hadn’t even come up in the brief call you two had before the interview. Calum thought he was in the clear. He’d hoped he was in the clear.

But clear isn’t standing in front of Calum. Not anymore.

It’s the clattering of his phone against the table that brings Calum back to reality.

“You okay, son?” His father’s voice is slow, but clear. Calum’s not listening though. He scrambles to pick up his phone and push up out of the seat he’s in. It sends him clattering into the chair a couple feet from the door as he tries to get his phone right side up in his hands. “Calum, please. What’s the matter?”

Calum shuts the heavy wooden doors behind him--though it’s really gravity that does most of the work and Calum just holds the knob with enough pressure to keep it from slamming. The phone rings, even before it’s at his ear, and his ribs ache with the pounding of his heart.

He was supposed to be in the clear.

“Hi, can you give me like two seconds?” You don’t wait for an answer, voice sounding a bit further away than before. “Hi, can I get 20 on pump 4 please?”

A voice returns to your question with a response. “You could go thirty and see me less.”

“And what’s the fun in that?” you laugh and as the sound gets closer, Calum is sure his heart will leap up his throat and out of his chest. “I’m back.”

“So?” Calum starts. How should he ask it? Should it even be a question at all? But before any other words come, you’re responding.

“So.”

Calum wants it to mean what he thinks it does--an answer to his unspoken question. His throat jumps as he opens his mouth and the shakes take over the first attempt at his words. He clears his throat to try again. “I got your voicemail.”

“I presume the ancestors have spoken then.”

Calum laughs--short and all an exhale. “They had to put me on hold. But I-I listened to the whole voicemail.”

The noises of a busy street--cars going past, horns honking, a voice floating in from somewhere behind you--take over the silence for a moment before you respond, “Good.”

“You’re going to make me say it aren’t you?” Calum questions. There’s no way you’d just let Good fall from your lips and not mean more.

“You already did. I said it second.”

There--there it was, the yolk oozing from the cracked shell. “You didn’t have to if you weren’t ready. Doesn’t it all feel a bit too soon?”

“You’re honey and I am molasses. Just seconds apart really.”

You say it so easily, like even if Calum is faster than you, even if these things come up sooner you know you’re not far behind. “I didn’t mean to rush you though. I don’t want to say it slipped out. Though that’s what it feels like. Like why wouldn’t I say I love you?”

“Well, why wouldn’t you?”

Your question. doesn’t feel like a challenge. It doesn’t feel like some way for Calum to get out of the hole he feels like he might be teetering on the edge. Maybe it’s meant for Calum to say whatever it is that he needs to say. Calum will take it though, take the leap if you’re going to let him.

Calum inhales deeply and lets the words fall in his exhale, “That’s the thing. I have no reason why I wouldn’t say it. Because I do. I love you.” He feels no need to qualify that statement, make it mean less or mean something different. There’s no need for that.

“I wish I could see your face,” Calum confesses. It would make this less awkward maybe. It might ease some of the fear in his chest as he waits.

“Do you know the painting, The Scream?” you ask.

“Yeah, yeah, I know the painting,” Calum answers, picturing the figure, hands pressed to the side of their face and mouth gaping open in an oval.

“That’s my face,” you laugh.

Calum snorts at the mental image--the shock on your face. He saw it earlier before he hung up on the video call. There was just the briefest moment where Calum was sure he’d messed up and he waited by his phone. He waited for your text, your call, but it never came.

“It’s scary to admit that you love someone. You know it all the same. I’m scared. And I know it all the same. That I love you.”

“And what makes you scared? Hmm? What’s so scary about it?” He really hadn’t meant to push this sooner than you were ready. But the can had already been opened. There was nothing that could take this back now.

Your sigh crackles through the line before your response does, “I don’t take saying that lightly. It’s easier to show it. It’s easier to never let it come to the surface. Much, much easier just to let it go unsaid.”

“If it helps, I’ve always seen it. I’ve always known.”

“You’ve always known?” The question falls with a teasing lilt and Calum exhales his laughter alongside you.

“And if I say, yes, what about it?” Calum teases in return. He’s not truly sure if he’s always known. But he’s had a hunched. Calum could've guessed it, but the sound of your confirmation winds him.

You continue on though around Calum’s earlier tease. “When you said love you earlier, I wasn’t sure if I should’ve responded or should’ve said anything in return. Then trying to make it on time for the interview took priority. And I didn’t think I’d address it. Not again for a little bit at least. Well, you know the rest. I left that voicemail.”

“Did it slip out? Did you feel like you had to say it?” The fear comes back. He’s not going to be happy if you feel pressured.

“No, I knew if I didn’t say it then I knew I’d keep finding excuses. A calculated risk, I’d dare to say.”

“You live at your own pace though, baby.”

“I know. And I do. And I did when I left that voicemail. No regrets. I promise.”

It’s final. Calum knows by the tone of your voice, so he nods. You can’t see it. But he nods regardless and drops his head into the wood of the door. “But the interview went well?”

“I think so. I hope I get the job. They’re understaffed. Manager admitted it and I know that means I’m getting in over my head. They’re going to be calling for me to cover shifts. They also want to cross train for the bar. It’s not a perfect job by any means. But it’s something I want. It could give me a leg back into the kitchen, get my sea legs again and get some additional certifications under my wing. Could be a really good stepping stone and I think right now that’s what I need.”

“Extra shifts before the holidays wouldn’t be so bad,” Calum figures. Summer is starting to wind down. The crisp fall winds show up in the early hours of the morning. It won’t be long before the holidays descend. “You now have to compete with giant unicorns.”

“Oh I absolutely do not,” you snort. “You have to compete with them though. Teagan already knows that’s not how it works with me.”

“Well, I hope you get it, baby. Would you be working days again? I assume so, but I could be wrong.”

“Yeah, I’d be working days. I mean, the days are still late. Restaurants open to 8PM most of the week. But I’d get home at a reasonable time. I’d get days off where I don’t spend most of them sleeping. It’s not perfect, but it is better in some rights.”

“Did they say when they’d get back to you?” Calum pushes up off the door. One hand he slips into the pocket of his dress pants as his shoes click against the floors. His walk is short, only a couple feet to the sides until he hits the wall.

“Monday, next week.”

“Do you work here that Tuesday?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Can I take you out to dinner before your shift?” He’d want to phrase it more like a gentle demand, but your schedule is a bit more delicate than his. He’s not sure if it would work out or not.

“I’d love to get dinner. What would be the occasion?”

“A date. It’ll be a celebration.”

“Calum,” you start. “You say that like you’re sure I’m going to get the job.”

He laughs. “I am sure. The ancestors just got back to me.”

The doors creak open and Calum catches the start of his father’s head out of the space between the crack in the door. “You okay?” his father asks.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. I’ll be back in. Give me another few minutes,” Calum returns, pulling the speaker away from his mouth just a little.

“Is everything alright?” you ask. “Was that David?”

His father nods and heads back into the room. Calum brings the phone back closer to his mouth. “Yeah. Everything’s okay. I-I might’ve spooked just a little listening to your voicemail earlier. It’s all okay though. But Tuesday. Dinner before your shift. Say, 6:30?”

“Did you have a heart attack listening to my voicemail?” The laughter is clear in your voice.

“No, not quite that. I was just working on something and I missed your initial call. Gave Dad a little bit of a fright when I was shocked. But it’s nothing major. No injuries I’m happy to report. Are you okay to meet here and then I’ll drive us to dinner? I could also pick you up but I don’t know how you’d feel about that.”

“I’ll meet you there. I appreciate the offer and we’ll get there. But I didn’t mean to interrupt your work though.”

Calum groans, spinning to face the wall. His forehead hits the warm softly. Yes, yes, work. The tallies. He does need to go through those ledgers. He needs to look at the immediate fall outs of all major votes. He needs that before the votes. He’s got to focus. And Calum can. He knows he can. But he does want to see you too. Ease any worries that you might have and keep your mind off checking your emails or phone for words from Forests.

“Yes, yes, I do. I’d rather talk to you, but it’s important too.”

“What if I swung by for a little bit? I’ve got those two boxes of matches.”

A hum falls over his throat. “That would be nice. To see you.”

“I need to swing by my place and then I’ll be right over. It’ll buy you at least forty minutes.”

“Make it an even hour? I hate to beg. But I can do a lot more damage in an hour while my dad’s still here than once he clocks out for the evening.”

“I think I can find something else to do for the extra twenty minutes. See you then?”

“Oh, don’t make it sound like a question. See you in an hour.”

The call ends, and Calum pushes up from the wall. He’s got an hour. The doors are heavy, creaking just a little as Calum pulls on them. When Calum steps back through, he rolls up the sleeves. He’s gotta make every second count if he’s going to spend some time with you. “Was that who I think it was?” his father asks.

“Yes, Pops. It was. They know you’re still owed a game of golf.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that. Did they say how the job hunt is going? It’s rough out there.”

“The interview today went well. Hoping they land it. But before you call it a day in an hour can I still borrow you?”

His father nods. “Of course. How far back are we going?”

“Last five years I’d reckon,” Calum answers. He needs enough substance just to start. If it’s not enough, he can go back even further. But he has to start somewhere at least.

“And are we looking at any specific kinds of referendums and legislations? Or just anything?”

“I think at this point--grab a notebook and jot down whatever sticks out to you. I’ll go back through your ledgers later if it’s not enough.”

A packet of sticky notes falls onto the pile of their table. “Mark any pages that are interesting with sticky notes. It’ll make your life easier,” Miranda states. “Work smarter, not harder.”

Calum grins over to Miranda. “Knew I liked you.”

Calum’s not sure how quickly the hour passes. There’s a blur of cursive ink and blue, yellow, and pink stickies. But Calum knows the hour is done when his father sighs. “Think that’s all I’ve got for today,” his father says, hands on knees. It’s the preamble to his push up and off the couch. Calum can’t fault it. There’s a lot of work to be done and it’s his idea. But Calum is grateful to have the extra hands for the time being.

“Thanks for the help so far,” Calum returns.

“Of course, son, of course.”

No sooner than his father cracking open the door Calum’s phone rings. Your name lights up his screen and those ledgers and notes can wait for a later time. “Up on the third floor,” Calum offers in his answer to your call. He’s slipping pages back into order, shutting ledgers. “But I can meet you at the elevators if you head up.”

“Eager beaver,” you tease. “I’ll see you there.”

Calum feels the buzz of his skin with excitement. His ribs know just how your chest will press into his and for that, he’s grateful. His lips know the press of yours, how you’ll sigh just a little into the kiss. It comes from somewhere in your throat and sounds like relief. Though Calum will admit that occasionally, he’s not sure if it was your noise or his. It doesn’t matter enough for Calum to piece it apart when the elevator dings and peels open to reveal you. A tiny wave and smile as you step out.

Calum wastes no time to gather you up, pressing a kiss to your forehead before gently guiding in for a kiss. It’s Calum who sighs first into this kiss. The noise vibrating in his throat, rattling the sound into more of a hum. “Missed you,” he whispers against your lips.

“Don’t have to anymore,” you return, resting your forehead against his.

_________________________________

“How’s Santa doing?” Teagan asks as she slips into the backseat. You snort at the question but watch from the open car door as she buckles up. It’s clear as her eyes fall onto yours you know who she’s really referring to.

“He’s good,” you nod.

“I have a new Christmas list actually,” Charlie pipes in from the passenger side back seat.

Your brows raise. “Do you now? It’s a good thing I told him we’ll need to confirm with you if anything changed. We’ll give you some more time to check it over before we seal the deal.”

Charlie’s nod is final and with both of them settled into the car, you shut the door. From the living room windows, you can see your mother watching--her hands on her hips. She watches and you can’t shake the feeling that it’s more than just a motherly gaze. She wasn’t there when you opened the door. Melvin did--Teagan and Charlie at his heels. But you know she’s always watching. Diana’s always in the wings.

You settle into the driver seat and shut the door, watching her stare. Time will tell what’s up her sleeve--if there’s anything at all too of course. You’re not so blinded by the tug of your stomach to not consider you might be making this all up anyway. From the cup holder, your phone shakes. Once. You watch it, finger frozen as your heart starts to race. You told Turner that afternoons and evenings were the best times to reach you.

The phone doesn’t buzz anymore. Not a phone call. Your chest deflates a little and the worry begins to bubble. When were you going to get this call back about the job? As you pick up the phone, you notice Calum’s name across the screen. Have you heard…the rest is cut off by the preview screen. Maybe there’s actually more but your eyes don’t see it all. You place the phone back down, slip the seatbelt over your chest, and meet Diana’s eyes again. A hawkish gaze from the windows in the bright afternoon.

“Where are we going?” Charlie asks.

You lock eyes with him in the rearview mirror. “Where do you want to go?”

“Ice cream!” he shouts.

“Teag?” you question, sliding your eyes to her.

She grins. “Absolutely.”

It might ruin their dinner, but you don’t worry about that. You don’t need to worry about that. “Then ice cream it is,” you answer.

It’s an easy drive, even as your phone buzzes again a few minutes later with the text from Calum. Charlie and Teagan sing along to the radio--as you always give them control over it when they’re with you. They’re off key, laughing as they flub lyrics. The worry that was bubbling settles. You hear your own laughter around theirs. They’re just kids and they’re doing what kids should do. They should belt lyrics at the top of their lungs and get them wrong. They should laugh. They should make your eardrums rattle.

When you pull into the lot of the ice cream shop, you watch them. They’re still singing, bodies wiggling in a way that reminds of what dancing almost looks like. With the sun behind them, illuminating their figures, they look like everything you’ve could’ve wanted. When you wished and hoped better for them, this is what it looks like. Though their life is probably far from perfect, though they’ll question why you and your parents aren’t close, they’ll never have to bear first account witnesses to that same kind of pain.

Three songs play--Charlie and Teagan dancing in the seat, singing to their hearts content before Teagan pauses. “Are we there yet?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “We’re here.”

“Excellent! Can I get a vanilla chocolate swirl?”

“Of course,” you return, pushing out of the car to help them out. Teagan files out first and then Charlie behind her. The backdoors don’t open from the inside thanks to the child safety locks you’ve set to be on so you always fetch them out. They each take one of your hands to cross the parking lot and once at the door, you let them in in front of you. The ice cream shop is cold. The air nips at your skin and you know it’s necessary to keep the sugar confection solid. Somehow the chill shocks you each time though and you follow behind Charlie and Teagan as they peer up into the window in front of the ice cream.

“What are you thinking, Charlie?” You ask, placing one hand on each of their shoulders.

“I don’t know. Cotton candy looks really good. But I always get it. And then there’s the rainbow sherbet. Which is also delicious.”

You can hear the true agony in Charlie’s voice, watching as his head flicks back and forth between the two options.

“You said you might want to try the Strawberry one, right, Charlie?” Teagan asks.

“Oh that’s right!” he replies, turning to her. “Oh, so many choices.”

You pick up movement from the top of your periphery, causing you to look up. The bright yellow apron catches your eye first. Tentatively, the worker approaches, a tiny smile on their face. You’d hazard a guess it’s a teen working over the summer into the budding fall, but they don’t seem bothered as Charlie and Teagan converse amongst themselves. “Would you like a sample?” they ask, eyes trained in on Charlie. “Sounds like you’re juggling a lot of decisions.”

“Oh, a sample? Yes please.”

“Of course. Let’s start with strawberry, first.”

Charlie takes the spoon from you as you take it from the top of the counter. He daps it to his tongue, lips smacking just a little as he lets the flavor coat his tongue. One by one, Charlie tries all three of the flavors. He holds all three of the tiny spoons as he glances back through the glass. You almost ask Charlie if he’s made up his mind, but he speaks before you can. “Can I get the strawberry in a bowl please?”

The worker nods. “Of course.” Their eyes cut up to you and you prompt Charlie.

“What size do you want?” you ask.

“Oh, hmm, just a small please,” Charlie returns.

“Okay, one small strawberry. And what about you?” the worker asks Teagan.

“Small bowl of vanilla chocolate swirl please,” she answers with ease.

“Coming right up. Anything for you?”

You almost miss that the question is directed at you, but raise your eyes to catch the worker. “No, I’m good. Thank you.” They nod, but the gaze lingers for just a minute. You watch too. Is the gaze in recognition? But it only lasts a moment or two until they turn down to the register and punch in for the bowls.

It could just be paranoia. Maybe that worker doesn’t recognize you for what you think they might. Maybe you’ve come in here before. But there’s something in your stomach that you can’t shake. You knew the world was watching in a way--photos would pop up no matter what. The thing you’re still trying to conceptualize is just how much other people outside of your circle now know your face. You hope though that this won’t impact your siblings. You don’t want it to be weird for them when you go out.

Charlie carries both bowls while Teagan settles into her seat. You stand, watching for a moment before you’re satisfied that both are comfy in their respect spots. “How’s camp going?” They’re in the final week, but they seem to still be clinging to a youth like hope that summer will hang on forever.

Around their spoonfuls of ice cream, you catch things like, fun, and we made crafts! But it’s all a little muffled with the melting confection they hold in their mouths. You can only smile and nod, “Good.”

“Mom said that you hate them,” Charlie confesses in a pause on his next spoonful. “Why do you hate them?”

You’re not sure if you want to correct Charlie on the term hate or if you want to let it stand as is. You’re not shocked Diana might be saying like that. You did hate them. You think you might always harbor a small chip on your shoulder because of what they did. You’ve got more things to worry about now though than what your parents did and didn’t do in your childhood. No amount of yearning would fix the past.

“Do Mom and Dad tuck you into bed at night?” you ask instead.

“We get two stories each,” Teagan answers with a nod.

“They’ve always got breakfast ready in the morning and you always get a packed lunch and when you come home there’s dinner on the table too, right?” you ask.

Charlie answers this time in the affirmative.

“Then I’m glad you two have it,” you return to his answer. “I’m glad you two have that with Mom and Dad.” You can’t say it. Even though it would all be true, you can’t tell them that you didn’t. You can’t get your lips to curl or your tongue to lift to say that they didn’t do that for you. They don’t need that.

You can see it on Teagan’s face. The way the wheels are turning and turning. “Did you?” she asks. “You did, right?”

“Your ice cream’s gonna melt, Teag,” you encourage softly. They’re much too young to have any image of their parents shattered.

“But they did all that stuff for you, right? They had to have,” she counters.

You’re not going to beg. You’re not going to plead with Teagan to let it go. If you’re honest, you can’t tell if it’s to spare them or yourself. It may be a bit of both. You want to hold that answer on your tongue and to the roof of your mouth for a little bit longer.

“Your ice cream,” you nod over in the direction of her bowl.

“But--”

“Teagan.”

It’s just her name. All two syllables that fall from your chest but it’s firm. She bows her head into the bowl and shovels a spoon in with a pout.

“If they didn’t, then we’ll just need to talk to them. That’s really bad for them not to do,” Charlie comments. “Honestly, downright mean,” he adds on, pointing the spoon out in your direction.

“Two bedtime stories is quite the deal,” you state, brows rising to emphasize your awe.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie returns. “I heard Mom and Dad talking. Sounds like maybe I didn’t have the whole story.”

This will be the way. There’s a story and they only have half of it. You don’t want to pull out the cliché adage that they’ll get it when they’re older. All that will do is stir the pot more and more. But Charlie sees it. There’s a lot more to what happened besides what he’d managed to hear.

“Apology accepted,” you nod.

“Can I get some money to get a drink?” Teagan asks. Her voice is soft but tilts her head like she always does.

“Oh, I can go get it,” you offer, but she shakes her head. The lower lip rolls over her chin. It’s a losing battle. You fish out your wallet and hand her a ten. It’s the smallest bill you have that will more than cover the drink, after using up your fives on their ice cream. “Just a drink,” you warn as Teagan takes the bill.

She nods and pushes away from the table. The shop is quiet. You know it won’t be for too much longer, but you can watch from your seat as Teagan slides up to the counter. Your phone buzzes once from the table. You know you haven’t texted Calum back, but he is aware that you’re picking up your siblings today as well. But then it buzzes again. You have half a mind to ask why the worker is scooping at one of the tubs below the counter but your phone’s buzzing a third time.

You snap to your phone, lifting it with just enough time to read the digits on lighting up your screen. Forest the ID reads. There’s very little air in your lungs as you unlock the device to answer and greet with your name. Turner’s voice greets you on the other side. She sounds pleased, “Hi, there!” she greets you.

“Hi, Turner. How are you?”

You barely catch her voice over the rush of your own heart, the thundering against your ribs. You flick your gaze up and see Teagan standing at the checkout, scrambling to get change back into your pocket as a bowl is handed to her.

Turner’s voice floats for a moment around your ears. Why was Teagan reaching out for a bowl when she promised a drink? “...because I would like to extend an offer for you to join our team here at Forest. I am quite impressed with your skill, and though your background is varied I think the mindset you have about food and working fits well into the environment we are trying to establish here. I will send an email of course with the specifics for you to look over and give you two days to look it all over. Salary is as we discussed.”

Half your mind clicks--the wheels turning to get Teagan’s attention come to a screeching halt. “You’re offering me the job?”

Turner laughs. “Yes, I am. I am extremely excited to offer you the job. I understand that given the demands we are asking for a lot. Our hope is that soon we can get staff numbers up and rely on less cross training. But if you’re okay with what we can offer now and this kind of asks for the time being, it is my sincere hope and word to give that we will do what we can to meet our promises. We’re a community. We rely on our staff in ways that we cannot always comprehend, but we certainly don’t want to abuse that. The service world is lethal and demanding all on its own.”

Your bones go liquid. You fall back into the chair and exhale. The ceiling is a gray spackle on white, almost reminiscent of a doctor’s office. But you gaze up at the tiles and you can feel your chest drop, the tension melting a little off your shoulders. No job will ever be perfect. You know there’s no such thing. Yet, this is the kind of news you need. This is a silver lining in an otherwise You don’t want to say yes immediately, though you know you’ll be taking the job no matter what. “I am incredibly grateful for the offer though. I’ll-I’ll read over the email you’re sending and will get back to you.”

“I look forward to your call back.”

You get out your goodbyes and when you bring your head back to center, Teagan’s slipping back into her seat. In front of you is a bowl of cookies’n’cream ice cream. You can see the chunks of cookies protruding out just a little from the vanilla base.

“You okay?” Charlie asks.

You nod. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Good news actually,” you offer.

“Oh!” he responds, perking up in his seat. His excitement paints his face in a smile. “What’s happening?”

“Getting a new job,” you answer. They don’t need to know the specifics as to why. Not that it seems to matter to them in the slightest though. Charlie cheers in the ice cream shop, arms thrusted into the air with his delight. Teagan claps from her seat. You notice now too that the change is also next to your bowl.

“What’s this all about, Teag?” you ask, waving around to the bowl.

“For earlier,” she answers. “And now too for celebration.”

“You don’t-you don’t have to make up for anything you know. That’s not your responsibility.” You’re praying she doesn’t feel like it is. Your only response is a shrug, before she turns back to her own treat. Perhaps, it’s the little victories. Perhaps, it’s the little gestures. But you can’t bring yourself to fuss. She didn’t have to do it, and did it anyway. Maybe she already knows she doesn’t need to do it. It’s not her fault what was done or not done. But she treats it like it is still her duty to express sympathy, to see what wasn’t done and still do something.

You take the spoon and scope out a bite. “Thank you, Teag,” you state before finishing the bite.

“You’re welcome.”

_________________________________

Charlie plops down next to you, panting. After the ice cream, they asked if they could go to the park and you obliged. While they played amongst themselves and with the other kids that were also there, you took it with ease to settle down on the open bench to watch them hustle across monkey bars and down slides. “What’s your new job?” he asks.

You crack open the water bottle--acquired prior to your full departure from the ice cream shop--and hand it over to him. He takes it and chugs down a quarter of it. “I’ll be working in a restaurant, some cooking like I do now but also bartending and serving.”

“And…what do you do right now?”

“Private chef in a way. Handle mostly breakfast for the royal family and help cater some events.”

“And you don’t like that anymore?” he asks, breath still heavy.

“It’s not that I don’t like it anymore. There’s just other things I want right now and need to change jobs to have them.” It’s vague, but also still true.

Charlie takes the answer with a nod, hands you back the water bottle and heads back to play. You watch Teagan slip down the metal slide before she books it back around to climb back to the line for the slide. You take the moment, as the breeze nips over your skin, to pull out your phone. Calum’s text still sits, unanswered, from an hour ago. He hasn’t followed up with anything else. You’re not sure if he’s gotten sidetracked with his own agenda, but you open the thread and call.

You know you still need to read through the email Turner sent. The red notification haunts your home screen, but you can’t read it just yet. You don’t want to get too distracted that you lose sight of Charlie and Teagan on this playground. It’s a rich neighborhood, even you know that. But that doesn’t mean you want that alone to satiate you. The ringing echoes in your ears as you listen for the line to connect or for Calum’s voicemail to start.

“Hi, baby,” Calum answers.

“Hi, love.” It’s the first time you’ve ever used a nickname with Calum. You know he’s caught it too when he coughs from the other end of the line. “You can’t die on me,” you tease.

“But-you-love, as in you called me love?” he coughs out.

“I got the call,” you answer, cheeks lifting with a smile. Charlie slips, but catches himself in a slide on the mulch of the playground. You sit up straighter and he looks at you before throwing a thumbs up. You throw one out in return and settle back down as he dusts himself off and takes off again. Diana won’t be pleased about the stains, but you hope she’s not the one answering the door later.

“Like got the call in a good way or got the call in a bad way? And you still need to clarify on what little pet name. I haven’t forgotten about that.”

“They offered me the job. In about two weeks or so, I won’t technically be on your payroll. I figured I could afford now to indulge.”

“Congrats, baby! I’m so proud of you. Told you we’d be celebrating over dinner tomorrow.”

Teagan slides over to you next, taking the unopened bottle from your lap. “Who’s that on the phone?” she grins, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. You grimace a little at the action, but you don’t have anything else to offer to her.

“Santa,” you answer with a wink. “I’m spreading the holiday cheer early.”

“About the job?” she asks. You nod in return and her grin blinds you. “Tell him I said hi, yeah?”

“Tell Teagan I said hi to her as well,” Calum states, clearly hearing the exchange between the two of you.

“He says hi back,” you relay. She hands back her water bottle to you and you take it, holding it between your knees as you get the cap back on right.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?” Calum asks. Teagan’s run echoes as she takes off towards the seesaws.

“I did call you, you know.” It leaves your throat in a laugh as you pull the sharpie from your pocket to mark Teagan’s bottle with a T on the plastic cap. You mark Charlie’s with a C. It’s with passing gratitude that you thank the heavens you had one in your car before you got out at the park and considered bringing it with you.

“I wasn’t sure if you called and then something happened.”

“No, we’re at the park right now before I take ‘em back home. Teagan came up for some water before taking off again. You’d think that their summer camp wasn’t fulfilling enough, but it might’ve been the ice cream too.”

Calum’s tuft of laughter brushes through the speakers. “The ice cream might’ve done it. But you got the job, and I’m so incredibly proud of you for that.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“You’re still free for dinner tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, still free for dinner tomorrow. Thank you, again.”

“No, you don’t have to thank me. But I appreciate that.”

“Speaking of dinner, will I need to dress up at all?”

“No, not at all,” Calum answers easily. “Though, I will warn now it’s a place I’ve been known to visit, so I can’t say with certainty that there won’t be any press of course.”

“You’ll tell me if anything necessary comes up. I appreciate the warning.”

His voice is soft as he speaks. Like he might be attempt to soothe a panicked animal, or like he might actually be melting. But Calum’s voice is so soft. “I gave you a promise and I intended to keep it.”

From the background, you catch whirring--a sharp sound and it pierces your ears. Beyond it, you think you hear something like a drill, but you’re not sure. The metallic sounds and gears all blend into a cacophonous sound. It takes a minute before the noise fades to something quieter in the background. “What are you doing?” you laugh. “I wouldn’t think of you to be doing some handy work at this hour? Have sessions gotten boring?”

Calum laughs. “Long weekend actually. But I’m probably more of a hindrance than a help. Some repairs, is all really. One of the guys got sick today and I volunteered to help.”

“Would it be inappropriate to ask what you’re wearing right now and if it’s sweaty?” you ask, conjuring an image of Calum in blue jeans and long sleeved t-shirt clinging to his chest with a clear dark V from his own sweat.

The laughter Calum barks is loud, and sounds deep from his chest. It makes your chest feel warm to hear the amusement laced in his voice. “You are not subtle at all.”

“I am not.”

“You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

“I refuse to cut into Teagan and Charlie’s time with me, but I hope to catch you the next time you’re a hindrance of manual labor.”

There’s a small stretch of silence before Calum’s voice floats through the phone again. You almost speak again to make sure he’s okay but his answer cuts your voice short. “I’m sure you will catch me next time.”

Your phone shakes in your hands. “Your investigation going well?”

“It’s going. I think I’ll have to pivot a little on what I’m researching, lean into poll projections from constituents. Give them a firm reminder that when seats go up for elections I will be taking into account the public’s voice as well. I’ve got some help on that too, which is good. Have Charlie and Teagan coughed up those Christmas lists yet?”

“Oh, hit them where it hurts certainly. They’ve been given instructions to make final adjustments. We’ll get the list here during the first weeks of school.”

“That is starting up again here soon. God, feels like forever again for us.”

You snort, watching Charlie and Teagan approaching you. “It was forever again for us. Give me a second, sorry.”

“No, I don’t mind.”

You crack open both their bottles. “You two doing okay?” you ask the pair. They nod. “Let me check that leg that you fell on Charlie, is that alright?”

“Sure,” he returns, helping get the pant leg out of the way. It’s a little red, but no broken skin and thankfully no tears in the pants. It’s just a stain and when you press gingerly into it, Charlie doesn’t flinch.

“I’ll be needing to get you both back home within the next thirty minutes. How do you want to spend it?” You know dinner time is a strict deadline and you’re not keen on breaking it.

“Ten more minutes to play and then we cool down for ten?” Teagan questions, looking up to Charlie. He nods in agreement as he works down his gulps.

“And if you want to call it quits before then, I’ll be right here,” you offer to them. Teagan hands you her bottle, still with a quarter of the water left and Charlie heads towards the bins to toss his empty bottle.

“I don’t want to take a monopoly if you’ve only got half an hour left with them. I’ll always be a phone call away,” Calum states after you let him know you’re back to continue the conversation.

“It’s awfully boring on the bench,” you laugh.

“You know, hearing you with your siblings is nice. The way you care for them.”

You’re not sure how to respond. You’re not sure why your body warms at the confession. “Thanks.”

From the background of Calum’s line, you catch his name being called out. “Can I call you back, baby?”

“Absolutely,” you answer. “Go be a hindrance.”

Calum snorts. “I shall. Love you.”

You feel the shake in your throat, the jump into your jaw takes your breath. You’ve said it already. Granted it was to his voicemail, but you know what you feel. “Love you,” you whisper. It tastes different on your tongue in this kind of situation, when you’re saying it directly to Calum. But now that it’s out there. Now that you’ve gotten used to the weigh after uttering it once, even if softly, you realize how light the words are around the curl of your tongue. It tastes sweet. “Love you,” you repeat steadier, a bit louder.

“Yeah, I think I could get used to the sound of that. Talk to you later.”

“Later,” you agree and the line goes quiet.

You turn our attention back to the children. Charlie’s helping a kid on the monkeybars and Teagan’s seemingly made friends with a group of girls who are running in circles. You’re not sure what the objective of the game is. But as long as they’re both safe and accounted for, that’s all that matters.

When you check your phone again to make sure the call’s fully disconnected, you notice a text from Calum. A selfie loads up on the screen, from his chest up with the sun hitting his face directly that he nearly has to squint. But from what you can tell he is in a gray henley, the few buttons on the shirt undone. Just out of frame you think you catch what might the sleeves of the shirt pushed up on his forearms. But you can’t quite see his whole arm to make a judgment on that aspect. The light gray material is dark in the chest, a deep V shape no doubt a result from whatever work he’s been doing. Tell me if this is what you were imagining, Calum writes underneath.

Your fingers are drafting a response before you can think it all the way through, It is. Only thing missing is your ass in tight work blue jeans. You doubt you’ll get a response soon. That doesn’t matter though. Not as you scroll you back to the picture and the curls are clearly pressed down and damp from the sweat too. His face is a tad pink, lips pouty but relaxed. The pose is natural, given how quickly he must’ve snapped it. You take the corner of the phone between your teeth gently. This man will be the death of you--you can feel the desire stirring in your abdomen, how much you want to kiss his nose that’s so prominent in the photo and also trail your tongue down his chest.

Also fuck you for actually sending this photo, you add to your previous reply. But also, fuck me.

“Literally the devil, that’s who that man is,” you mutter to yourself and put your phone face down on your lap. You need to focus, as boring as it is just a little to watch your siblings run around the playground.

A few minutes later your phone buzzes. The ass is quite secure don’t you worry, Calum replies but no other photo comes through. You snort at the response.

Your fingers are hovering over the keys to respond when from your periphery you see a figure approach. They seem unsure of their approach, stopping for a moment. You think they’ll turn tail, but the hesitation is only for that brief moment. They continue their approach to you. Once they’re a little closer, you look up. The face looks vaguely familiar, behind the wire frames the eyes look deep and concerned. “I’m so sorry to bother you, baby. Are-are you kin to Melvin and Diana?”

The question shocks you. You didn’t think anyone would recognize you here. Not with how long you’ve been gone. Not with how little you interacted with the neighbors that were adults. The kids you knew a bit better. You answer the older woman though, regardless of any suspicion, “I-I am.”

The woman whispers your name, shock lacing the word. You rear back a little and drop your gaze back to the kids, not wanting to drop your guard about them either. Charlie’s walking over to Teagan’s group. When you look back up to the woman, she’s smiling at you. “You look so grown up. And of course you are, the last I saw you, you were up to my knees.”

You still can’t place the woman’s face. She seems to catch the confusion and settles on the other end of the bench. There’s a middle portion between you and her though, a safe distance between the two of you. “I’m sorry to spring up on you,” she offers.

You nod and glance back up to the kids. Charlie and Teagan are closing in, laughing through their pants. You keep an eye on their approach, knowing the last thing you want is to get too distracted that you lose sight of them. Teagan and Charlie look winded but happy as they close the distance.

You turn back to the woman. She laughs. “I know I'm interrupting your day. I’m Mrs. Davis.”

“Hi, Mrs. Davis,” Charlie calls out as they get closer. You reach out for them, wanting them close to you. Teagan takes the last of her water and drinks it down.

“Hi, Charlie. Hi, Teagan,” the woman returns to them. She turns to you. “I’m two houses down. You, uh, you loved my apple pie.”

You gaze deeper into the woman’s face. The eyes still don’t register fully. You know it’s a face you know, but you don’t know why the name and face can’t clicking. But apple pie. You do know a Mrs. Davis who made apple pie. The Mrs. Davis you knew had three moles on the side of her left eye. And you’re not sure why that’s seemingly the only detail you remember, but when you look for the moles you spot them. Like a triangle on the side of her left eye. But now that you can place the face with the apple pie, a warm cinnamon smell that makes your mouth water even at the thought, the pieces click. The kitchen window opens, the breeze, the frog statues in her window and the chicken on her kitchen towel. “Davis, with the frogs in the windows?” you ask.

The woman laughs with a nod. “Yes, yes, those old wooden frogs are still hanging in there.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t-hi,” you laugh.

“No, no, you were hardly Teagan’s age I think the last time we spoke. It’s okay. You doing okay?”

You nod at the question. “Yes ma’am, I am.”

“Good, good.” She reaches out to pat your knee. “Diana’s been talking about you a lot recently. I saw you come in earlier with these two rascals and I’ve got my grandbabies for the evening,” she states, motioning back to the playground. “They’re up in the castle,” she laughs.

You spot three bodies in there. You don’t know her grandchildren, or how many she has. But you’re inclined to believe her when she says it. You know she’s older than your parents too. Mrs. Davis had been graying just a little when you were around, but now sports a good blend of gray hairs amongst her dark strands.

Mrs. Davis continues on, “I wasn’t sure it was you but something in my spirit said it was. And I don’t know. Had to say hi, I guess. You just, you look really good. Happy, I reckon,” she muses.

If you had to take a full stock of your life, you’d say that you were happier now than before. As boring and as tedious as parts of your life still were, there were things that you could say you were happy to have now that weren’t there before. So you nod at Mrs. Davis words before agreeing, “I am happy.”

“Good, that’s good to hear.”

“But you said that my mom was talking about me?” The question leaves you quicker than you’d like. You really should speak directly to your mother, but you can’t help the feeling from earlier, how much your skin crawled at the way she lingered during the pick up. Could this give you a heads up?

“Oh, it’s probably not my place to say. She’s just been mentioning you more. Seems like she just misses you, is all.”

You don’t know how much Mrs. Davis knows. You don’t know what your parents have told their friends about you--if they’ve mentioned you at all to anyone new. But Mrs. Davis would watch you occasionally when your parents asked. You always walked to her house when you had to go, bag bumping on your back.

You nod at Mrs. Davis’ words, noticing the way Mrs. Davis looks away, choosing words carefully. Maybe Mrs. Davis is telling you the truth, that your mother’s just expressed a desire to reconnect. Maybe there’s more, but you don’t think she’ll give you much more than that. Teagan and Charlie are a little restless in your grasps and you turn to find them worse for wear with their play. They’re faces are flush.

“I should probably get them back and cleaned up before dinner,” you state, using this now as a segway for your exit. “I hope your grandkids enjoy your baking as much as I did. I’ll need that recipe one of these days.”

Mrs. Davis smiles. “Oh, they do. They do. Take care of yourself out there, ya hear?”

“Yes ma’am, I do. Good to see you again.”

It’s a swift exit as you take a hand each from Teagan and Charlie. The three of you make your way back to the car and just before you cross over to pavement, you look back at Mrs. Davis. One of the grandchildren has approached now, face contorted a little into a cry. Mrs. Davis takes the injured limb gingerly and you hope that it’s nothing more than a scratch. It doesn’t seem to rattle the older woman. She’s already reaching down for something and you can’t watch for longer. Your feet are hitting the pavement of the parking lot. You’ve got to get the doors unlocked, help them climb in and get buckled in. You can’t watch Mrs. Davis, but you feel her. Lingering behind you like a whisper. Diana’s been talking about you a lot recently.

The drive to drop Charlie and Teagan off is short. They’re quieter in the back than when you first picked them up. They still chat amongst themselves--Teagan asks about the new job. You give her the name of the restaurant with ease. Charlie asks Teagan if she would choose to be a bowl of macaroni and cheese or a bowl of mashed potatoes if she had to be food. It seems out of nowhere, but you discover that night is most likely a mashed potato night at home for them which prompts Charlie’s question.

“I’d have to go cheese. It tastes better,” Teagan answers.

“But then you’re orange!” Charlie hollers. “You want to be orange?”

“What’s wrong with orange? It’s a pretty color.”

“Mashed potatoes are better,” Charlie returns.

“Just because you want to be mashed potatoes doesn’t mean I have to be,” Teagan iterates.

“I mean, no, you don’t. But macaroni? It’s also burnt on the top,” Charlie offers.

“That’s the best part. Potatoes are too soft.”

“The softness is the best part!”

You’ve let the car idle for long enough, at the front of the house for the last five minutes or so. So now, when the car settles, turned off, they look forward. You watch them from the rearview mirror. “Looks like you two might have to agree to disagree.”

“Agree to disagree?” Charlie questions.

“It’s what happens when you and someone else don’t agree on the same thing and probably won’t agree on it. Like, you can’t change Teagan’s mind and she can’t change yours. So you say, you’re right to choose potatoes while I’m also right to choose macaroni and you know that you’re not choosing the same thing. You just go, we don’t agree and it’s okay.”

“Agree to disagree?” Teagan asks Charlie.

Charlie nods. “Agree to disagree.”

You watch the front curtains. They don’t billow or peel back to reveal anyone. It’s just a yellowish light that you catch. There’s no reason to delay the inevitable. So you peel yourself out of the car and help them out of the back. At the door, you knock, using the decorative hammer and take a step back behind the two kids. The trio of you only wait for a moment before it creeks open.

“Woof,” Melvin grins, taking in the sight of both kids. “You’ll need to hurry to the bathrooms upstairs to avoid ‘the talk’,” he laughs.

“Hi, Dad!” Charlie and Teagan echo, embracing his lower half.

“I’d ask what happened, but I don’t think I need that many details,” he teases.

Charlie and Teagan turn to you, embracing you individually. You know you’re going to smell like the sweat they’ve worked up. You know you’ll smell like outside for hours until you shower. But you hug them both deeply. “Love you Teag. Love you, Charlie boy,” you whisper to them.

“Love you too,” they offer to you and then slip inside. You watch them head directly up the steps with no fuss about the instruction given to them earlier. Perhaps, they already know all to well the threat of the talk looming should they get caught dirty by their mother.

“Sorry for the extra work,” you offer. “Charlie took a spill at the park but no broken skin.”

“Don’t worry. They’re kids. Thanks for taking them today and getting them back with the extra time to clean ‘em up before dinner.”

“Yeah, of course.” It’s a nod that you give, and a nod that’s returned. You never took more than the first step on the porch.

You think that’s all it’s going to be, that Melvin will take the kids and clean them up and they’ll carry with them the secret of ice cream before the park.

“Oh, darling, wait,” you catch from behind you. You don’t suspect it’s directed to you, so you take the step down until your name echoes. When you spin, you turn directly to face Diana. She’s at the top of the porch, door open wide behind her like she might’ve been ready to chase you down. Seems like she misses you, is all.

“Yes?” you reply.

“Why don’t you come in and stay for dinner?”

“I’m not comfortable with that.” You don’t need to explain why you’re not. You don’t need to say more than that. You’ve already made it clear to them what you are comfortable doing. She already knows. You know you can’t voice it like that. You know you can’t point fingers or blame anyone.

Diana takes a step closer, feet shuffling closer to the first step down. “Charles and Teagan talk all the time about wanting to have a family dinner together.”

“I’d appreciate more notice than this,” you return. “Next time you’d like to extend the invitation, please ask in advance.” You don’t think you’d turn the idea down if you had plenty of notice, if you had some sort of hand in the planning and it weren’t at the house. Public, you think maybe you could handle a public meeting. But definitely not at the last minute and not in that house. And you know you can’t say anything definitive lest it be taken as agreement. You have to be careful here.

It doesn’t seem to be the right answer though. “What do I have to do? Please just tell me. My own child is a stranger in my life. I have to find out updates about your life through Teagan and Charles. I learn things about you in tabloids. Just tell me what I have to do. I’m sorry. I know your father and I did you wrong. We know that. But you can’t shut us out like this. Please.”

It would be easy to bite back, to say that they were total strangers to you too. But you can hear the shake in her voice. She’s clutching the railing. You always knew your parents were human. You’d gathered that long before now. But now you can see it--a wobbly and naked vulnerability in her stature. She is and always will be a human being before anything else. You feel the divide-- how much you want to yearn for this, tell her that all you need is an apology. But there’s the larger side-the side that wonders if she’s begging for herself or out of sincerity.

You don’t even know how to respond for a moment to the speech. Do you feed the hope? Do you stay firm on your boundary that you speak with them only on behalf of interacting with Charlie and Teagan? Do you tell your mother that if she means anything that this is a conversation maybe better had at a later time? It’s not fair of course for you to cave into agreeing out of pressure rather than your own true will.

Like your silence stings, Diana sighs. “Fine, fine!” she huffs, turns on the ball of her foot and heads straight for the door. The door’s slam rattles the frame.

It almost makes you laugh. How if she’d given a moment longer you think you could’ve told her something closer to the truth, something that wouldn’t dig you into a grave and wouldn’t give her false hope. Perhaps this is the answer to the question you couldn’t ask anyway. Maybe it’s Diana pushing only for her own gain. And maybe it’s true hurt, the rejection that she can’t handle.

Yet none of that negates where you are--on the walkway of their house with hot tears brimming on your eyelids. You couldn’t even be given a change to answer. You know you cannot move on anyone else’s time table. You cannot move faster than you’re ready. You can’t move if you are never ready in this realm with your parents.

As you settle back into the driver seat, you can feel the anxiety bubbling. You don’t know Diana for who she is now, after Charlie and Teagan, after the therapy and recovering journey. You only know her for who she was before. And everything in your gut tells you that this is before Diana. This is a hurt woman who can and will lash out no matter the consequences.

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