First-Time Caller

Chapter 9

T here’s a note taped to my front door when I get home. Three simple words.

Paella.

Attendance mandatory.

I know a threat from Grayson when I see one, though I don’t need the reminder. Grayson, Mateo, Maya, and I have dinner every Wednesday night, the weekly gathering for our pieced-together family. When we had Maya as confused and terrified teenagers, Grayson and I made a promise that we’d never do anything alone. We knew our family would look a little different, but we also knew it would always have the most important thing.

Love. Buckets of it.

And so every Wednesday, Gray attempts to cook something elaborate while Mateo bustles around behind him, adding spices and stirring every time his back is turned. It’s a system that has somehow worked for the duration of their marriage, while Maya and I sit at the island and snack on slivers of cheese and fresh fruit.

Dinner and a show , Maya always says with a snicker.

I stare mournfully at the couch and the heated blanket Maya got me for Mother’s Day and reach into the fridge for the half-consumed bottle of white wine I know Grayson will want. I find a mismatched pair of slippers and trudge my way out the back door, through the garden gate, and up the back porch steps of Gray and Mateo’s house. Music and laughter filter through the door and my heart rolls over in my chest. Family. Belonging. Love. The only kind I’ve ever known. The kind I made for myself.

I slide my arm through the back door first, wiggling the wine bottle in the air. Grayson gives a loud whoop and I laugh, nudging the door open. Maya jumps off her stool at the counter, rainbow socks slipping across the hardwood floor as she bounds her way over to me and wraps her arms around my neck. She’s almost at my shoulders now, her not-quite-teenage growth spurt turning my baby into a mini adult.

I panic about it most days. Worry about the things to come that will change and grow and reach boundlessly in directions I haven’t dreamed of. But right now I hug her close and smell her shampoo and try to appreciate that I at least did some things right in this life to end up here like this.

“Thank god you’re back,” she mutters in my ear. “Dad is trying to poison us.”

Mateo wedges himself between us, greeting me with two quick kisses on both of my cheeks. “He’s making paella,” he says quietly. “I don’t understand why he feels the need to try the most difficult recipe he can get his hands on.”

“What was that?” Grayson calls from the stove.

“Nothing,” the three of us yell in unison, sounding suspicious as hell. Mateo grabs the wine bottle out of my hand and passes it off to Gray, nudging the salt pot out of reach while he examines the label.

“Is this the bottle you stress-cry with?” Grayson asks.

“It’s the bottle you wandered over and drank during one of your art benders. That’s all that was left.” I rub my hands up and down Maya’s back. “Was school okay today?”

She beams at me. “School was great. I kicked ass in tech ed. Our teacher messed up when he was changing the oil on the test car, so I got to show the whole class how to do it. I’m leading an underground movement of factual engine repair.”

I ruffle her hair. “That’s my girl. How did you—”

“Nuh-uh.” Grayson waves his spoon in my face, then points at the stool Maya abandoned. Behind him, Mateo quickly adds something green to the massive rice dish on the stove. “No more school talk. No offense, Maya bean, but we have more pressing matters.” She rolls her eyes and the spoon flicks back to me. Rice comes with it. “Where have you been?”

I give him a look. “You know exactly where I’ve been.”

“And yet you’re trying to talk about oil changes? I want to talk about the radio station.”

“You’re still mad.” I sigh.

“I’m not mad,” Grayson fires back immediately, sounding mad. He gestures with his spoon and another clump of rice sails across the kitchen. “I’m disappointed.”

Maya oohs quietly under her breath.

“Don’t use parenting lines on me, Grayson.”

“Don’t have heart-to-hearts with people that are not me , Lucille.”

We stare at each other. Salsa music plays from the radio near the refrigerator. Maya dutifully resumes her homework at the kitchen island. Sensing the opportunity distraction provides, Mateo pours some chicken broth into the pan.

I don’t want to fight with Grayson. I never want to fight with Grayson. He’s been the one constant in my life. Just because our love didn’t work as a romance doesn’t mean that love disappeared. For a long time, it was just the two of us against the world. He’s used to knowing everything about me. Every thought. Every fear.

And then I unloaded it all on a complete stranger.

“I understand why you’re upset,” I say slowly. Sincerely. “But if you’re going to be mad at someone, be mad at our daughter.”

“Hey!” Maya protests.

Grayson’s lips twitch. “Maya and I have already had a discussion about staging coups around your love life.”

Maya nods seriously. “I’m only permitted to do so in groups from here on out. With sign-off and consultation from the dads.”

“Both dads,” Mateo and Grayson say in unison. I stare at Mateo in shock. He doesn’t usually take sides.

“Judas,” I whisper at him.

He shrugs. “I’ve been encouraging you to date for years.”

Maya gives him a thumbs-up. “Both dads. As agreed. No problem.”

I roll my eyes. “Excellent.”

“Don’t cop a tone ,” Grayson says, still brandishing his spoon as a weapon. Mateo loops his fingers around his wrist and gently guides the utensil back to the pan. But Grayson is too worked up to pretend to cook. He abandons the stove and strides across the kitchen, eating up the space between us. I’m glad to see he’s changed out of his EAT BERTHA ’ S MUSSELS tee and replaced it with a cozy sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. It means he’s probably close to done on his latest project.

He stops approximately six inches away from me and glares, arms crossed over his chest. If he’s trying to be intimidating, he’s falling woefully short.

Behind him, Mateo desperately tries to salvage our dinner.

“I’m going to be mad at you for another three to six months.”

I drag my hand through my hair, suddenly exhausted. “That’s fine. Whatever you want.”

Grayson’s entire face pinches tight. “Don’t you want to know why?”

I fumble blindly for the cheese tray. Only Manchego can save me now. “I know why. I got ooey-gooey with someone and you weren’t there to witness it. I told someone my deep, dark secrets and it wasn’t you.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” he says again. “I’m mad because you’ve been struggling and you didn’t tell me. That’s in direct violation of the pinky promise we made beneath the tire swing, ages four and five, respectively.” He uncrosses his arms and plucks the piece of cheese out of my fingers and shoves it into his mouth. He chews aggressively, glaring at me the entire time. “You’ve been carrying a big hurt around in your heart and I didn’t notice.”

I soften. “I don’t think I knew about the big hurt in my heart,” I tell him quietly. “Not until I started talking.”

He studies me, features relaxing. “I don’t like that you’ve been feeling this way.”

“I don’t either.” I feel myself smile. “But that’s why our genius kid called in to a radio station, yeah?”

“About that. Maya says they want you to join the show. Are you going to?”

I shrug. On the other side of the kitchen, Mateo turns off the stove. Maya slips from her stool and grabs the stack of plates sitting on the edge of the counter. There’s comfort in this routine. In the sound of muted music and clinking glasses and the wobbly drawer that holds all the silverware slamming shut. Here, in this home, my loneliness feels farther away. Here, it’s easier to pretend I’m okay.

“I think—” I drag my bottom lip between my teeth. I think of the woman on the phone who talked about being brave. About Aiden and his messy hair and his honest eyes. The itch in my hands and the pull in my chest when I stood in the middle of that studio, hearing a whole new set of possibilities through those headphones.

I think you started something the other night, whether you meant to or not.

“I think I’d like to try something different.”

After dinner, we move from the kitchen table with the mismatched legs to the world’s comfiest sectional couch at the front of the house. Grayson and Mateo and Maya distract me with things that aren’t my sudden celebrity, and my brain drifts away from radio shows and romance. Grayson has a newly commissioned piece he’s been dragging his feet on. Mateo’s obnoxious boss at his advertising agency has decided to eliminate all the ice from the office break rooms. Maya chatters about her Indiana Jones cosplay that her drama club is doing and I sink into the couch, twisting her hair into braids and undoing them again. It’s lovely in a way few things are, warmth spreading through me with every too-loud laugh.

We drink the rest of the bottle of wine and brew a pot of decaf as Maya disappears upstairs to her room, her family duties fulfilled for the evening. She tosses a half-hearted wave over her shoulder with a grumbling promise of Danishes at Skullduggery before school tomorrow.

I tuck my legs beneath me and Mateo leans back against Grayson, his temple tipped to his shoulder. Grayson strokes his palm across his collarbone and presses a quick kiss to the side of his head. It makes me smile.

“So, are they going to send you on dates?” Grayson asks. “Matchmake you?”

“I don’t know,” I say slowly. “I can’t imagine many people want to date me from a snippet of a conversation going viral.”

Grayson arches an eyebrow. “You are vastly underestimating the power of the internet.”

“And the power of Aiden Valentine,” Mateo says around a yawn. His body tenses and then relaxes, his palm smoothing his jet black hair off his forehead. “He has quite the fan club among the receptionists at work.”

“Helen?” Grayson asks with a snort. “Isn’t she like . . . three hundred and seven years old?”

Mateo smacks his hand against Grayson’s chest.

“Tell us about him,” Mateo says. “Aiden.”

“He’s . . .”

Hot , my brain supplies. Also, kind of a disaster. I’m not entirely confident he knows how to talk to people when he’s outside the booth. He hosts a radio show about love, but he doesn’t believe in it himself and he wants me to help him remember how. I think. I keep sharing things with him I don’t mean to. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

“He’s nice,” is what I settle on. I take a long sip of my coffee, feeling the warmth of it slide down my throat. I dig my sock-covered toes into the cushion I’ve burrowed into. “He’s really . . .” My mind drifts to the way he took up space in that tiny studio. His messy hair and that line on the side of his face from his headphones. “Nice,” I finish after a too-long pause.

Grayson and Mateo exchange a glance.

“What?” I ask. “What’s that look about?”

“Nice.” Grayson snickers, raising his voice to a higher pitch. “He’s really nice .”

I toss my pillow across the room. “What? He is. He’s not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Someone vaguely Mr. Rogers–like? I don’t know. But it wasn’t . . . that .”

Grayson and Mateo share another loaded glance. I sometimes forget how annoying they can be when they slip into their couple-y silent conversations. I set my mug to the side and close my eyes, dropping back against the couch with a huff. The cushions shift, the floors creak, and suddenly Aiden’s voice is in the living room.

I peek open one eye. Mateo is standing in the entrance of the kitchen with the pocket-sized emergency radio they keep in their junk drawer. He shrugs. “I was curious.”

“About what ?”

Mateo’s smile is sly. “About how nice he is.”

I groan and toss my arm over my eyes. On the radio, Aiden’s low voice is rumbling along, interrupted by bits of static. Mateo must fuss with the ancient turn dial on the equally ancient radio because there’s another burst of static, a few wobbly notes of an old Whitney Houston song, and then Aiden’s voice is much clearer. It fills the living room, rough and scratchy.

Coffee over ice. Thunder in the distance.

“—and maybe that’s the answer, really. That there is no answer. I don’t know if any of us have any idea what we’re doing. But we’re trying, yeah? We can all be trying together. I like knowing that I’ve got you on the other end of this thing, listening to me. While I’m here, listening to you.” He pauses, an exhale that rattles out from the speaker and settles like smoke in Grayson’s living room. “We had a visitor at the station tonight. I’m not allowed to talk about who that was yet, but I think you’ll be interested in hearing from her. I know I am.” I smile against the inside of my arm. Aiden pauses again, longer this time. I sink into the couch and think of him alone at his desk. Shadows and filtered light from his audio controls. His smile right before the door shut. “I hope you’ll stick with us, Baltimore. I can’t wait to see what happens next.”

AIDEN VALENTINE: Good night, Baltimore.