Chapter 22 #2
His furniture might be simple and worn, but it looks warm combined with sage walls and makes the apartment appear lived in.
Papers are scattered on his coffee table and around it.
There are books on every surface and about every kind of topic.
On his couch is a book about the Second World War, his kitchen counter has one about the chemistry of baking, and I can see one on his bedside table that I’d guess is a fantasy story.
There’s another one on his couch.
“Postpartum depression?” I ask in a whisper, and pick it up. The spine is softened and has small creases, some of the pages dog-eared. When I lift my gaze, Caleb is right in front of me.
“I want to-” He clears his throat, eyes transfixed on the book. “I just… needed to learn more.”
My heart aches for him. I reach out and give his hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Is it helping?”
“Kind of,” he admits, but doesn’t meet my eyes. “It doesn’t make the pain go away, but it helped me understand.”
He shakes his head and takes the book out of my hands, gently places it on one of his shelves and walks to the kitchen.
“You have a cute apartment,” I say awkwardly as I slowly follow him, eyes darting around, trying to catch every detail. “I like it.”
“It’s not as big as your house, but it works for me.”
I narrow my eyes at him. His eyebrows furrow, confused.
“You shouldn’t measure yourself against anyone else,” I say softly and walk closer to him.
“My compliment also wasn’t measured by my own home.
You’ve got a cute apartment. Your answer is supposed to be ‘thank you,’ and then you’re flattered enough to offer me a hot beverage.
” His gaze darts between my eyes, his lip tugged between his teeth.
He lets it go and breathes out a deep sigh, his shoulders relaxing.
“Thank you. Would you like some hot chocolate?”
He shakes his head at me, but the corners of his mouth are twitching.
“Oh, thank you for asking. Yes please. And thank you.”
I trudge after him to the kitchen, separated from his living room by a hip-high kitchen island. His flat is completely open. I can see his bed right here from the kitchen counter, looking right over his living room, which consists of a beige couch and coffee table opposite a TV mounted to the wall.
“You love your counters, huh?” I chuckle and knock against the wooden surface. He’s already going through his cupboards, getting everything out we need to bake.
That’s when my eyes catch the giant cookie cutters. Tentatively, I pick the heart-shaped one up and turn it in my hands.
“Caleb?” I say slowly. “What exactly are we making here? Cookies or edible signage?”
He barely glances up. “You said gingerbread hearts and stars big enough to write ‘best boyfriend’ on.”
“But-” My eyes widen. “One of these can feed three adults with healthy hunger.” My gaze jumps to him. “We’ll be baking until next Christmas.”
“Hey, you were searching for a new hobby,” he teases me and sets a bag of flour down right in front of me. Flour dust poofs up from it, scratching my throat when I accidentally breathe some of it in. “Here you go.”
“Baking is not a new hobby, though,” I mumble and pat the flour off my red sweatshirt. Then, I take some flour out of the bag and fling it his way.
“Hey!” He laughs when the dust settles on his black shirt.
My hand is in the bag again, reaching for more, wanting to throw it at him like a snowball.
With the speed of lightning, he realizes what I’m trying to do and grabs my wrist, trying to pull it out of the bag.
It reminds me of pulling Jenna out of a bag of food she jumped into, scarfing down whatever she could.
“No, you don’t,” he presses out as I’m trying to wrestle my wrist free, giggles bursting out of me. Finally, he rounds the counter, throwing his arms around me and pulling me away from the flour.
“That’s unfair,” I pout, trying to wriggle out of his hold. Well, half-heartedly. Turns out I love having his arms around me.
We stop, heavy breaths in the air, his embrace not softening, even as I relax in his hold. His breath blows over the top of my head, his chest moving with each breath.
I turn around, my eyes flicking up at him. His gaze searches mine, then jumps to my lip, pulled between my teeth, cheeks hot.
Then suddenly, my phone rings.
Huh? This is the first time someone needed anything from me since I moved here, and it had to be now of all times? He lets go of me and takes a step back. Immediately, I miss his arms around me.
“Who dares disturb me?” I curse under my breath as I fumble it out of my pocket.
My whole body tenses when I see “Dad” flashing across the screen.
For a few moments that stretch like an eternity, I just stare at it, not daring to move a muscle.
If I don’t take this, he’ll call back again at least four times within the next ten minutes. If I don’t answer any of them, he’ll probably send a search party. That’s him. Dad of the year. Never there for his child, but if he wants something, you better answer.
What could he even want? I thought Maisie and her kids were filling the gap I never left.
I have no desire to talk to him. Least of all right now. His call couldn’t have come at a worse time.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” I mumble without looking up.
“I’ll make us some coffee.” I hear him say as I storm over to his living room space, as far away from him as possible without crossing bedroom territory.
I stop right by a window overlooking the town square.
The Christmas market booths — adorable little wooden huts — are already built.
Everyone gets to decorate their booth before the market opens.
My decorations are already packed in Ikea bags, stuffed in a closet that Taytay and Jenna can’t open and ready to go.
With a sigh, I take the call.
“Hi, Dad,” I greet him dryly.
“Hello, Lauren. I have on my calendar that you’re going to be in town the day after tomorrow.”
I grimace. Why did I even tell them I’d be in town, after Andrew told me he had a buyer for the apartment again?
Right. So they wouldn’t find out about it from some gossip magazine and scold me for the next decade about being in town and not letting them know. Not that they expressed any interest in meeting with me. Until now.
“Right. Yes,” I stammer, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “Your calendar is right.”
“Okay, I am taking you to dinner on Friday. There are some important things we need to talk about.” My face contorts into a grimace. Is this the part where I get officially disowned?
“I will be packing and cleaning and all that, Dad, I’m not sure if-”
“No excuses, young lady.” He uses the same disapproving tone he did when I was fourteen and didn’t want to show him my grades, because I could predict he’d scold me about that C in physics.
My hands find the little clips in my hair, slowly pulling them out.
“Don’t act as if you’re going to spend every waking second of your time here clearing out the apartment.
I will be in the car in front of your house at seven. Don’t make me wait.”
“Understood.” I close my eyes for a moment and force myself to take a deep breath. “Is it going to be only you?” I cross my fingers and mouth a silent prayer, gaze directed to the sky.
“Your mother and I aren’t currently on speaking terms.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, choking on it halfway through. That’s not something I should be relieved about, right?
“Seven o’clock,” he reminds me. “Be ready.”
“Sure,” I mumble. Without a goodbye, he hangs up the call. God, I hate it when he does that.
My eyes are caught on the black screen, seeing my reflection in it. What the hell is this about?
I turn to find Caleb’s gaze, heavy with worry. “Is everything okay?”