Twenty-Four
twenty-four
YOU FOUND ME - THE FRAY
OWEN - APRIL 14, 2014
T he house is quiet, but my mind is racing. Ruby is napping in her swing, her tiny fists curled tight against her chest, and Sara is stacking blocks on the living room floor, babbling softly to herself. It’s just me and the girls. Usually, I love days like this, spending quality time with them while Callie’s at work, but today, my nerves are shot.
We’re heading to New Orleans in a couple of days. I’ll finally meet Callie’s dad and that side of her family. It’s a trip we’ve been talking about for months, and now that it’s right around the corner, my anxiety is kicking into overdrive.
“Look, Dad!” Sara’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. I glance over and see her pointing at the tower of blocks she’s built, her face lit up with pride.
The word hits me square in the chest, knocking the air out of me. “Dad.” It’s not the first time she’s said it. We’ve been gently correcting her for months, reminding her that I’m Owen, not Dad, but it doesn’t seem to stick. She hears Barrett calling me Dad all the time, and for her, it just makes sense.
Still, every time she says it, it stirs emotions deep inside me that are equal parts joy and heartbreak. I want to be their dad more than anything, especially now, with Adam so wrapped up in his drama with Katie. He barely makes time for his daughters, yet he still found the balls to flip out when Callie gave him a heads-up that Sara had started calling me Dad.
I kneel beside her, trying to keep my voice light, even though my heart feels like it’s splintering. “Owen,” I say, pointing to myself gently.
She just grins up at me, unfazed. “Dada Owie!” she announces, her voice bubbling with joy. I can’t help but laugh.
It’s impossible to be upset when she’s looking at me like that, her whole world wrapped up in showing me her tower of blocks. For now, I let it go, because maybe someday I’ll get to be Dada for real.
My hand drifts to my pocket, instinctively searching for the ring box, but it’s not there. I put it away in the bedroom before Callie went into work this morning, tucked into a pair of socks in my drawer. I picked it up before Christmas, thinking that would be the perfect time to propose, but Adam ruined that when he threw a tantrum about getting the girls late. Then Valentine’s Day came, and I thought I’d do it then, but Adam canceled his plans to take the girls, and our romantic evening turned into a family dinner at home. Every time I think I’ve found the right moment, something he does gets in the way.
“I’ll be right back, baby girl,” I tell Sara before heading to the bedroom. Knowing I can’t leave her unattended for long, I quickly check on the ring, still snug in its hiding spot, before returning to the living room.
Sara’s still playing contentedly, her tower now leaning dangerously to one side. Ruby stirs in her swing, but her little face is peaceful. I grab my phone off the coffee table, deciding to text the guys. Maybe they’ll help me get my head on straight.
Me:
Guys, I’m freaking the fuck out.
I set the phone down and kneel beside Sara, helping her stack the blocks that she knocked over. She giggles as she places the last one, clapping her hands. Ruby begins to stir in her swing and I hold my finger up to my lips to show Sara we need to stay quiet as I rock the swing gently with my foot.
My phone buzzes on the floor next to me, and I grab it, praying at least one of the guys will be able to help me get my wits about me.
Vince:
You’ll be fine, man. Just take a deep breath.
Luke:
Easy for you to say!
Not helpful. I groan, getting up off the floor and standing, rubbing my hand along the back of my neck as if that will somehow ease the tension knotting my shoulders, it doesn’t. The fridge hums in the background, and I walk over to open it, grabbing a water bottle. I twist the cap off and take a long sip, letting the cool water soothe my dry throat before typing back.
Me:
Not helping.
Will:
Breathe, man. You already know how it’s going to play out. There’s no way she’s not going to say yes.
The thing is, Will’s probably right. Callie’s been dropping hints, practically daring me to propose for weeks now. Still, the thought of screwing this up makes my chest tighten. I cap the water bottle and set it on the counter before dropping into a chair at the kitchen table. My fingers tap against the wood, restless, until the buzzing in my pocket drags me out of my head. I grab my phone again, desperate to talk this out.
Vince:
You’re overthinking it. Keep it simple, stupid.
Luke:
Yeah, you don’t need fireworks and a fucking flash mob. Or whatever it is that you’re stressing about.
Me:
I’m not planning on a marching band. Although I bet Callie would actually love that now that you mention it…
Luke:
This one time…
Vince:
At Band Camp…
Luke:
I stuck a flute in my
Will:
You two are assholes.
I roll my eyes and my hand automatically reaches for my pocket again. Right, I already put the ring box away. Instead, I grab the Zippo lighter sitting on the counter and start flipping it open and closed, the metallic click breaking the silence. The motion is mindless, but it gives my restless hands something to do. The anxiety isn’t in the box, it’s in me, and no amount of fidgeting seems to shake it loose.
Me:
I just want it to be perfect, ya know? She deserves perfect. She is perfect.
Vince:
Callie doesn’t care about perfect. She cares about you.
Luke:
Heather is going to freak out when she hears and probably start insisting that we have a joint wedding.
Me:
Are you ready for that?
Vince:
Not a chance.
Luke:
I flick the lighter open and closed, the rhythmic click-click filling the silence as my leg bounces under the table. Outside the window, Sara’s plastic kitchen sits next to the swingset, her little pots and pans still scattered across the grass from yesterday. I stare at them for a moment, trying to picture Callie’s face when I propose, but the image keeps breaking apart, splintering under the weight of my doubts. What if I say the wrong thing? What if I freeze? The lighter’s metal grows warm from being in my hand, but I keep flipping it, the motion grounding me even as my thoughts spiral.
Will:
Just focus on what feels right. You’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.
Me:
What feels right is having this ring in my pocket and not knowing what the hell to do with it.
Vince:
Why don’t you ask her kids to help? Ruby and Sara adore you.
Luke:
Oh, good idea. Kids are a guaranteed win. Nobody can say no to a cute proposal with kids involved.
Me:
I don’t know… What if it’s too much? Too soon?
Will:
Dude, you’ve basically been co-parenting for months. You already feel like their dad.
Vince:
You ARE their dad in every way that counts.
My breath catches for a second. Am I really ready for this? I glance into the living room, Sara is still stacking blocks, her little tongue poking out in concentration. She places the last block on her tower, but it wobbles, and before I can say anything, the whole thing crashes to the floor.
Sara lets out a frustrated huff and swats at the pile of blocks with her hand, sending them scattering. The commotion wakes Ruby, who stirs in her swing, her face scrunching as she lets out a tiny wail.
I flip the lighter shut and stick it back in my pocket, as I head into the living room. “It’s okay, Sara,” I say, kneeling beside her. She looks up at me, her lip quivering. “We’ll build it again, yeah? Together.”
Her face softens, but Ruby’s wails grow louder. I reach out to rock the swing gently with my foot, murmuring, “Shh, it’s okay, baby girl,” as I start helping Sara rebuild her tower.
It’s chaotic, but it’s also perfect. These loud, messy moments are full of love and make all of this worth it. They’re why I know I want forever with Callie and these girls.
Me:
But what if I mess it up? What if I freeze?
Luke:
You’re Owen Klein. You don’t freeze. You’ll be fine.
Will:
And if you do freeze, just drop to one knee and mumble something about loving her forever. That’s all you need.
Me:
Gee, that’s fucking romantic. So the bar is “don’t screw it up completely”?
Vince:
Pretty much.
Luke:
You’ve got this, man. Just remember, it’s about her, not some perfect plan.
I take another sip of my water, though it does little to quiet the storm of thoughts swirling in my mind. The sound of tires crunching in the driveway pulls my attention to the window, where I see Callie stepping out of the car. She’s home.
My heart gives a little jolt, a sensation that’s reassuring and unnerving all at once. The anxiety weighing on me all day, heavy and unrelenting, begins to lift. It’s not gone, not entirely, but it feels lighter somehow—like just knowing she’s here, walking back into this house, is enough to remind me of what truly matters.
I know they are right. I don’t need a perfect plan, a roadmap to solve every problem or fix every crack in the foundation. I just need her. Her laugh feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. She looks at me like she sees more than what I show the world. I see her quiet strength, even when she doesn’t think she has any left. I take a steadying breath. Whatever comes next, I’ll figure it out, because anything feels possible with her.