Chapter 7
Seven
@CallieCarter when are you going to introduce me to your dad?
Instagram caption by @thetomsheppard.
Zeke’s car is a light blue Oldsmobile with more than a few dents and scrapes.
The September air is starting to bite as I cross the school parking lot and move toward the passenger door.
Gray clouds drift overhead. Zeke rushes past me to open my door.
He stands there, holding the car open, gesturing inside with a hand.
“Dude. I can open my own door.” I cross my arms over my chest.
Zeke smiles that charming smile of his. “Of course you can. But my mama taught me right.”
I uncross my arms, take a seat in the car, and shove my backpack down by my feet. The interior of the car is spotless, and there’s a lemon air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.
I realize that Zeke’s family might be at his house and that’s where the noise will be coming from. “So you have a big family?” I ask.
Zeke starts the car and pulls out of the school parking lot. The gray clouds overhead drop a few half-hearted raindrops on the windshield.
“Yeah, well, sort of. Big for here.”
“How big is that?”
“I have two older brothers and a little sister,” Zeke says. “My older brothers are both at college, but you’ll get to meet my little sis. She’s the loud one.”
The rain falls harder, pattering on the windshield. Outside my window, I see a few students walking home on the sidewalk, pulling their hoods up or opening umbrellas.
“Does it always rain here?” Zeke asks, stopping at a red light and turning on his signal.
“Oh yeah,” I say. “You get used to it. It rains for basically nine months out of the year. Where are you from?”
“We moved here from Kentucky,” Zeke says. “But I’m originally from Arizona. Honestly, it’s hard to call a place home since we’ve lived all over.” Bitterness tints his voice.
“That sounds really hard.”
Zeke nods. “Here we are.”
We pull into the driveway of a modest white house with brown trim and matching window shutters.
It doesn’t look brand new—the paint is peeling in places and one of the shutters is lopsided—but the house is clean and looks well taken care of, like Zeke’s car.
There’s a garden of orange and yellow flowers lining the front walk and a wood swing on the porch with a pile of cushions.
I move to open my door, but Zeke rushes to grab an umbrella and get out of the car. “Stay there!”
He opens my door and holds out the umbrella for me. I smile. “Thank you.”
We stand under the umbrella together, arms brushing.
I never realized how close you have to stand when sharing an umbrella.
I catch a whiff of Zeke’s scent again, and wow, I need to find out what he’s wearing.
Zeke’s cologne is just right, subtle yet striking.
Noah’s cologne punched me in the face no matter how many times I told him he sprayed it on too heavy.
Zeke opens the door, and the house is all old wood floors and family pictures. We enter a hallway that leads to a modest kitchen and living room with plush maroon couches and baby dolls and blocks scattered across a thick rug. A window with daisy-print curtains looks out into the backyard.
I’m immediately hit with sounds and smells. There’s someone screaming the high-pitched wail of a child. And a woman frantically making placating noises. A burned scent assaults my nose.
“Uh oh,” Zeke says, throwing his backpack down in the hallway and hurrying toward the kitchen.
I glance at the pictures on the hallway wall, each hung in a unique frame.
There’s Zeke and two boys who I assume must be his older brothers.
In one, they’re holding up a giant fish on a rowboat, and in another they’re laughing together walking down a hiking trail.
There’s one where the three of them are slightly older, teenagers standing in front of the St. Louis arch.
More than half of the pictures are of a little girl with mega curly black hair.
She must be about three or four years old?
I didn’t think that Zeke’s little sister would be so young.
I set my bookbag next to Zeke’s and enter the house, and finally the screaming stops.
I enter the kitchen tentatively. There are daisy-print curtains to match the living room hanging on the window above the sink, and there are even more photos on the walls.
A cute wooden sign hangs above the stove, only slightly splattered with grease, that says, “Welcome to Mama’s kitchen.
Homemade with love.” The burning smell gets stronger.
Zeke stands in front of the oven holding a pan of cookies with two hot pads, a triumphant smile on his face.
“I think I saved them, Mama!” He sets the smoking pan down on another hot pad on the counter.
“Oh, Zeke, thanks for trying, baby.”
A woman who I assume is Zeke’s “Mama” strides into the kitchen. I catch sight of a poof of black curls from the couch in the living room, where his sister must be sitting.
“I think it’s too late for these.” Zeke’s mom sighs over the cookies.
“Mama, let me introduce you to Callie,” Zeke says, gesturing toward me.
Zeke’s mom turns to me with an enormous smile that lights up her entire face.
Her hair is dark brown and loosely wavy, thick, with a few gray streaks at her temples.
She’s tall and gorgeous, even though she doesn’t fit the body type that my mom so desperately chases.
Zeke’s mom looks like she’d be more at home in the kitchen baking cookies than doing sit-ups in the gym.
She wears a flowery pastel pink and green dress and a sky-blue apron.
“Callie, what a pleasure to meet you!” She grasps my hand in both of hers and looks into my eyes like she can read my soul.
Her skin is a lighter shade than Zeke’s—more of a caramel color than a rich coffee.
“I was afraid Zeke was never going to bring a friend home.” She glances sideways at her son. “She’s pretty, too.”
I blush, and it’s hard to tell with Zeke’s brown skin, but I think he does, too. “Callie, this is my mama, a.k.a. Caroline.”
Caroline sighs over her cookies and rests her elbows on the countertop. “I’m practicing for the church bake sale, but I can’t seem to get any recipe quite right.”
Zeke puts a hand on her arm. “You’re an amazing cook. Just keep trying.”
She glances up at me. “You don’t happen to know anything about baking, now would you, Miss Callie?”
“Only a little,” I say modestly.
Caroline gives me a tiny nod. “Well, if you ever want to help me out, I wouldn’t say no.”
“We don’t have time today, Mama,” Zeke says. “Callie’s here because I’m tutoring her.”
I feel a moment of mortification, but I try not to show it. I don’t think Zeke’s mom is one to spread gossip, but what do I know? I force a smile.
Zeke’s mom frowns. “Oh. So . . . she’s not . . .”
Zeke shakes his head. “No. Sorry, Mama.”
Caroline takes her cookies off the tray with a thin spatula and throws them in the trash. “Well, I better let you two get to it, then.”
“C’mon, Callie.” Zeke grabs both our backpacks, and we head toward the living room. “We can study in my room.”
“What was that about?” I whisper.
Zeke sighs. “Mama keeps pushing me to make friends. She’s disappointed that you’re only here for tutoring.”
“Oh.”
I follow Zeke through the living room with worn, plush couches and a large TV on the wall.
We pass the little girl with the super curls sitting on the couch, her face slightly tear-streaked.
She’s wearing a glittery cream skirt over blue, pink, and orange striped pants.
She’s in the process of taking My Little Pony stickers and putting them on the arm of the couch, one by one. I wonder if Caroline is okay with that.
“Who’s this?” I ask.
Zeke turns and smiles at his little sister. “This is Mia.”
Mia looks up with a grin. “Zekie!” She runs and throws her arms around him, and he catches her in a hug.
“Now we’re never going to get anything done.” Zeke laughs.
“Come see what I made.” Mia drags Zeke over to the couch, where she points out each sticker. Zeke nods and exclaims over each one.
Mia’s huge brown eyes examine me.
“Mia, this is Callie,” Zeke says.
I extend my hand for her to shake, and she only looks at it, so I take my hand back.
Mia looks up at me with a solemn face. “Every day my mama tells me the F-word.”
I choke back whatever I was going to say and hear a cry of shock from the kitchen. “I do not!” Caroline shouts.
Zeke covers his mouth, suppressing a laugh, and I smile.
“There you go again, the little surprise,” Zeke says, tickling her in the belly. Mia dissolves into a fit of giggles.
“Don’t call her that!” Caroline pulls butter from the fridge and gets out a clean mixing bowl. “You’re going to give her a complex.”
“But it’s true!” Zeke grins and stops tickling. Mia catches her breath. “There’s Will, Dan, me, and then this little caboose.” He pokes her in the stomach again.
Caroline rolls her eyes, and I can’t help but smile.
Zeke hurries to stand. “I’m so sorry, Callie. I promise we’ll get right to work.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “It’s nice to meet your family.”
Mia resumes her work with the stickers, but her sweet big eyes are still full of tears. I dig around in my backpack until I find a pack of peppermint Altoids. I pop open the lid and hand one to Mia.
She looks from my hand to me and then snatches the mint and stuffs it in her mouth. “Mmmm,” Mia says, sucking.
“What do you say, Mia?” Zeke asks.
“Thank you.” A Rainbow Dash sticker is placed on the couch.
I follow Zeke down the hall to his room. I don’t know quite what I was expecting—a huge TV and a bunch of video games, maybe anime posters all over the walls. But that’s not it.