Chapter 43
Forty-Three
I throw back the covers. Sunshine streams through my window, and dewy droplets from last night’s rain still linger on the panes. Did last night really happen? A giddy smile takes over my face.
Butter snuffles and snorts, in her own bed for once, having a doggy dream. I check my phone by my bedside and there’s a text from Zeke.
Good morning, beautiful. How did you sleep?
I beam. Is this what love feels like?
Amazing. You?
I couldn’t sleep at all. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
My heart flutters. Before I can respond, another text from Zeke shows up.
When can I see you today?
Soon, I text back. PSLs at our favorite place?
Zeke texts back a huge smiley face emoji and a thumbs up.
I throw on some clothes and rush down the stairs. I want to see Zeke, and maybe I’ll invite Suzy, too, but I need to have a long conversation with my parents first.
The kitchen is empty. I check the time and realize that Mom is teaching her Saturday morning kickboxing class.
Dad’s voice blares from his bedroom, belting old 70s songs, and I hear the shower running.
The smile that seems to be permanently etched onto my face today widens.
He’s home, finally! The sounds of Def Leppard being sung by a middle-aged, tone-deaf man assault my ears, but I still can’t stop smiling.
I make egg white omelets (that end up being scrambled eggs) and gluten-free toast. I even squeeze a couple of oranges into two wine glasses. I set the table, and then I wait.
The shower is still running. And Mom’s still not home.
“C’mon, Mom and Dad.” I sit at the table, hands clasped before me. I think about the conversation ahead, and nerves churn in my stomach. Mom is going to be irate about last night, but we have to talk. No more pushing things away and pretending everything’s fine.
Rather than just sit and wait, I decide to bake something. There’s a recipe for pumpkin chocolate chip scones that I’ve been dying to try.
I ask Alexa to shuffle my BTS playlist, and I dig through the pantry until I find my recently acquired—and hidden—stash of baking supplies.
I pull out flour, sugar, a can of pumpkin puree, dark chocolate chips, and warm spices.
Butter plops down the stairs and waddles across the kitchen floor to lick my ankles.
I’m putting the scones into the oven—cute orange triangles with dark chocolate chunks; I even made them mini because, portion control—when the shower turns off, and the door to the garage opens.
Mom comes into the kitchen. She stops when she sees the breakfast laid out on the table, now cold.
I glance from her, to the food, to the floury spots on the kitchen counter that I haven’t had time to wipe off yet.
I take a deep breath and brace myself. This is going to be hard, but maybe that’s okay.
Mom smiles. “Wow, Callie. This looks lovely.”
I blink, surprised. “Scrambled egg whites,” I say sheepishly. “I can’t make an omelet like you can.”
Mom puts her gym bag on the floor and sits down at the table. I take a seat across from her, the tension between us palpable. I open my mouth, but then I close it again, unsure what to say. Mom picks up her fork.
Dad emerges from the bedroom humming “More than a Feeling,” dressed in gray sweat pants and a navy blue V-neck shirt.
“What is this?” he says. “My two favorite girls made me breakfast?”
“This was all Callie,” Mom says.
“Dad!” I stand and run across the kitchen to give him a hug. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
Dad kisses the top of my head. “It’s only for the weekend. I’ve got to fly back on Monday for more filming.”
We sit down to eat, and Butter heads to the couch for a nap.
Things are quiet for a moment besides forks scraping plates.
I wonder if Mom’s going to say anything about the dance or sweep it under the rug and pretend like everything’s fine.
Normally I would follow her lead, but this time, I want to talk about things, even if it’s uncomfortable.
I chew my cold eggs and debate how to bring the subject up.
“So how was the dance, my ladies?” Dad asks. He takes a sip of orange juice.
“Surprisingly, it was so much fun,” I say between bites. “The best dance ever. But—” The timer on the oven dings.
“What’s in the oven?” Mom asks, a small frown on her face. Maybe I shouldn’t have made the scones. I can’t even imagine how many calories are in one with all that chocolate and butter.
I grab a hot pad and pull the tray out of the oven. I gently press on a scone, sparkling with coarse sugar. They’re hot but firm. Done. “Umm. I baked scones?”
Mom frowns and takes another bite of her eggs. “Are they for someone else?”
“No.” I take a deep breath and set the baking sheet on a hot pad on the table. Mom chews slowly, watching me, but Dad gives me a subtle thumbs up.
I take a deep breath. “I made them because I like to bake. I . . . I might even want it to be my career. I don’t know if I’ll go to culinary school and be a pastry chef or maybe open my own business one day, but I want this. It makes me happy, and I’m—I’m really good at it.”
Mom’s eyes widen, but Dad smiles. “Good for you, sweetheart. That plan sounds awesome. I’ll have one of those.” Dad reaches for a hot scone, blows, and takes a bite. His eyes close. I watch for his reaction, even though Mom is still frowning. “Oh, Callie. These are divine.”
I melt. “Really?” I move them to the cooling rack while Mom finishes her eggs.
“And you think . . .” Mom pauses. “You think what happened at the dance last night was the best dance ever?” She gives me a hard stare.
I swallow. “I’m sure the gossip sites are going crazy.”
Dad pauses mid-bite, a smear of chocolate on his upper lip. “What happened?”
I sigh. “Mom, you already know some of this, but—” I tell them the whole story, Mom’s frown deepening and Dad’s face growing more flabbergasted. I tell them everything about the fake friendship contract and my scheme to win the crown.
“So last night it all came out at the dance, but I realized something.” I can’t help it that a small, proud smile graces my lips.
Mom will be upset about what happened, but her disapproval doesn’t send fear shooting up and down my spine like it used to.
Maybe I don’t need her approval as much as I thought I did.
Maybe the only one who needs to approve of me is me.
“This pressure to appear perfect is crushing me,” I say.
“I don’t want to be constantly posting on social media.
I don’t want to always worry about what I’m wearing or how my hair looks.
I don’t want to be counting every calorie and hopping on the scale every day.
That is not the life that makes me happy.
” I breathe and take in their faces. “And Mom, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to wake up early to lift weights with you anymore. ”
Oof. That last part was painful to get out.
Mom’s face falls like I’ve crushed her soul.
Guilt twists my insides, but I remind myself that I can’t keep doing things just to make her happy.
What I want matters, too. “And I don’t want my dating choices to be influenced by anything other than who I love. I’m dating Zeke,” I finish. I wait.
Dad dusts crumbs from his hands. He stands, moves around the table, and pulls me into his arms. “I’m so proud of you, honey. You are wise beyond your years. There are adults who haven’t figured out what you have.”
Tears fill my eyes, and I squeeze Dad back. “Thank you. That means so much.”
“I know you’re under a lot of pressure because of me,” he says.
“I didn’t realize how much that pressure was getting to you.
I love you no matter what. I hope you know that.
” He pulls back to look me in the eye. “Get off of social media. Or stay and only post what you want. Start a private account. I don’t care.
You don’t need to be on there just because people are curious about our family. Screw them.”
I smile and sit back down in my chair. “Thank you, Dad.” I take a scone and put it on my plate.
Mom watches my every movement as I lift the scone to my lips and take a bite.
Cinnamon, nutmeg, and dark chocolate explode on my tongue, and the scone is the perfect texture—crispy edges with pillowy insides.
Getting that texture right is not easy, but I did it. Happiness makes me glow inside.
Mom swallows. “Callie, I . . . I love you. You’ve grown so much.” Tears fill her eyes.
I hold my breath, still bracing for a lecture. But maybe I’m wrong.
“You would’ve been so proud of her last night, Ben,” Mom says, looking at Dad.
He smiles. “She stood up in front of everyone, and high school kids can be so judgy and horrible sometimes. But Callie admitted her mistake and apologized to them all.” Mom looks at me.
“That took courage, Cal. I would rather have a daughter who can own her mistakes than a daughter who feels she has to put on a perfect face all the time, no matter the cost.”
The tears in my eyes finally spill over.
“I realize I . . . I let my insecurities filter to you,” Mom stares at her plate.
“I didn’t mean to put so much pressure on you, but I see now that it isn’t healthy.
You made some mistakes, but it seems that you’ve handled things beautifully and have grown so much.
” Mom looks up, her wet eyes meeting mine.
“I’m so sorry, Cal. And I’m so proud of you. ”
The tears in my eyes finally spill over, and I stand and hurry around the table to give Mom a hug.
When we break apart, Mom completely shocks me by grabbing a scone off the cooling rack, fast, like she has to do it before she changes her mind.
She takes a bite and closes her eyes. “Cal. This is heavenly.”
My heart soars.