12. Callum
Callum
“Surprise!”
I press my hands tightly against my cheeks, mouth agape, and bulge my eyes out dramatically in feigned shock.
I’m not surprised.
My family loves surprise parties. So much so, that on each of our birthdays, they’ve become regular parties, because we’re all expecting them.
I grin, appreciating the amount of effort Cait must’ve put into this.
Her house responsibility has always been event planning, so the orange balloons (five-year-old me’s favorite color) are all her.
And I know for a fact Clementine made the Happy Birthday, Cal!
sign hanging above the mantle. Even though her spelling skills have drastically improved since she was small, she still leaves the “R” facing backwards—her trademark.
What does surprise me, however, is the number of faces in the room.
The entire family being here is par for the course, but family friends are also scattered across the space.
From where I’m standing in the doorway, I spot Clover’s idiot boyfriend, Jackson, and a few other faces I recognize as members of Carter’s gym.
Scanning the rest of the crowd, I nod at Dad’s friend from work, Peyton in the corner next to Cait, one of Mom’s gardening club friends, and—
What. The. Fuck. Peyton is here?
My eyes snap back to the corner of the room where she stands, an impish grin on her face. I thought she was busy. Wasn’t she working at some loser’s birthday party today?
Oh my God.
I’m the loser.
I quickly stop to greet most guests, saying things like, “Thank you for coming, Brad,” while secretly wondering who Brad is. After seven half-hearted I look forward to chatting with yous, my eyes zero in on my big sister. “Cait, can I see you in the kitchen for a sec?”
She hangs her head, trudging behind me. On our way, we pass—
“Mr. Chung?” I ask.
Mr. Chung stands next to a tray of appetizers, holding a tortilla chip loaded with buffalo chicken dip. He pops it into his mouth, slowly chewing while staring at me.
Mrs. Chung joins him and gives a little wave. “Happy birthday, Inspector Galvin.”
“We’re very happy to be here celebrating with you,” Mr. Chung adds, sounding like he’s reading the words from a teleprompter.
“Uh, thank you,” I say absentmindedly, before grabbing Cait’s wrist and pulling her next to the refrigerator, out of sight.
For a moment, we stare at each other in silence.
Then, we both start whisper-shouting at the same time.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t even know she was your girlfriend until Clover told me, like, twenty minutes ago! And Peyton didn’t put it together either, since I still use my married name! It’s not my fault!”
“What the hell? You hired me a fake friend?!”
“In my defense, I used her for my store opening. I met her first!”
“Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is?! She’s not even my girl—hold on.”
Cait’s eyes widen and her mouth snaps shut.
I run a hand through my hair. “If Clover told you we were dating… Do Ma and Dad think Peyton is my girlfriend? Oh my God, has Peyton met Ma and Dad already?”
My sister’s resounding silence answers the question.
“Jesus, Cait! Has she been in this house for the past thirty minutes meeting all seven of you weirdos without me?”
“She’s been here an hour, actually,” she admits under her breath.
“An hour!?”
Cait holds her hands up. “What? She’s punctual! Very good at her job, honestly. It’s why I hired her for your—um, I mean, my opening.”
“This is so bad. This is so fucking bad,” I mutter repeatedly, before stopping entirely. “Wait. Why are the Chungs at my birthday party?”
Cait presses her lips together. Then barely opening her mouth, like she’s a ventriloquist, she mumbles, “One of Peyton’s tasks was to fill out the guest list. She said they owed her a favor.”
“I don’t mean to intrude, loves, but the party is getting cold without you.” Ma’s sweet voice cuts through the static noise filling my head as my brain tries to process recent inputs, and I follow the sound to see her head peeking in from the archway.
“No party in the history of time has ever gotten colder without me there, Ma.”
“He has a point,” Cait adds, and I shoot her a glare.
Ma just bites her lip, trying not to smile. “Well in that case, let me just say that Peyton’s chatting with your father about stamps, and—”
I don’t let her finish. One mention of my father talking about stamps is all the motivation I need to bolt toward Peyton, who’s sitting on a folding chair next to Dad in the living room.
“This one is just a gorgeous example of a blind perf.” Dad has a white glove on and is holding one of his older, prized stamps.
“Perf?”
“Ah, perforation. It’s partially missing, as you can see. But, if you look closer, you might see the watermark. It’s faint, but there. Don’t worry if you can’t see it on the first go. I have a watermark detector I can get. Any good philatelist has one.”
The most boring man alive, God love him.
“Peyton!” I interrupt. “So good—and unexpected—to see you here.”
“Hey, Inspect—erm, Callum.”
“Ah, Cal Pal. Why didn’t you tell us about your girlfriend? Cait had to introduce us to her, you know. She’s just a dear. And she loves my Napoleonic era stamp collection.”
He pauses, lifting his arm to put it around Peyton, and I almost dislocate an elbow stepping in between their chairs, trying to save her from his touch.
Peyton’s eyes sparkle, the ever-present glint of mischief flashing at me. “Yeah, Cal Pal, how come you’ve never introduced me?” She pauses, leaning toward my ear. “I’m a dear, haven’t you heard?”
I throw a half-assed glower at her. She’s enjoying this a little too much for my liking.
Dad reaches for the glass box on the side table and carefully puts the stamp inside. Pulling off his white gloves, he smiles at Peyton. “In any event, I’m glad to have met you. And I’m a man of my word, dear. You’re welcome to inspect my Inverted Jenny any time.”
I rub my temples, wishing this was all a simple nightmare. “Can I steal her away for a minute, Dad? I’m going to show her the garden.”
I face Peyton, suppressing my urge to grab her hand and yank her outside before Dad regales her with a dissertation on stamp color variations.
We step out onto the back patio, and Peyton bursts out laughing the second the screen door closes behind us. “Why does ‘you can inspect my Inverted Jenny stamp’ sound so kinky?”
I choke on my own spit. “For the love of God, please don’t say ‘kinky.’ Especially when referring to my father. Or stamps.”
“Why? You can’t handle it, Callum? Stamps are positively lickable.”
Running a hand through my hair, I exhale an exasperated sigh. “I can’t believe we’re still talking about stamps, and Dad’s not even here.”
Peyton won’t stop, and I’m starting to wonder if she’s actually hot for stamps. “He also showed me a picture of one of the rarest stamps in the world—the ‘Alexandria Blue Boy’. Speaking of blue boys…”
I attempt to keep a straight face. “Are you making fun of my mental illness?”
Her lips compress, like she’s trying to hold back laughter. “Guilty.”
I bark out a laugh. “Wow, Peyton Moore. Wow.”
Taking a few steps into the backyard, we head toward the garden, Peyton following me closely.
The evening breeze soothes my hot skin, and the smell of grass and earth perfumes the air.
Peyton is distractingly gorgeous in an ivory colored sweaterdress and a matching hair bow.
Her blonde locks are pulled into a half ponytail, and every time she turns her head, her cinnamon scent fills my senses.
“You know, if I knew it was your birthday, I would’ve brought a present,” she says.
“Eh, I’m not huge on birthdays. Or presents. Plus, in our family, you age out of gifts after your eighteenth birthday.”
“Speaking of, your family is great. They must really love you to plan all of this.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How much?”
She glances sideways at me. “How much what?”
“How much did they bribe you to say that?”
Peyton giggles. “I really do love your family.” Reaching into her pocket, she grabs something and holds it out. “It was fifty dollars. I was gonna tell you.”
Fire dances in her big, sage eyes, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Fucking Clover…”
“It was actually Clementine.”
“Mhm. And how much did Clover tack on to say it was Clementine?”
She presses her lips together and reaches into her pocket again. “Ten dollars.”
We both laugh, and the musical quality to hers is addicting.
One thing I admire about Peyton is that she always seems on the cusp of laughter at any given moment.
Like all she needs is the slightest provocation.
When she’s with me, her laugh seems to ring happier.
And I don’t think I’d mind spending my spare time chasing that sound.
She walks closer to me, her shoulder only a few inches from my arm. “So, about your sister bringing me here…”
I wince. “Yeah. I can’t imagine what you must’ve felt like when you found out that Cait’s my sister. I’m sorry if it was uncomfortable without me here. If it helps, I can’t recall a time in my life when I’ve been more embarrassed. And I’ve done plenty of embarrassing shit.”
Her mouth twists. “We’ll get back to the ‘embarrassing shit’ another time, because I’m definitely going to need some details, but—for the record—I don’t think you should feel embarrassed about this.”
I give her a wry smile. “Peyton. Come on.”
“You’re welcome to think it’s embarrassing, but I’d disagree.” She stops walking, and the wind blows her blonde hair forward, caressing her rosy cheeks. “Callum, I don’t have a single relative who would do something like this to make me feel extra loved on my birthday. That’s embarrassing.”
The flash of hurt behind her eyes is actually painful to look at, and I’m gutted for her. “Pey…”
“Having a family who would do anything for you isn’t embarrassing, Callum.” She tugs on the cuff of her sleeve. “It’s lucky.”
Her words put everything into perspective. They also make me want to wrap her up in my arms. “Thanks.”
She throws me a soft smile. “Let’s keep going, then.”