18. Peyton
Peyton
“It wasn’t that big, Peyton.” Callum stops at the red light outside his parents’ neighborhood.
I blink at him. “You got me a tree, Callum.”
“Well, it’s not like a real tree, like the trees outside in the ground.”
“Tree’s literally in the name!” I throw my hands in the air, picturing the six-foot potted thing sitting in my living room right now.
Callum drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Technically, the word ‘money’ is also in the name, but you didn’t see any dollars hanging from the branches, did you?”
I exhale slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I give up. This is death by pedantry.”
“You said you liked plants. ‘Plants over flowers,’ remember?”
“I was talking about succulents, not a weeping willow!”
He presses his lips together, like he’s trying not to laugh. “Rebrand it, Pey. Just think of the money tree as Big Plant.”
I reach for the hot air control and turn it up. “Be honest. Did you go into the plant store, ask ‘what is the biggest indoor plant one can buy’ and purchase the first recommendation?”
“It was the third recommendation,” he mutters. “The first two were partially toxic to humans or cats.”
I pat him on the shoulder. “Aw, so it wasn’t always your plan to poison me in retribution for punching you?”
He rolls his eyes. “Be real, Peyton. I’d be far more likely to poison you for edging me about your real job for weeks.”
The light flips to green and he turns onto his parents’ street, whistling when he sees all of the cars parked out front. “Looks like almost everyone’s here already. Usually half of my siblings are late. The only one I don’t see is Carter’s truck.”
There’s an open spot at the end of his parents’ driveway, a luxury for someone who likes to leave places early like Callum.
He shifts the gear into park and looks at me. “Ready?”
I twirl my hair nervously. Why am I nervous? This isn’t me. “Oh my God, Cal. I’m nervous to meet your parents.”
He reaches out, putting his hand on mine. “What do you mean? They’ve already met you.”
“Yeah, but that was when we weren’t really together. And I was hired.” I wince. “Sorry.”
“Too soon, Peyton. And you know that,” he teases.
Instead of my usual volley back, I shift in my seat. “Is there anything I should do to get them to like me?”
Callum tugs on my hand and laces my fingers through his. “Don’t try. You don’t need to influence anyone. You are so good, Pey. There’s just this goodness inside of you. The word seems simple, I know, but I don’t know how else to—”
“Not simple.” Fondness squeezes my heart. “It’s not simple to me. No one’s ever described me that way.”
How does Callum always know the right thing to say?
I know my family would love to have you.
I really want you to come. That’s what he said when he invited me here, to his family’s early Thanksgiving celebration.
Such simple declarations, but they meant everything.
He didn’t even give me a chance to utter the age-old “new girlfriend” deflections, like I don’t want to intrude on family time, or are you sure you want me there?
Feeling more at ease, I gesture to the boxes on my lap. “Let’s go in. Do you need help carrying in the pies?”
He picks up the boxes. “Nah, I’m used to carrying lots of food into my parents’ house. Buying and delivering store-bought food is my Galvin Family Responsibility.”
“God. Please tell me more,” I say gleefully.
He clears his throat like he’s about to give a professional speech.
“Due to All The Children, Ma and Dad bestowed each of us with a responsibility to divvy up the work that comes with a large family. Legend has it the appointments happened at birth. Mine is bringing external food, like desserts or ice cream, chips and salsa, things that we don’t make at home.
Honestly, I think it’s part of the reason I became a Health Inspector. ”
I giggle and crack my car door. “Wow. I didn’t know I was in the presence of a pie carrying expert.”
“Watch this.” He gets out of the car and walks to my side, opening my door with the pie boxes stacked in one hand. “See? I’m practically a wizard of pie handling, so—”
A loud car horn beeps and he promptly drops one of the pie boxes.
“Fuck!” He sinks to the ground, setting the other pie boxes down gently in the driveway and trying to salvage the one that’s face down on the pavement.
“Hey, Cal! Happy Pretend Thanksgiving, bro!” Carter shouts out his car window. “Hi, Peyton, good to see you!”
I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head at Carter’s antics. We’re celebrating Thanksgiving early because the Galvins rarely gather on the actual holiday. There are so many schedules to coordinate, plus Caitlyn shares her twins with Rhett—her ex-husband.
I squat down next to Callum and wince when I take a look at the dropped pie. Every bit of whipped cream is stuck to the top of the box.
I sigh. “Rest in pieces, Coconut pie. I shall eat you with a spoon when I return to my apartment later.”
Callum glares half-heartedly.
“What, Callum? You can’t bring this in now. It’s roadkill at this point. Unpresentable. As your girlfriend, it’s my duty to eat it later by myself. And I’m not just saying this because it happens to be my favorite, either.” I close the box and bring it to the passenger side, setting it on my seat.
“You’re a real martyr, Pey.”
With the pie debacle delay, Carter catches up with us before we can walk inside.
“How are my favorite Ohio elevens doing tonight?” He walks in the middle of us and raises his arms like he’s going to slide them over our shoulders.
Callum shoves him to the side with his elbow, and Carter loses his footing and stumbles to the ground.
“Hey! That was too rough!” Carter complains.
“Good. Now you know how the pie felt.” Callum holds out his free hand to Carter, helping him off the ground.
As we get closer to the front, chaos infiltrates our ears. A little voice is crying, a timer is beeping, and piano music plays in the background.
Callum gives me a wry grin. “Apologies in advance for anything anyone might say. Or do.”
“I love the loud, actually,” I tell him. As an only child, I crave mayhem like this. It’s a big dream of mine to have a large, happy family one day.
Carter opens the door, and I nearly trip over a teary-eyed toddler. “You must be Lila,” I say, squatting down to her level.
She extends her arms. “Up.”
I glance behind me, to make sure she’s asking me—the stranger—and not one of her uncles. But Callum and Carter are bickering again, completely disengaged.
A stream of snot runs down her nose as she opens and closes her hands. “Up. Up. Up!”
“Okay, then.” I pick her up and set her on my hip. “Are you okay?”
She pats the top of her hair. “Lo hit.”
“Sorry, sweetie.” I stroke the top of her head, and she starts looping my hair around her little hand.
“Oh, I was distracted. I can take her if you want,” Callum offers, a worried expression on his face.
I shake my head gently, reassuring him that my aversion isn’t coming into play here.
Lila buries her head into my shoulder, giving off fierce “don’t detach me from this strange woman” vibes.
“Lila, do you want to come with Uncle Cal?”
“Or Uncle Carty?” Carter chimes in.
“No!” she shouts to my delight. I’m very much enjoying both her sass and her grip on me. I can’t remember the last time I held a human this small.
I soothe her back, gently patting. “Yeah, we girls are good over here, Uncle Cal.”
When I glance at Callum, his expression holds a tender sort of happiness I haven’t seen before. His hazel eyes are soft around the corners, and a sweet smile brushes his lips. It’s not hard to tell what he’s thinking, and I like the look on him.
“Hey! Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Caitlyn says, holding her arms out for Lila. “Let me grab her from you.”
Lila pulls a real “no means no” moment with how tight she squashes me, reaffirming her position of living on my hip.
“If you don’t mind, I don’t mind,” I tell her. “I love little ones.”
We walk toward the kitchen, and Callum leaves my side to put the pies on the counter. I’m quickly intercepted by Mr. Galvin. It’s only now that I realize his hazel eyes are nearly identical to his son’s. His curly grayish-auburn hair is a bit tighter than Callum’s loose waves, but just as thick.
I give him a cheery smile, jutting my chin out from behind Lila’s little shoulder. “Hi, Mr. Galvin. Collect any new stamps lately?”
The smile lines around his eyes crinkle at the question. “Why, yes, I have. And you can call me Colin, dear.”
I pat Lila’s back. “Callum never told me that the ‘C’ theme extends to you, too.”
“Yes, me and Catherine. It’s how the theme came to be.” He gives a little hand flourish.
“Very cohesive. I love it.”
He gestures toward the little girl on my hip. “And Lila seems to love you, I see.”
“We’re besties now. I’ve already started planning the bead colors for our friendship bracelets.”
Colin laughs. “You are such a joy. We’re thrilled Callum found you. He’s very lucky.”
I throw a pretend glare his way. “Hey, don’t give him all the credit. We kind of found each other. I’m lucky, too.”
A familiar hand wraps around my waist. “You talking about me behind my back, Pey?”
“Only terrible things, son,” his father adds with a wink.
“Damn, Dad.” Callum grins. “Not in front of my girlfriend.”
The gentle teasing, the way Callum’s able to be himself around his parents… I wish I had that with mine.
There’s a different kind of ache that comes with having a “just fine” relationship with your parents.
Nothing ever went wrong. There wasn’t a big, dramatic incident.
We’re not “no-contact.” We touch base every couple months over the phone, and I maybe see them twice a year.
I have fine parents. But that’s it—fine.