Seventeen
seventeen
I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY - WHITNEY HOUSTON
CALLIE - MAY 25, 2013
O nce Dad’s guests leave, the house finally quiets, but my mind is still buzzing. I take a sleeping Sara out of her high chair and cradle her against me. She nestles in, her tiny thumb finding its way to her mouth, and I watch as she drifts deeper into sleep. My heart squeezes, a familiar ache that mixes love and fear. How am I going to juggle this—being a mom to her and another baby on the way, all while my world feels like it’s barely holding together?
After laying her down in the portable crib, I head out to the porch, baby monitor in hand, and try to distract myself with a new Robyn Carr novel. I settle into the worn porch chair, letting the evening sun bathe me in a warmth I barely feel inside. As I flip the pages, the story barely registers. My mind is on Owen. I haven’t heard from him all day, and it’s ridiculous how much I’ve been hoping for a message.
Just as I’m about to force myself to focus on the book, my phone pings. My heart leaps, irrationally, and I fumble to pick it up.
Unknown:
What’s up, chick? How’s your day going?
I stare at the screen, my pulse racing. It’s him. I’m almost certain of it. But I’m not about to show how giddy I am. I quickly type back.
Me:
New phone. Who dis?
The reply comes instantly, almost too fast.
Unknown:
You’re hilarious.
I guess you must have responded to the guy who said he’d make you forget your Baby Daddy and gave him your phone number, too. Damn, that’s too bad. I thought I was special.
I laugh out loud despite myself, the tension in my chest easing just a little. Yep, it’s Owen. His humor is a refreshing contrast to the chaos that is in my life lately.
Green Flag #3.
Me:
You caught me. He made me forget my Baby Daddy and the name of the guy I talked to last night.
Unknown:
Very funny, Callie… But just in case you’re serious, it’s Owen.
The flutter in my stomach deepens. I shouldn’t be this excited. Should I? Before I can overthink it, I save his contact.
Me:
Ohhhhh! Owen! That’s right!
I’m joking, obviously. I don’t give my number out to everyone, believe it or not.
Owen:
I’m curious… Why did you give it to me?
His question makes me pause. Why did I? This shouldn’t be serious, just a fun distraction. But there is something about him, the way we clicked last night, the way thoughts of him lingered in my mind all day. It feels like something I could lose myself in. And that’s dangerous.
Me:
Idk… I’m thinking about deleting the app because it’s really not my thing and you seem like a decent enough human and I liked talking to you last night.
Owen:
Decent enough? I’ll take it. Haha!
His easy humor calms me, but the question still lingers in my mind: Why did I give him my number? Maybe I’m lonelier than I realized.
Owen:
So what did you do today?
I glance around at the remnants of the day—the smell of crawfish still lingers in the air, and the memory of laughter with family feels both distant and close.
Me:
My dad hosted a crawfish boil, so we had family over. It was good to see everyone.
Owen:
That’s awesome. What are you up to now?
Me:
Trying to read a book but failing miserably. I love reading, but sometimes I struggle with it. I think I’m more of an audio learner.
There it is again, that vulnerable side I hate showing. It feels stupid admitting something so simple, yet it’s a piece of me I can’t help sharing with him.
Owen:
Do you want me to leave you alone so you can read?
Me:
No, that’s okay. I’m sure you can think of another way to keep me entertained.
The second I hit send, I freeze. That sounded way more suggestive than I intended. Shit.
Me:
Woah. I meant, like, keep me distracted from the book. That sounded way worse than I meant it to.
Owen:
Oh, did it now? So you admit there was some intention behind it?
I bite my lip, my face flushing. What am I doing? This is insane.
Owen:
Relax, Callie. I’m just messing with you.
Me:
Don’t tease me if you can’t please me .
What the hell did I just send?! My heart races as I stare at the screen, waiting for him to react. I need to backtrack.
Me:
Sorry, that was a lot. Can I get a do-over?
Owen:
Haha! Sure thing. Wanna play a game?
Me:
That sounds dangerous.
Owen:
Only if you want it to be.
Me:
Oh my god! OWEN!
Owen:
Callie, you’re making this way too easy. Especially screaming my name like that. I’m pretty sure I can see you blushing from here.
Me:
You’re a shameless flirt, you know that?
Owen:
Yeah, my ex-wife mentioned that once or twice.
That thought makes me cringe and I cannot help but hope that’s something she said to him after they split up. Please don’t start collecting red flags…
Owen:
And no, I didn’t cheat on her.
Oh, thank God.
I exhale a breath, relief flooding through me like a tidal wave. But there’s a knot in my stomach that won’t quite untangle. My mind flashes to Adam–every lie, every broken promise. I swallow the familiar bitterness that threatens to rise. Owen doesn’t deserve to be punished for my past. Yet, my guard comes up reflexively, an instinct I can’t shake.
Me:
Am I that transparent? Sorry, cheating is a sore subject for me. My husband was less than faithful throughout our entire marriage.
I hesitate, the weight of the truth heavy in my chest. Saying it out loud feels raw, exposing a wound that still hasn’t healed.
Me:
Sorry, ex-husband. Or soon-to-be. I don’t really even know what to call him.
Owen:
Asshole?
I let out a startled laugh, the tension breaking for just a second.
Me:
That works!
Owen:
So… about that game… Wanna play? It would be like “Truth or Dare,” without the dares.
Me:
Good. I’m definitely not in the mood for dares anyway. Last thing I need is to end up having to run around the yard naked or something.
Owen:
Now, when you put it that way…
Me:
Nice try but not a chance. Okay, I’ll go first. Sticking with the music theme, I’ve gotta know… Do you sing in the shower?
Owen:
I might, but only when the house is empty. My singing is a solo act for a reason.
I laugh out loud, picturing him—beard lathered up, belting out some Tupac or Biggie based on what he told me about his music taste. The mental image is both hilarious and oddly endearing.
Then, just like that, my mind takes a detour, and I realize my pregnancy hormones are heating up more than just my cheeks. I shake off the thought, trying to focus as his next message lights up my phone.
Owen:
What song do you dance to most in your living room?
Me:
I Wanna Dance with Somebody by Whitney Houston, obviously.
Owen:
Ahhhh so there’s the “basic” side you’ve been hiding.
Me:
I am NOT basic! It’s a classic. You’re losing major brownie points for that one, Owen.
I grin at the screen, feeling a little silly over how easily this conversation is flowing. It’s strange—comforting, even. With each message, there’s a warmth spreading through me, something that feels almost... normal. As if, just for a moment, I can let my guard down.