Chapter 16 Caleb
Caleb
Walking into Brooke’s house felt like walking into a magazine spread.
Not one thing was out of place. It was beautiful but still felt lived in.
Lived in by an extremely tidy, brunette control freak, but lived in.
It felt so her. Shades of blue with pops of pink accents.
Classic but fun. Fresh flowers on the coffee table and in the kitchen.
There was a time when I thought about what it’d be like to take Brooke home.
I thought about it a lot. This wasn’t exactly what I’d pictured before I’d left for California, or while I was there, or since I’ve been back, if I’m being honest with myself.
What I’d pictured over the years involved heading upstairs to the bedroom.
When Brooke padded down the hallway from the kitchen to the bedroom on the other side of the house, I made a mental note to strike the stairs from my fantasy.
Even if I had squashed any real chance at being with her years ago.
That’s when it occurred to me that this was the first time I was cooking for Brooke.
She had the burgers at the wedding a few weeks ago, but even though I’d done that for her, it wasn’t cooking for her.
Again, it wasn’t how I’d pictured it. What I had in mind included a trip to the farmer’s market for all the right ingredients. Making one of her favorite meals, but better than she ever imagined it could be. We’d have a romantic meal and then I’d carry her to her bedroom down the hall.
She hadn’t been lying about not having ingredients.
What did this woman eat? In the vintage SMEG refrigerator, for the aesthetic I’m sure, I hoped to find something semi-fresh to work with.
Digging through the cheese drawer I found a single wedge of gruyere cheese and a few slices of American.
That was a start. It took some rummaging in the freezer, but I found a sourdough loaf.
I could work with this. I’ve done more with less.
But I needed the key ingredient for a perfect grilled cheese.
More rummaging. Through the cabinets this time.
Deep in the back I found it. Hellman’s mayonnaise.
And there was still an entire month before it expired.
I fired up the burner and warmed up the seemingly brand new Le Creuset skillet. It looked like it’d never been used. Why would someone who never cooks have such nice cookware?
While I waited for the pan to warm, I walked back out to the living room.
I was snooping. I couldn’t help myself, I wanted to see more of her space.
Who she is when she’s not making color-coded documents, checking off lists, and generally being amazing at her job.
There was a small desk in the corner with a stack of notebooks, a to-do list on top.
She’s organized at home too, even where no one can see her.
I headed back to the kitchen to start cooking but stopped when I noticed another room down the hall, next to the one where Brooke was resting behind the closed door. This door was closed, too.
I knew I shouldn’t continue snooping around, especially right next to her room.
If she caught me, I’d say I was looking for the bathroom—though another door in the hall clearly led to the bathroom.
Whatever. She thought I was an idiot anyway.
I just needed another peek at something about Brooke Spencer.
The small room was a complete mess. It gave Dad’s office a run for its money.
Bins and boxes stacked along the walls. Some closed, others overflowing with papers and random items that looked like wedding decor and supplies.
It was like that episode of Friends. The one where Chandler discovers Monica’s secret messy closet in their apartment.
Not so perfect and tidy, Brooke. Even when we were younger, I remember her being so poised.
She might be a few years younger than me, but I swear she behaved a lot more maturely than I ever did.
We’d be in a room full of grownups and she acted like more of an adult than most of them.
Like a little child actor who grew up on set and attended Hollywood parties.
Sometimes her mask slipped, especially if Judy wasn’t around.
When Mom watched us while Judy and Dad were working a wedding, the mask wasn’t even there. She could be a kid.
Since I’d been back, I’d only seen a small glimpse of this Brooke.
Hadn’t noticed a single flaw. I was getting the buttoned-up, capable career woman.
Sexy as hell, but always professional and polished.
I worried this was who she was now, putting her even further out of my league than she was before.
Too good to ever settle for the caterer, the help.
Not when she was surrounded by wealthy clients with sons, brothers, friends who could give her so much more than I ever could.
But this, this mess, told me that the Brooke I remember, the one I got to see every once in a while, was still there. Somewhere underneath the polished persona and the organized life, there’s a perfectly messy version of her.
I stand outside Brooke’s door. The door she shut in my face. Feeling even more distant than where we started weeks ago. I linger at the door. I hadn’t wanted to leave. I wanted to stay and talk to her. She could read the phone book and I’d listen.
But I had to go and confess that I’d been snooping. The moment I mentioned that room, she froze and all the color that had finally returned to her cheeks completely disappeared. I don’t know what I stepped into by bringing it up, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
My Uber picks me up to grab my car from Spencer Soirees. Mom and Dad had been missing Wendell, so he spent the day with them. I hop in the Wrangler to go pick him up.
If walking into Brooke's house felt like a magazine spread, walking into my childhood home is the opposite. My parents have lived in this large ranch-style house since before I was born. It’s not messy, but it’s not tidy either.
Every inch of wall space is covered with art.
All the bookshelves filled to the brim. Each surface has something on it: picture frames, decor, piles of papers Dad will get to eventually.
It’s cluttered, colorful, and eclectic. It’s home.
When I open the door, Wendell’s in the entryway.
He regards me with a bark, turns, and walks away.
I hear Mom singing an ABBA song in the kitchen, over the noise of washing dishes.
Dad sits at the kitchen table reading something on his tablet.
He’s always been the cook and Mom’s always been the dishwasher.
Mom stops her singing. “There you are. Wendell was getting worried.”
I give her a peck on the cheek while she continues scrubbing. “You mean you were worried, Mom. I don’t think Wendell concerns himself with me at all.”
“Lynne,” Dad says, looking up from his tablet. “I can take care of the dog. Let the poor guy be.”
“Am I the poor guy?” I ask. “Or Wendell?”
“Paul, we need to focus on your health and Caleb needs a friend.”
“I have friends,” I say.
Mom takes off her dishwashing gloves and joins Dad at the table. “I know you do, sweetheart. But you’re busy and Wendell can keep you company.”
“I’m not sure he enjoys my company…and I’ll have you know I was hanging out with a friend tonight.”
Mom’s honey brown eyes light up behind her glasses.
At this point in the summer, her olive skin has developed a tan from her daily outings with the neighborhood walking club.
Yes, walking club. They even have matching t-shirts.
“Tell me.” She pats the chair next to her, signaling me to sit.
“How’s Joey doing? Dad’s been worried about him going on his own. ”
“I wasn’t with Joey, but he’s doing okay. Busy. I think he misses the Market. I was with…Brooke.”
“Oh,” Mom says, turning to Dad.
Dad puts down his tablet. “Brooke, huh? Were you working or…”
“We had a rentals meeting, but she missed it,” I say.
I tell them about her migraine attack and making her dinner.
I leave out the part about the closet and how her mood completely shifted.
They nod and ask questions like it’s any other friend and not the daughter of their industry rival.
It seems so absurd to me now that Brooke and I used to be scared our parents would find out we were friends.
“I have to tell you both something. In college and after, when I was still living here and working for you, Dad, or picking up shifts at the country club, Brooke and I were kind of friends. At least when we worked the same weddings.” My parents give each other a sidelong glance.
“I mean, I know we’d been friends before…
when you used to work with Judy. Then all of a sudden Brooke and Judy were gone.
But later, when we ended up at the same weddings, it was like nothing had changed. ”
They give each other those glances again. This time with knowing smirks plastered on their faces. “What?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Mom says with a laugh. “We knew that.”
“You did?”
“Son, you think we didn’t notice the spring in your step when it was a Spencer Soirees wedding at the club?” Dad smiles.
“Remember how he’d always spend extra time on his hair those days?” Mom asks with a laugh.
Dad laughs even more loudly. “He went through so much hair gel!”
Geez. These two.
“I can’t believe you knew…and didn’t care?
I was so worried you’d find out and be mad.
” But had I been worried? I hadn’t cared if anyone knew Brooke and I were friends.
But she did. She’d been terrified of Judy finding out, and I went along with keeping our friendship quiet because I hated the thought of her being upset.
But I was scared of Judy finding out, too.
Scared she’d find a way to keep Brooke away from me. I took care of that all by myself.
“Caleb, we don’t have any problem with Brooke. I missed her too, when…well, you know,” Mom says, glancing at Dad.
“Actually, I don’t know,” I remind them, hoping they’ll finally tell me what happened between them and Judy.
“I think it might be time to get Wendell home,” Dad says, getting up from the table. Not finding out then. Got it.