7. Callie
Chapter 7
Callie
The next morning, I do not put Will’s sweatshirt back on. As appealing as the idea is, I need to set that boundary. Granted, all morning I’ve done nothing but think about putting the warm sweatshirt back on as I’m having one of those days where I hate everything I try on. My clothes feel itchy and unnatural, but I know that’s just my brain hyper fixating on the fact that while it was embarrassing getting busted by Will last night, it also felt really good to see him checking me out.
I’ve thought about it all morning and while there are many things about my brain that just piss me off, the top one is my lack of impulse control. Which has now led me to the predicament I’m in now.
“Calliope Reyer, I can’t even begin to express my disappointment in you right now. A photographer for a baseball team .” My father’s angry voice booms through the speaker and I wince.
I know I should have looked at who was calling before answering but I was off in Lalaland thinking about Will’s sweatshirt. My phone was ringing, I answered it. Threw it on speaker as I’m cooking the classic bitch-on-a-budget meal of ramen.
“Dad, please, let?—”
“And to hear about it from his family? Are you kidding me? How could you do this to us?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, not sure if it's to prevent an oncoming headache or crying. I hate the words coming out of my dad’s mouth right now. I hate that I’ve disappointed him, but the life he wants me to live will end up killing my soul in the long run.
“Dad, if you would just listen to me?—”
“No, you listen, Calliope. I let you have your little temper tantrum with your let-down of a brother. No more. You have till Wednesday to get your ass home.
Tears prickle at my eyes but I shove them down. It’s always been this way. “Calliope, do this.” “Calliope, sit still.” “Calliope, Calliope, Calliope!” I hate that name.
Before my debacle with my ex, these mean words and demands would have had me caving. Doing whatever I was told to keep the peace, but I can’t go back there. Not without some sort of olive branch at least. To show that they can see my side of things…is that so hard?
Swallowing down my emotions, I take a deep breath. “Dad, I’m not coming home.”
I can see it now. The great Harrison Reyer too stunned to speak by the actions of his children. I count to five in my head, like clockwork.
“Calliope Elizabeth Reyer, you will come home. I’m tired of you constantly disrespecting this family’s name. You and your brother both. After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you treat me? How you treat this family?”
I try to blink back the tears, but I know this time it’s pointless. I hide behind my hands as his reign of terror continues through the speaker.
“You are such a little ungrateful brat. You’re probably out whor?—”
The phone clicks off at the words I know I’m thankful I won’t hear again, but I didn’t turn it off…
Slowly looking up, Adam is looking at me in shock, my phone in his hand. I hadn’t even heard him come in. I must have left the door unlocked again.
“I promise I’ll be better at locking my door.” I sniffle, because I’m trying really hard not to break down right now.
Adam sighs as he shakes his head. “Cals.”
“I…” I don’t even know how to explain this to him. Adam hasn’t spoken to our parents since he got drafted into the minors. Dad never raised his voice at me until the day he moved out.
My big brother wraps me in a giant bear hug, and I honestly couldn’t tell you the last time I got a hug like this. A true, let-it-all-out hug.
“I didn’t do anything, Adam. I swear,” I cry.
“I know, Callie, I know.” And he does. Adam was always the victim of Dad’s verbal lashings growing up and then some. I don’t blame him for not thinking about me becoming the next target. Adam was nineteen when he left, and I had just turned twelve. I was still “Daddy’s little girl ” at that point.
“Does he talk to you like that often?” I open my mouth to answer, but he stops me. “Actually, I already know the answer. Damn it, Callie, is this why you moved in with me?”
Adam danced around this question from the moment I knocked on his door. I’m not sure if he was too afraid to ask or if the guilt of leaving me behind was too much for him.
While he cut off our parents completely, he still reached out to me. But we never talked about family. Period.
“Partly.” It’s not a lie. Every time I spoke with my parents, my breaking point grew closer. Surprisingly, they weren’t necessarily the straw that broke the camel's back.
Finally releasing his hug, Adam puts his hands on my shoulders and levels his face with mine. “Never answer his phone call again, Callie. Never speak to that man. Never talk to either of them.”
“But they’re our parents, Adam…”
“Biologically, sure. Parents who give two shits about their kids? No.” He shakes my shoulders gently as tears fall down my cheeks. “But I care about you, and I’m telling you, cut them out.”
I know he’s right. Not talking to my parents over these past few months has led to a lot less emotional turmoil. I don’t feel like shit every morning when I wake up anymore, but I’m still holding out for a moment when they might actually be willing to hear me out. Sometimes I just want to shake my father and scream, “Please, just listen for five minutes!”
“Promise me, Cals.”
I nod slowly. “I promise.”
“Good.” Releasing my shoulders, he sighs again. “I came over here to talk to you about what you were doing for Thanksgiving on Thursday. Now I know what you won’t be doing.”
“Yeah.” Wiping the tears from my cheeks I try to shake off this awful feeling of self-doubt. Before my dad’s call, I hadn’t made a final decision on if I was going home for the holidays this year. This season was always a big deal in the Reyer household. It’s a time to wine and dine the rich and politically powerful.
“What do you usually do?”
Adam shrugs before turning to the stove, clicking it off and moving my boiling pot to the side. “It was always different. Usually just ordered take out, went over to Jett’s a time or two. Do you want me to call him? I’m sure Wyla is planning something.”
As much as I would love to see her and cry with her over wine, I know I can’t. “No, this is their first holiday season as a family. I don’t want to take that away from them.”
I’d kill for a real Thanksgiving meal and with Wyla being a southerner, her comfort food is unmatched. Maybe she’d send me some recipes.
“What if we just had it here? I can try to cook. It might be the saddest sibling Thanksgiving ever, but…” I kind of lose my train of thought at that. Why does this idea sound so sad? Two kids who are no longer welcome at their parents’ house.
Adam chuckles, looking at the ramen on the cooktop. “You cooking? Can it be something other than ramen?”
I can’t help but laugh. “I promise no ramen.”
“Alright, sounds good, Cals. Sad Sibling Thanksgiving it is. Text me some stuff to bring. The easy shit, though.”
“Yeah, yeah. I won’t push you out of your comfort zone of meat and potatoes.” I kick my leg out, tapping him on the shin.
Adam shakes his head. “Sounds good. Now come on, let me take you for an actual lunch.”
“Meat and potatoes?”
“How about actual ramen?”