41. CALLUM
CALLUM
“She’s really sweet.”
Sweet? Who? Alia?
My ears perk up, but I say nothing, humming nonchalantly even though my heart picks up pace. I’m out on a stroll with my family before they catch a flight home and I’d let my mind wander, thinking about Alia and her decision to become a coach—and what that could mean for us.
Us. Me and her.
I would’ve continued obsessing if Mom hadn’t made a statement out of the blue.
Green eyes, much like mine, sparkle as they stare me down.
Mischief, curiosity, and excitement dance a parade across my mother’s face and I struggle to remain nonchalant.
I reach over to adjust the collar of the puffer she’s wearing and smoothen it.
There’s a chill in the air this morning, the kind that is refreshing and wakes you up.
At 6:30 a.m. on a day off, this is something I appreciate more than I can express.
“We should pick up some speed,” I tell her, pointing down the path where my dad and Rory have us beat.
“You’d rather have this conversation with witnesses?” she hums.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
My mother is not fooled. “She’s pretty,” she announces, slanting me a glance that dares me to contradict her.
“Who? I’m looking at the prettiest woman I know.
” I tack on a wink, grinning when it makes Mom blush.
She shakes her head, linking her arm with mine as we walk farther down the paved sidewalk.
The scent of wet mud and freshly cut grass hits my nostrils as we pass a length of trimmed hedges beyond which sheets of bright green cover the damp ground.
It’s early yet but, once the sun is high, this area will be filled with people lazing about, reading, playing games, and picnicking.
I may not have admitted this in the past, but I’ve missed having a partner to sit around and comfortably share a space with.
Enjoy moments like lounging on a blanket and guessing the shape of the clouds passing above us.
Feel the weight of her head on my chest and the summer wind blowing cool air over our bodies, lulling us into a cozy afternoon nap.
My brain plays games with me, creating a scene out of thin air. I see glossy black hair—the texture of silk—slipping through my fingers as I lazily tease it. Long limbs are stretched out along mine, her soft brown skin warm, the thump of her heart against my chest steady.
A yearning I’ve never experienced before twists within me, and I have to bite my tongue to return to the present. Holy shit, that felt so goddamn real for a second.
It’s impossible to ignore who the woman in that mirage is. After all, there is only one raven-haired, willowy, tawny temptress who’s monopolized my attention lately.
I spot Dad and Rory all the way down the block, right outside a street-food stall.
Dad’s probably taking this chance, while Mom is preoccupied with me, to sneak in a hot chocolate without getting scolded about his sugar intake.
Speaking of my mother, I chance a glance at her.
Unsurprisingly, she’s observing me with narrowed eyes.
Heat gathers at the back of my neck. I hope she didn’t witness me losing myself to a daydream like a fucking sap.
“You can be glib and charming all you want, Callum, but I won’t be put off.
My mom-dar has been pinging,” she warns, patting my bicep condescendingly.
Rory and I used to tease her by asking if her ‘mom radar’ had been activated any time she caught us breaking the rules.
Eventually, it turned into a family joke where mom-dar was synonymous with getting our secrets unraveled by our sweet and shockingly perceptive mother.
“Fine,” I sigh, twisting my ball cap backward. I shove my hands into my pocket while we maintain our leisurely pace. “What do you want to know?”
“How long have you been dating her?”
“We’re not dating. We’re friends. Besides, Alia’s my teammate’s little cousin.”
Mom tips her head toward me, smirking in a manner reminiscent of what I’ve seen in the mirror. “I didn’t mention her name, but good to know I’m right.”
I blink slowly, stunned. Fuck, that was a rookie mistake.
“Mom, not cool,” I whine, instantly reverting to the child I am whenever I’m around family.
She snorts, pleased with herself. “You’re just bitter you fell for an old trap. Now, tell me about this girl you like.”
“We’re friends.”
“So you said. Twice. You also happened to introduce this friend to your dad and I with the same enthusiasm you had when Sarah Wiebe agreed to be your middle school prom date.”
My lips tremble at her cheekiness, reminding me why I love her so much. Fuck, I’m not ready for my family to leave. “I regret saying I missed you.”
“Callum, I will yank on your ear if you sass me. I don’t care if you’re a grown man.”
I look down my nose at her, deliberately standing taller. “I’d be scared, but I don’t think you can reach that high.”
“Callum Henry Finnigan!” She smacks my arm indignantly, huffing in faux annoyance when I grab her in a sideways hug. Her small 5‘3″ frame is engulfed by me easily. How she managed to give birth to two massive boys is a running joke in our family.
“I was being nice, Mom. What’s with the third degree?”
“Honey, you’re always nice. That’s why everyone likes you so much. But you only let some people get close. And I saw how you’re with her. It’s. . . more than nice.”
“Mom, honestly. . .”
“That’s the thing, sweetheart.” She halts, turning to look me in the eye. “You’re not being honest. You’ve forgotten how and I don’t think you realize it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve always been such a sensitive boy, loving easily and loving hard. But, once you’re hurt, you’re keen to avoid it. And you use your incredible charm to distract everyone so they don’t realize you’re keeping an emotional distance—ever ready to cut off any attachment the moment it gets tough.”
Unease spreads beneath my skin and I rub the back of my neck in an effort to make that feeling go away. “I’m not. . .”
“Do you remember when we adopted Jack?”
“Our dog? Yeah.”
“Still miss him?”
“I do.” He was the best dog. I still have his photo in my living room.
“How old were you when we got him?” Mom asks, brushing off the moisture clinging to my jacket.
“Thirteen.”
“Ah, yes. We had three good years with him, didn’t we?”
I nod in agreement.
“I still remember the day when we went to the shelter. You took one look at Jack and decided he was ours. It didn’t matter that he was older, scared, and timid.
You fell in love immediately, showed him he could trust you, and, for those three years, you were inseparable.
When Jack passed, I thought you’d ask to go to the pet shelter again.
What did you do? You adopted a cactus instead, because you couldn’t bear the thought of loving and losing another dog. Wouldn’t even consider it.”
“What?” I choke out in shock. I’ve been collecting plants for years but, over time, I’d forgotten how that’d begun. My surprise shows because Mom tuts at me with an affectionate sort of frustration. As if she’s tired of how obtuse I’ve been.
“You still have too many plants, honey. But none of them will give you what you really need. Puppy kisses, zoomies, walks, and companionship.”
I’m still absorbing this revelation as Mom continues. “It’s the same with relationships. I know Jenna messed with your head and it isn’t easy, but, eventually, you’ll need to take a chance and open up. When you love someone, you need to let them in all the way.”
Love?
Every sound around me fades, leaving me in a vacuum with a single word that now encompasses how I’ve been feeling for weeks.
“You can keep things casual, but it won’t ever feel enough. Especially when you’re with the right one.”
My mother’s insight is the lightning that strikes the sands of time, creating the clearest swirls of glass within which my memories are captured.
From the first time I laid eyes on a woman wanting a mango mojito to our first kiss, from her shy grins to her unexpected presence in Vegas where I saw the scars she kept hidden—our moments play like a reel on a never-ending loop.
For all of Alia’s self-deprecating tendencies, it finally sinks in why I’ve found her so fascinating.
Why, even in her weakness, I saw strength.
Because she is as true to herself as she can be.
She feels, fails, and lives life the way it is meant to—striving every day to be a better version of herself.
Unlike me.
Mom’s right. I’ve been shielding my real emotions under thick layers of charm, cheer, and a laissez-faire attitude about everything except hockey.
I’ve been hiding like a coward. Afraid to feel, afraid to fall.
Of course Alia’s comment about being a work-in-progress felt like a lifeline.
I used it as an excuse to sweep every new and uncomfortable emotion under the rug and not voice the fact that I’m. . . in love.
“Honey,” Mom murmurs beside me. “Think about what I’ve said, okay? It’s time to stop chasing those—what do you call them?—puck bunnies?”
“I don’t use that term anymore.”
Not since Alia chastised me and Theo.
“Besides.” I flash my mother a patently fake grin given the apprehension swirling within me. “I don’t chase them. They chase me.”
My mother snorts, patting my cheek once. “Take my advice, son. Let this one catch you.”
I can’t avoid it even if I wanted to. How dumb of me to think not admitting my feelings would somehow stop what’s come so naturally.
Of course I love her. How could I not? I’ve fought myself on my growing attachment because of the uncertainty of Alia’s living situation. But now that she’s staying. . .
It hasn’t escaped my attention how much I want to be around her. How often my thoughts veer into dangerous territories with words like ‘future’ and ‘living together’.
I’ve been dating her, whether or not we’ve labeled it as such. Exclusivity has a way of making things feel more official than anticipated, because I’ve begun to think of her as mine. Does it frustrate me that I can’t say that out loud and claim her in front of everyone? Every. Fucking. Day.
This started off as something temporary but, with Alia staying in Monterey, maybe more is possible. Something meaningful and committed.
Sure, she’s fresh off a divorce, but her reservations around relationships and intimacy have been melting away in our time together. When I touch her now, she doesn’t have the same discomforts she once did. If anything, she seems as hungry for me as I am for her.
I’ve been lying to myself, if poorly. But Mom deducing that I like Alia tells me I’ll have a hard time hiding it for much longer.
Dating, relationship, long-term. I’ve considered all these options with Alia but never investigated why I wanted it.
Maybe I was afraid of rejection. Maybe I was trying to protect myself by living in denial.
Pointless, really, because I’ve been unsuccessful at keeping Alia from invading my thoughts, my life, and my heart.
She’s my inspiration, she’s my safe harbor, she’s plain mine.
After I drop off my family at the airport, I find myself once again waiting at the visitor parking lot outside Alia’s building, this time with her favorite bouquet.
Breath locked within my lungs, I wait until she appears in the lobby.
She pushes the front entrance open and steps out into the light, her eyes searching until they land upon me.
The brightness of the sunny tulips I hold is no match for the slow smile that blooms on her face, her quickening steps belying her impatience to reach me.
I watch unblinkingly as she hurries, unaware of everything and everyone else. I am her focus, she is mine.
Every empty nook and cranny of my being fills with a need for this woman who’s become my friend and so much more.
As our lips find each other in a kiss that quenches my parched soul, my mother’s advice to let Alia catch me rings in my ears.
Hell, I’m already caught. I only hope she’ll let me catch her in return.