Chapter 20 Now
Twenty
Now
Callie shut the front door with a sharper click than she intended.
Her mum poked her head out of the kitchen. ‘You’re late. We kept your dinner warm.’
‘Thanks,’ Callie said, dropping her bag by the stairs.
‘How did it go today?’ her mum asked.
‘Sam couldn’t come because he painted himself the wrong colour,’ Callie explained, tired.
‘I don’t know what that means, but come and eat. We’ve had ours.’ She ducked back into the kitchen. And then thought better of it, popping out again and looking her daughter up and down. ‘You look knackered.’
Callie didn’t feel knackered. She felt… brittle. Like one good shove and she’d break on the floor.
She stepped into the kitchen. Brian was at the table with the paper. Hannah was on her phone. Were they waiting for her?
‘You’re back,’ Hannah announced without looking up.
‘Yup,’ Callie replied, sitting down. ‘Is it popping off in the group chat?’
Hannah looked at her as though she were Methuselah. ‘What are you on about?’ She went back to her phone.
Callie’s mum slid a reheated plate in front of her.
‘So,’ her mum said, sitting down. ‘You’re filming again tomorrow?’
‘Apparently,’ Callie muttered around a mouthful of lasagna. ‘They want to pick up everything we missed once Sam’s colour corrected.’
‘Is that bad?’ Brian asked.
‘It’s… inconvenient,’ she said.
Though it was a hell of a lot more than that. Why had she said that thing about being good with her hands? Was she losing her marbles? She hadn’t been trying to flirt. It had just come out wrong.
Right?
‘How’s Mae?’ her mother asked.
Callie stabbed a piece of pasta harder than necessary. ‘She’s fine.’
‘Fine?’ her mum repeated, far too carefully.
‘Busy,’ Callie clarified. ‘She’s got a bakery to run and a film crew in her way. Anyone would be short with that many people breathing down their neck.’
Brian looked over the top of his paper. ‘Short with you?’
‘With everyone,’ Callie lied.
Hannah glanced up from her phone. ‘Did she shout at you?’
‘No,’ Callie said. ‘She didn’t shout.’
‘Did she cry?’ Hannah asked.
‘Why would she cry?’ Callie asked, disturbed.
‘Did you?’ Hannah pressed.
‘Hannah,’ her mother warned.
Jesus, how much did this kid know? What had her mother said? What the hell did she even know about it?
Brian made a sympathetic noise. ‘Old friends, new situations. That’s always awkward.’
Callie didn’t reply. She poked her lasagne, appetite fading. Awkward didn’t begin to cover it.
Her mum reached across and squeezed her hand.
‘It’ll come out all right,’ she offered gently.
Callie looked down at her mother’s hand on hers. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, genuinely confused.
Her mother’s grip tightened. ‘Comforting you.’
Callie narrowed her eyes. ‘Okaaaay,’ she said, baffled.
Hannah swung her legs under the table and caught Callie in the shin. ‘When Sam comes tomorrow, can I watch the filming?’
‘No,’ all three adults said in unison.
Hannah looked personally betrayed. ‘But I want to see the famous person.’
‘Sam’s not proper famous,’ Callie’s mother said. ‘He and Callie are reality famous.’
‘Thanks,’ Callie said flatly.
‘She means you’re boring,’ Brian helpfully added.
‘Good save,’ Callie said.
‘No, I meant that as a good thing. No one’s famous at home, are they?’ Brian said.
‘Read your paper,’ his wife said.
Brian did as he was told.
Callie put a fork in her food as her thoughts strayed to what would come tomorrow. It was back to the bakery, and Mae standing with her shoulders drawn tight as if bracing against a hard wind.
Callie could only hope she hadn’t put her foot in it again. With Mae, though, the odds weren’t great. Their history was so thick and stodgy it could have been sliced and sold at Morgan’s bakery. Though no one would buy it twice.
Back Then
Callie didn’t breathe at first.
Mae’s words were still hanging in the air between them, elephantine. I love you.
Callie’s mind went blank. Then flooded. Then blank again.
She stared at Mae, who was frozen in a miserable knot, arms wrapped round herself as though bracing for impact.
Love. Mae Morgan loved her.
And suddenly everything made sense. All the strange behaviour, the off moods, the avoidance, the date with that boy, the pastry theatrics. It was a simple puzzle Callie had been too thick to put together.
She should probably say something soon. The silence had gone on too long. ‘Oh,’ she’d said stupidly. That was all she could manage.
Mae didn’t speak. Callie wished she could see her eyes. But she couldn’t. She was shielding them behind her hands, like she was counting down from a hundred for a game of hide and seek. Only Mae was the one hiding.
Callie tried again. ‘Mae,’ she murmured.
Mae’s voice was muffled. ‘I know, all right? I know it’s stupid. Forget I said anything.’
Forget it? Callie could barely remember her own name. Mae loved her. Mae, who never admitted she even liked anyone.
‘Mae,’ Callie said again. ‘Will you look at me?’
No movement. Callie swallowed, shifting closer. Their knees brushed. Mae flinched.
‘It’s not stupid,’ Callie said softly.
‘It is. And you hate me now,’ she said, still hiding.
Callie was horrified. ‘I don’t.’
‘You will,’ Mae muttered, folding in even tighter. ‘Just give it a minute.’
But Callie was too busy being terrified to be angry or anything like it. Because Mae mattered to her more than anyone in her stupid, small world.
Callie reached out, hesitated, then gently touched Mae’s wrist.
Mae jerked like she’d been struck. ‘Don’t—’
‘I’m not being sympathetic,’ Callie assured her. She knew Mae well enough to know she wouldn’t put up with that.
Mae peeked out from her fingers. ‘What?’
‘I don’t pity you. There’s no pity here.’
‘Then what are you doing?’
She eased Mae’s hand down from her face. Mae resisted for a second, then let them fall.
Callie stared at Mae. Her blotchy cheeks, her trembling lip, her wild, exhausted expression.
Beautiful.
The word shocked her. But there it was.
‘Mae,’ she said, ‘it’s okay. It’s so okay.’
Mae looked away quickly. ‘Please stop. You don’t have to be nice about it.’
‘I’m not being nice,’ Callie said. ‘I’m being honest.’
Mae squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Just say it. Just get it over with. You don’t feel that way. You never could. I know.’
Callie stared at her for a long, quiet moment. A whole lifetime inside a minute.
Then she said very softly, ‘How do you know?’
Mae’s breath caught. ‘Because you like Emma.’
‘I thought I did,’ Callie said truthfully. ‘Until tonight.’
Mae blinked, truly confused. ‘What happened tonight?’
Callie’s pulse jumped. Her palms felt warm. She couldn’t think straight. She only knew one thing with absolute clarity: If she walked away from this moment, she would regret it for the rest of her life.
‘I realised something,’ Callie murmured.
‘What?’ Mae whispered.
‘I realised that if this was over, you and me? Nothing else really mattered.’
Mae swallowed.
Callie lifted a hand and, trembling, brushed a strand of hair from Mae’s cheek.
‘And I realised,’ she said, barely audible, ‘that I don’t want to lose you. Not for Emma. Not for anyone.’
Mae’s eyes shone. ‘Callie… don’t.’
Callie leaned in, painfully slowly. Giving Mae the chance to stop her, run, shout, do anything.
Mae did nothing.
Callie closed the last inch between them and kissed Mae. A soft, terrified, careful kiss.
When she pulled back only a fraction, Mae was staring at her like she’d rewritten reality. Which, Callie supposed, she had.