Chapter 19
chapter nineteen
I didn’t know why I said yes. It was a light flutter in my stomach—almost like a tickle from a soft, beautiful feather that kept getting worse and worse the longer I let the question hang in the air.
Though I was a little stupid, I wasn’t that stupid.
Logically, I knew exactly what I was getting into.
Despite knowing, I still wasn’t prepared enough. My palms had started to sweat as I waited for Callum to unlock his front door in the dark. He paused for a second, looking a little over his shoulder. “Fair warning, he might pee.”
“Pee?”
“Yeah, remember how I said he’s really excitable? I already keep a Swiffer by the door because he sometimes gets too excited when I get home. It’s even more probable when it comes to him meeting new people.”
I guess that was fair. “Okay. As long as I don’t gotta clean it up, that’s fine.”
Callum turned the key and slowly opened the door, stepping aside for me to walk in first. He came behind me right after, quickly shutting the door behind us just as the sound of claws tippy-tapping got louder and louder.
Within seconds, an adorable, short, and very stumpy dog slid across the hardwood floor to me.
I couldn’t take anything else in while he started to wiggle his entire body, occasionally jumping up and down in front of me.
“Oh, my goodness. Well, hello, little baby.” I bent over, holding my hand out for him.
I was going to pet him, but he was wiggling and going in circles too fast for me to touch him.
He was so long. His fur was short and mostly black except for the front of his chest, the tips of his paws, and the tip of his long tail.
When he looked up at me, his ears flopped backward just as his eyes widened.
I thought I’d finally be able to pet him, so I reached down to give him some scratches on his head when he suddenly bent his lower body and…
“Fishy! Come on, man.” Callum sighed and grabbed the Swiffer from the corner.
I stood back a little bit. “You weren’t kidding.”
“Unfortunately not. Come on, baby. Move over.” Callum made him move so he could clean up the mess.
The dog pretended like it’d never happened. “Wait, did you say Fishy?”
“Yep. His name is Fishbowl. Fishy for short.”
My eyebrows rose as I looked between him and the ball of excited energy that was staring up at me. “You named your dog Fishbowl?”
He squatted down and started to pet all over Fishy. “Yeah, what about it? He’s really round. He reminds me of a Fishbowl. And he flops like a fish sometimes when he wants attention, and I’m not giving him enough.”
I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh. I couldn’t stop.
It was somehow the funniest fucking thing I’d heard in an entire decade, and it was so undeniably Callum.
“Ain’t no way!” I wrapped my arms around my stomach as my muscles started to ache.
I hadn’t laughed this hard in so long, my body wasn’t sure how to deal with it.
“There is a way. Don’t make fun of him. He’s perfect as he is.”
“It isn’t Fishy I’m laughin’ at. I’m laughin’ at you naming him that.”
“That’s still him. Come on, Fishy. Let’s go sit on the couch away from the mean man making fun of you.”
I rolled my eyes just as I wiped the tears away from them.
They went to the couch in front of where I was standing, but I stood right where I was.
Callum’s house was nice. Like, a lot nicer than I ever would’ve expected.
The walls were a beautiful dark blue, and the couch and loveseat were the perfect light gray to complement them.
His house was big, too. Before we’d gone up the porch stairs, I’d spotted a fence around the back and what looked like a shed’s roof peeking out from behind it. It was the kind of house I’d always dreamed we’d have when we’d gotten older.
It was just outside the city enough to have space in between neighbors and more legroom than most city apartments or suburbs could offer. I liked it.
It almost hurt to see, though. Knowing it was what I’d imagined for us all those years ago.
I walked around the couch, pausing when I noticed the coffee table. Or, at least, I thought it was a coffee table. I ran my fingers over the wooden side, feeling the grain beneath my skin. “What’s this?”
Callum leaned forward, looking at it just as I was.
“Oh, yeah. This is my coffee table. The glass here?” He felt around the side of the front, pulling just a bit.
The glass on top started to move forward, revealing what I could already see underneath.
“It moves, and I can mess with this underneath if I want to.”
Around the edges was just wood. In the center, beneath clear glass, was an unfinished Scrabble game, frozen in time. There were only three words. Papa, where the middle a acted as a part of the word Callum, where the m acted as a part of the word mockingbird. “Where did you get this?”
“I made it.” He stood up from the couch, Fishy watching his every move as he went to one end of the table. “My initials are carved right here.”
There, in the upper-right corner, CS was scratched into the wood. I felt it, too. I wanted to touch all of it—the dip and the slight scratch from the wood grain trying to get underneath my skin. I wanted to scrape against everything tied to him, if only for a second.
If I hadn’t had our memories together in my mind, I wasn’t sure if I would still be here. I understood freezing a memory. I understood it all too well.
“I didn’t know you made stuff like this.”
Callum shrugged. “I didn’t start really getting into it until a few years ago. The shed in the back is where I do all my work.”
Fishy was lying on the cushion right beside where Callum was sitting, so I took a seat right next to him.
He was a lot calmer now—just his tail gently moving back and forth as he stared at me again.
I gave in to his not-so-puppy eyes and ran my hand up and down his head and back.
“Have you done other things in the house?”
“Yeah, I’ve made most of the wood in here. It’s relaxing to me and ends up being cheaper than buying wooden furniture. Now that I have everything I need to do it, anyway.”
“What are you workin’ on now?”
“Rocking chairs. One for me, one for Papa. I should be done with them before New Year.”
I almost couldn’t imagine him with a hobby like that, but it fit. “Can I see?”
He pursed his lips a little and squinted. “It’s a bit of a mess in there. But yeah, I can show it to you. Fishy, do you want to go outside?”
Fishy absolutely wanted to go outside, immediately jumping off the couch and disappearing somewhere I couldn’t see. I blindly followed Callum to what looked like a dining room with a large sliding glass door. The moment he opened it, Fishy booked it out and into the backyard.
Callum flicked a light switch, turning the outside light on.
His backyard was also pretty big—the shed barely took up any space.
It wasn’t a huge shed by any means, but even though it was loaded up with wood, tools, and at least a dozen cans of wood stain, it didn’t seem too cramped.
There was a tall construction lamp sitting in the corner, acting as our light as Callum brought me over to the chairs.
“This one is Papa’s. It’s all finished. Mine is almost there.”
They looked like they were made of dark oak, a gorgeous, deep, rich color. “Can I touch it?”
“Yeah, Papa’s is dry, so you can sit in it too if you want.”
I reached out, sliding my hand along the armrest. It felt smooth and looked even smoother. He’d obviously put a lot of work into it. The shitty, cheap vodka I’d drunk earlier had worn off, and I could really feel it. Truly appreciate it.
Was this what love in wooden form felt like? Warm despite the snow on the ground outside, and comfortable? I couldn’t help but wonder. If we’d stayed together, would he have made me something, too? I’d like to think he would’ve.
Gently, I rested my hands on the armrests as I lowered myself into the chair.
It was sturdy, holding my weight perfectly.
When I moved backward, letting it rock, I almost understood what it felt like to be weightless—as light as a feather.
I let the love built into the chair take all the pain and heaviness away, though it’d only be for a second.
I was envious of it. Envious of a fucking chair that got to feel the hands of a man I’d never stopped loving but had left completely behind.
I’d left him like I’d never loved him in the first place.
“Is it good?” Callum leaned against the table behind him, a soft smile on his lips.
He looked blurry. Too blurry. I couldn’t see his smile clearly, and I needed to. I needed to see his smile, if only to keep it preserved in my mind for the rest of my life, just in case. Just in case it was the last one I saw from him.
“Tobi?” His feet shuffled along the ground as he stepped closer to me. “You okay?”
How had I gone from being in his arms to crying over a chair because it held more memories than I got? Each ring held a piece of his DNA. A piece of his very soul itself. I wanted that. I craved that. I just couldn’t have it.
I’d ruin him if he got too close.
But I was selfish.
Selfish enough to drink even when I knew it was ruining me and the people who cared. Selfish enough to leave instead of facing my problems head-on. Selfish enough to reach out to him, even though I knew I’d do nothing but throw him into the same cycle I’d been begging to get out of my entire life.
I was stone-cold fucking sober, and I could feel it all so loudly. So deeply. It hurt. It burned. It stabbed. But it made me feel like a feather.
Light. Innocent. Pure. Pieces of me were blowing in the wind, carrying themselves over to him, and I knew without a doubt that he’d reach out and take them. When he took them, he’d cradle them. He’d keep them safe. Callum would keep me safe.
The only question was whether I was willing to keep myself safe.
I was selfish—selfish and aware enough to know I still wasn’t fucking ready to let go.
To start over. I needed more time. I didn’t know how long, I didn’t know how hard it’d be, and I had no idea if Callum would be willing to wait for me.
I needed to think.
Wiping my tears away, I stood up from the chair. “I need to go.”
Callum looked at me, his eyebrows pinched together in obvious confusion. “What’s wrong?”
“I just need to go.” I went to turn, but his voice stopped me.
“Wait, let me take you back to Driftwood.”
I shook my head. “I have the keys. I know the way. I’ll walk.”
“It’s a far walk, Tobi.”
“I’ve walked further.”
It hurt. Leaving hurt. But if I still loved him, I had to choose. Alcohol and death, or Callum and life. I needed to know if I was strong enough. If I was willing enough. I had to be certain because once I decided, I wouldn’t be able to go back. I wouldn’t be able to run anymore.
For now, I walked away. Hopefully soon, I’d be walking right back, and Callum wouldn’t be looking so fucking distraught.