15. Dear Calum
CHAPTER 15
Dear Calum
Dear Calum Dissick,
I’m writing this email to prove to Amelia that you are an arsehole. A bloody wanker. I hated you yesterday, I hate you today and I will hate you tomorrow. I’ll hate you everyday. For the love of God, stop writing those letters. I don’t want to talk to you.
Please find attached to this email pictures of your son. Unfortunately, we have a kid together. His name is Mace. Amelia named him. I would prefer if you didn’t show up but for the sake of everyone asking that I let you know about your son, I’m doing this. They don’t know you like I do and I know you won’t reply to this email. It’s over for us, isn’t it? You moved on, sold out stadiums, got popular, got a girlfriend. You’re living your best life and you’re doing that without me. Why should I let you into my life now?
We made so many plans and promises. Cal. How could you do that to me, your baby?
Tears drop to my laptop’s keyboard. I delete the last paragraph. I’m over him. I open a folder, skimming through the pictures for Mace’s best ones. Mr Dissick is an absolute idiot, but yes, he deserves to know about his boy. Is it better to reply to him via a post on GC? But people will see pictures of Mace, and I can’t have that.
What if he receives the email and decides to take my baby from me? Then I’ll fight. I’ll fight for Mace. I attach only two pictures. He can see more of Mace when he replies. I read through the email and add my name at the end, but I don’t hit send. I can’t do it. I don’t want to do it. I look towards Amelia’s room and frown.
How can she still be upset? Dropping my laptop on the coffee table, I stalk to the front of her room and knock twice.
“Amelia Greene. I’m sorry.” How long will this last? I’m tired. “Let’s just talk.”
No reply. I storm to the living room and sink into the couch. The green flower-patterned wallpaper stares back at me. I run my fingers over the cotton fabric of the couch, and a deep sigh wells in my throat. Fine. I’ll call Mr Dissick. I chickened out yesterday. I grab the phone beside my laptop and type in the international calling code first before punching in the numbers I have memorised. My finger hovers over the call button. Do I really want to do this?
I call him before I change my mind. The phone rings uninterruptedly, and the call ends. At least I tried. One look at Amelia’s door has me picking up the phone again to try for the last time.
Same thing. No response. I toss the phone to the couch and cross my forearms over my eyes. Maybe I shouldn’t have called off work today. But like Amelia said, we have little to do now. We have competent people in charge, and as long as we check up with them regularly, we are fine. I can travel the world, meet a new man, or make new friends. I grab my phone. Amelia wants us to go to New York. Fine. It’s a big city, and Mr Dissick is a celebrity. The chances of meeting him are low. My phone vibrates in my palm, and my chest constricts. It’s him.
He’s calling back. I pick up, but my greetings falter in my chest.
“Hello?” he says.
His voice has not changed.
“Hello? Hello? Who is this? Hello?”
Mr Dissick sounds exasperated. I want to speak, but I can’t make a sound past the lump in my throat. Tears stream silently down my cheeks. I pound my fist on my chest. Say something, Cathie.
“Maybe it’s a prank call,” someone mutters in his background. “Or a desperate fan.”
As if. If anyone is a fan, it’s Mr Dissick.
“Maybe. Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?” he says. “I don’t have time for this BS.”
And the call ends. I glare at my phone. Well, I did my best.
A knock sounds on the front door. I wipe the tearstains on my cheeks and hurry to it. Jason’s hand is raised for another knock when I open. Guilt floods my body. We stare at each other as awkwardness settles over us. He shifts his hands into his pockets. No guitar with him today.
Jason is the first person to break the silence. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Does he know?
“I’m here for Amelia,” he says. His eyes lack the warmth they usually hold. She didn’t tell him what I said, did she? I didn’t mean that about him knocking her up and running off. He seems a better man than Mr Dissick. And Mace likes him. Me too. “I would have called her, but my phone died on the way here. I was hoping she would be the one to open the door.”
I fake a laugh. “Oops. She’s in her room.”
Jason doesn’t laugh. Is he mad at me by extension of what I said to Amelia?
Why is he acting like I don’t want him here?
“All right.” He places a foot on the stair below. “I guess I’ll have to check in later.”
“What? No. Come in. Amelia is in,” I say all at once. I push the door wide open, backing into the house so he doesn’t leave. I may have yanked him inside if I could. “Please come in.”
He steps back, and my heart dips so low. If he stops talking to me, I’ll lose my mind. “I didn’t mean what I said about you knocking her up, all right? I was upset, and she wouldn’t stop.”
Jason chuckles. “What?”
“What?” I reply.
“Knocking her up? Stop what?” he asks.
My hand goes up to swat the pieces of hair falling out of the bun. I sniff. “She didn’t tell you?”
“That you had a fight? She did,” he says. His facial expression doesn’t change, and neither does he accept my invitation to come in. “And I should avoid you until you calm down? Yes.”
“I’m calm now,” I murmur.
Jason eyes me from top to bottom. His disbelief shows in the form of brows drawn tight over squinted blue eyes. But to my pleasant surprise, he enters the house and turns to me.
“What was the fight all about, anyway?”
“Nothing,” I say too fast. “Amelia is in her room. Go. Go see her. Go talk to her.”
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Cathie,” Jason says. Oh. I guess he has made up his mind. “If my presence will lead to another fight with your best friend, I’d rather leave.”
Another round of awkward staring begins. I scratch the back of my head, willing my mouth to open and offer an explanation. But I settle for a whispered, “What do you mean by that?”
Jason stands taller. His blue eyes cut through me in silent judgment, and I look elsewhere.
“If you think I’ll just knock Amelia up and leave, I can’t help wondering what other despicable thoughts you have of me. Or if you even trust me to be around you or your son.”
“So she told you?”
Jason shrugs. “Amelia mentioned it in passing, and your statement confirmed it. I don’t know what you said or did to Amelia, but you really hurt her feelings,” he whispers. “I’m not here to waste either of your time, especially hers. I’m here because I care about her, and Mace is cute.”
My lips curve in a half-smile. I fold my arms under my boobs. “So, you couldn’t care less about me if those two weren’t here?”
“You are not an easy woman to appease.”
“But we sang together,” I protest.
Jason walks backward until he’s leaning against a couch. I follow him, not ready for this conversation to end. “It doesn’t mean you trust me or are comfortable with your friend’s choice. You think I’m going to be another Papa Mace, so you don’t care to know me.”
Maybe. Maybe not. It’s not man-phobia.
“What’s my last name?” I ask.
His blues lack the excitement I’ve come to associate with him, but he manages a tiny smile.
“Jenkins. Your friends christened you Valentina because you were born on Valentine’s day. But no one calls you that anymore.” Guilt twists a knife in my chest. He pushes away from the couch and points at Amelia’s door. “Amelia talks about you all the time. She is worried.”
“Did she tell you about Papa Mace?”
Jason shakes his head. “And she didn’t tell me why you fought. I only got that much out of her before she shut down. Whatever it was, it made her sad. Very, very sad. Is she awake?”
“Don’t know. She won’t talk to me,” I tell him. He stays quiet, and my remorse builds. I push my foot around. Maybe I let my past with Mr Dissick affect future and present relationships with other males. Amelia might be right, but it’s not a man-phobia. “What’s your last name?”
“King.”
“Cool,” I say, for lack of words. Friendship with men is something I must learn over again. It’s a new, strange territory. “I only have a first and last name. Amelia too. Even Mace.”
“What’s Mace’s last name?” he asks.
My shoulders hike up in a shrug. “I would rather not say.”
Squatting by the table, I close my laptop. His gaze bores into me. Each time I look, he turns away. His shadow falls over me as he settles onto the armrest of a couch. That stare follows.
“Just say it,” I whisper-yell.
Jason’s index finger drums against his lips for a minute. “Is it just me, or Mace looks like a younger version of Calum Dissick? The hair, the eyes, the nose. He’s a carbon copy of him.”
“It’s just you, Mr King.”
Our eyes meet, and Jason nods. “Augustus.”
“What?”
“My middle name. Jason Augustus King,” he explains. Maybe Papa Mace will give Mace a middle name. “No one calls me that, anyway, so you’re fine with Jason.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. Who knew making small talk could be this hard? Sinking to my knees, I spread my fingers over the table. Spreadsheets from GC and BC litter the table. “Nice name.”
We sit in silence for another few minutes. I clear my throat. “What do you do, Jason?”
“I’m a mechanic. I fix cars.” On instinct, my eyes drift to Jason’s jeans. He laughs. “These are not my work clothes, Cathie. And my boots are clean. They won’t mess up your floors.”
Laughter sneaks up on me, and the weight of it pushes my head forward. I laugh until my ribs ache. I miss Amelia. My phone beeps, and the screen lights up. He has been here for a while.
On his feet, he says, “Oh. I also sing at the local pub on some evenings, mostly on the weekend.”
“Can I come?”
“Sure. Everyone is welcomed,” Jason says. He pats his pockets for something and groans. “My phone is dead. I wanted to show you what the setting is like. I have a gig this Friday.”
The same day Amelia leaves for Wells Spring.
“Cool. I might stop by if I find someone to babysit Mace.”
“All right.” He nods at Amelia’s room. “I’ll go check on her.”
“Please tell her I love her, and I’m sorry,” I say. Tears sting my eyes, but they don’t fall. We haven’t spoken in ten days. “And thank you for being nice to all of us. You are not like him.”
Jason offers me a smile. Once he turns, the tears drop to my cheeks. My knees rock against the rug. I’ll go to the pub to support Jason, and maybe Amelia will be a little less mad at me.