28. CHLOE
28
CHLOE
Last night before going to bed, I snuck into Cal’s room. He offered to take Tucker out for me so I knew this was my moment to strike.
Opening the middle drawer of his dresser, I found his T-shirts. I flipped through the stack before selecting one closer to the bottom. He probably knows the exact order each shirt is in and will notice this one missing, but hopefully he doesn’t.
I heard the front door open and I sprinted across the hallway, closing my bathroom door as quietly as possible. When I exited with a clean face, in his shirt and long socks, Tucker was waiting for me in bed.
Waking up, I feel refreshed but still lingering on this idea that Cal is crushing on me.
It’s cute. Really.
Obviously he kissed me, which could have been for a number of reasons, but yesterday? That locked the idea in my brain.
Now. . .it’s time for a little fun.
I walk down stairs, shoulders back, head held high.
He’s standing at the counter which overlooks the rest of the space. Tucker’s paws announce our presence. Cal picks his head up and does a double take when he sees me.
Eyes roam my body. Messy bun to socks and back up. They linger on the words printed across my chest.
His jaw ticks, the dusting of blond hair draws my gaze to it. Eyes flare with an electric blue.
“That’s my shirt,” he says, a husky gravel to his tone. Such an observant, smart guy .
I shrug casually. “Is it? Found it in my laundry.” My head tilts and I stroll past him to start making my espresso shots.
“It smells like me.”
I pick up the collar and smell it. Yeah it does, not that I minded all night or now. “That’s what that weird smell is.”
“Henry.” He’s leaning against the counter watching me.
“Sullivan.” I spin to face him. “It looks terrible on me, doesn’t it? Here.” Reaching for the hem, I start pulling it up my body fully aware that I only have underwear underneath.
“It doesn’t.” Callum shuts his eyes and I don’t know if he groans or whimpers. “Keep it.”
I drop the shirt. “Okay.” Laughing to myself, Cal tracks each of my movements. I take my latte and head to the stairs. “I’m going Christmas shopping today by the way.”
***
I’m Christmas shopping for Riley when I spot walkie-talkies. Dropping one package into my cart, I quickly grab a second.
Riley is going to love these, and I can already see how it will annoy Miller. Being an aunt is fun—I get all the joys of having a kid in my life, but I get to return him and not worry about punishing him. Miller keeps telling me not to corrupt the kid, but I can’t help it. I’ll teach him how to shotgun a beer (when age appropriate) and how to stand up to bullies—if there’s anything I’m certain about, it’s that I love him senselessly and will protect that boy no matter what.
Miller too.
And Callum.
That’s who the second set of walkies are for. I can’t wait to plant one in his room and scare him. It’s going to annoy him, stir up the calm and collected British boy with beautiful blue eyes, and I’ll love it .
I had to drop off the bags of toys before I went back out to run my other errands. Not having a car has its perks and downsides. I overbought at the store for Riley and didn’t have any arm space left to run the remainder of my errands.
“How’s the apartment, freckles?” my dad asks while I’m grocery shopping. Cal hadn’t done his weekly delivery yet. I figured I could pick up a few items for dinners this week, not that I’ll be the one to cook.
My apartment. Haven’t thought about it in a few weeks.
“I don’t know,” I admit truthfully, “I haven’t checked in with my landlord.”
“Isn’t January the three-month mark?” Is it? I guess so. “Wasn’t that the earliest you could potentially go back?”
“Yeah, it is. I’ll call after we get off the phone.”
“Please do, then let me know.”
“How are you and Mom?”
“We’re good. Excited to see Miller and Riley for Christmas. Are you sure you don’t want to come home?”
“Yeah,” I choke out, biting my bottom lip.
“We’re going to miss you, freckles.”
I’m going to miss them too. I don’t tell him that, instead lock the words away in the tower I built for them in my brain.
My dad catches me up on his work. After he retired from playing baseball—imagine him having kids who wanted to live on ice instead of with a ball in their hand—he’s worked as a high school coach. He enjoys developing players' skills and their love of the game. Mom owns a flower shop, it’s why I love flowers.
Our conversation, mostly him talking, takes up the entirety of my time in the store and my walk back to the apartment. We get off the phone when I’m in front of the door, struggling to find my keys.
I rustle around my purse, cursing myself for the disorganization. The bag has at least seven interior pockets—sue a woman for keeping her entire life in the bag and then never being able to find anything.
But if you needed a lifesaver or a paperclip, I probably have it.
Living with Callum has made me a tidier person.
My bedroom isn’t a mess. My laundry doesn’t sit in the dryer for four days waiting to be folded, then in a basket clean for another four. There is food in the fridge, and I eat at least one, if not two, homemade meals a day.
Cal even bribes me to clean my bathroom. I wish it were with a kiss, but sadly, it’s usually for a latte from my favorite coffee shop.
However, I like to think of my purse as an extension of my mind.
A happy exterior but a clusterfuck of dark pockets filled with pointless thoughts on the inside.
Fishing around the pockets, I still haven’t found my keys, but I do see an old Tamagotchi that Emerson and I bought last summer.
Geez, Chloe , I curse myself.
Found them.
Shoving the key in the lock, I push my right shoulder into the door, my hand weighed down by grocery bags, barely turning the knob.
Something they don’t tell you about having a golden retriever is that you need good balance. Before I can even take five steps into the place, yellow fur and groceries invade my line of vision. My ass hits the floor.
Two petite hands catch one of the bags. Thank goodness, the one with the eggs.
My palms dig into the hardwood, pushing myself up.
“Here.” One of those hands is outstretched to me. Her chunky and low British accent draws my head up. I don’t recognize her. The female gives me a weak smile.
Confused and annoyed, I ignore the help. Standing on my own, I clean up the discarded items. I drop everything on the counter. Turning to face her, we are eye to eye, the same height .
She’s pretty. Hazel eyes. Fresh strawberry blonde hair. Perfectly straight teeth, and a slender nose just like her body.
Is this the type of girl Cal brings home? Is this why he hasn’t tried to kiss me again?
Bubbles of self-doubt simmer in me.
“Who are you?” I bark out.
She wears her heart on her sleeve, emotions displayed like her face is a jumbotron. I watch as her demeanor shifts, eyes drop defensively.
“I could ask the same.” She gives me a once-over. “Tattoos. Jeans and a black jumper. You’re Chloe .”
“What are you doing here?” I cross my arms defensively.
“Visiting Callum. Did he not. . .” She pauses, dramatic effect. “Tell you?” Her head tilts.
I run my tongue on the front of my top teeth, reigning in the envy starting to boil.
I’m jealous. . .
Of her. Of whatever she is to Cal.
Great.
After earlier this week—the kiss and him moaning my name—we had finally gotten back into a semi-normal routine. I was finally able to not constantly want my roommate at all hours of the day.
The stranger picks up on the tension in my shoulders, the mental game being played in my head—that I’m clearly losing if I’m jealous. Jealous?! I want to smack my palm to my forehead or run the back across my skin to make sure I’m not running a fever and hallucinating these emotions, but I refrain.
“Wow. You totally are crushing on him,” she says barely above a whisper.
Both of our heads jolt toward Cal, hurrying down the steps.
“Oi, Dais. I didn’t realize you’d be home so soon. This is my sister, Audrey.”
My head ricochets back to her, jaw tense. Suddenly, she's much more recognizable, except for the hair color and bangs.
“Audrey,” I parrot.
She smiles, a dimple identical to Cal’s forms on her right cheek. “Hi, Chloe.” Her petite hand reaches out to me again. “Nice to finally meet you.”
I take her hand this time.
“You had me there for a minute.” I roll my eyes. Audrey winks.
“Did I miss something?” he asks us.
In unison, we both say, “No.”
“Henry, can we talk real quick?” Cal gestures with his head.
I follow behind him to the living room. Audrey puts away the few groceries I bought.
“I didn’t know she was coming,” he informs me, reading the aftershock of confusion on my face. “She called me while you were out. She was already at the airport. I’ve tried asking her why she’s here, but she keeps giving me the same reason.”
“Aren’t you going home later this month?” He nods. “What about classes?”
“I guess she can take her exams online.” Cal had mentioned Audrey is getting her PhD in psychology.
“Okay.”
“You aren’t mad?”
“Why would I be?”
“Because this is your space, and she didn’t ask. She’s invading our routine.”
I shrug my shoulders. “She’s your sister.”
“You really aren’t upset?”
I rest my hand on his chest. His heart rate picks up before slowing as if my touch steadies him. “No, I’m not. I won’t be sharing a room or clothes with her, and if she doesn’t like dogs, I may sick Tucker on her, but I’m not.”
“Auds’ going to crash in Liam’s old room.”
“It’s going to be okay. Fun, even. I’m excited to get to know her.”
I pat his chest, moving to step around him. His hand circles my wrist, and his thumb rubs along my pulse, keeping us connected.
“Why won’t she tell me why she’s here? Do you think I did something and that’s why?” The hurt in his tone elevates.
“She did, Cal.”
“I know Audrey, there’s more to it.”
“And if that’s true, she’ll tell you when she’s ready.” I try to give him a soft smile, but he’s not accepting it. “Hey. Look at me.” Blue eyes bleed into mine. I switch our positions, my thumb pressing into his throbbing pulse. “Audrey’s okay.”
“Canyoutalktoher?” he asks quickly, the words blending.
“Audrey has been here for what? Two or three hours?” I wasn’t gone that long. “If she doesn’t tell you in a couple of days, I’ll talk to her. Deal?”
“Thank you, Daisy,” he murmurs.
***
Leaning on the counter, I watch Callum and Audrey in the living room. She’s cross-legged on the couch, pushing his shoulder. Cal is laughing at whatever she said. They’ve been at it for an hour. Conversation hasn’t idled between them, flowing like the Nile River.
They remind me of Aaron and I.
The ease of their relationship, how simple it was to be present around the other without judgment, only unconditional love and support.
I swipe away a tear that sneaks out and have to turn away to grab a paper towel because that does little to stop the other tears that slip by.
I offered to make dinner tonight. Cal immediately offered to order takeout—I think he knows there is a fifty-fifty shot that it would be inedible. I told him I could make pancakes; that’s one thing in my wheelhouse.
Cal peeks over Audrey’s shoulder, eyes reeled into mine.
He doesn’t know about Aaron. Not that anyone does. I never wanted a billboard behind me showcasing my greatest mistake.
People knowing, Cal knowing, would mean that the day wouldn’t just replay to me internally, but I’d be forced to relive it externally. Grief, dang. It has me feeling like a champagne bottle that’s been shaken up one too many times, waiting to explode.
I give Cal a thumbs up.
“I’ll be right back,” I overhear him tell Audrey.
“Get me some water?” she asks. “Please.”
I turn around, flipping pancakes on the griddle in the middle of the gas stove.
“You good?”
“Great.”
“You don’t need to pretend with me, Dais.”
“Pretending? I’m not pretending,” I scoff.
Cal takes the spatula from my hand, flipping and removing the pancakes from the heat. Then turns down the dial.
“Something is wrong. I’m not going to force you to tell me, but you don’t have to pretend everything is okay when you’re around me. I don’t want the person you are with everyone else. I want the real you. The raw you. That’s the Chloe I like. So do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
Before I have a chance to think about my words, it slips out.
“I have another brother.” Whatever gate was withholding these words is open. “We used to be close. . . like you and Audrey. Watching the two of you reminds me of my relationship with him.”
“Where is he now?”
“Nowhere close. We aren’t able to speak anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Chloe.”
I nod, scrunching my nose, lips tight. Cal swipes at my eye.
God, I hope I’m not crying .
“Eyelash.” He presents the black strand. “Make a wish.”
I blow on the pad of his thumb.
“What did you wish for?”
“It won’t come true if I tell you.”
“You hope this one comes true.”
Staring up at him, I respond, “Yeah, I do.”