59. CHLOE
59
CHLOE
At the airport, I changed my destination to Boston. Taking a few additional days of PTO, my dad awaited me in the private terminal with my favorite hug. Cal staying to confront his problems inspired me to do the same.
“Oh, it’s good to see you, freckles.” He kissed the top of my head, enveloping me in his sharp musk and cedarwood smell.
I tried to call Cal, but he didn’t answer. Time difference aside, I’m doing my best to respect his wishes. We’ve texted sporadically this week.
I’m going to see Aaron today.
The grass is damp with morning dew, a light fog making the cemetery more eerie than welcoming. Laying a flannel blanket out, I button my jean jacket as I sit down.
Fighting away my tears is pointless. I relinquish years of pent up emotions.
“Hey, big brother,” I start talking. Well, trying. I start and stop several times. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by to see you. . . ever, not that you know that. Or maybe you do. I’m not sure what the afterlife is like. I miss you. A lot. So freaking much. Coming here felt too permanent. I keep hoping to wake up from this nightmare.” I fumble over my next apology. “I’m sorry I let you down. I’m sorry I wasn’t responsible enough and this happened. Callum says it isn’t my fault, but I don’t know how to relinquish that part of me. Can you forgive me?”
A warm breeze sweeps across my shoulders.
I cry-laugh, “I take that as a yes. ”
There’s another breeze and the grass crunches behind me.
“Mind if I join?” Miller asks.
I pat the spot beside me on the blanket.
“Hey, dude. Riley asked about you this month.” My head jerks to Miller, mouth hanging open. In my selfish version of grief, I never thought about what it would look like for Miller to tell Riley about Aaron. “He saw a picture of you in my bedroom. A bigger version of you, Dad. The little guy is determined that you’d be better at hockey than me; he’s probably right.” Miller must come here often based on how easily he’s talking. “Asked when he can meet you.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him the truth, Chlo. He’s six, doesn’t understand fully. Thinks that Aaron is a badass guardian angel, though.” We both laugh at that.
“How do you do it? Come here.”
“I didn’t at first, but I missed talking to him. Before I moved, I came out here weekly and just caught him up on life. He’s a great listener,” Miller jokes lightly. “Now, I’ll come when we play in Boston, but I keep a journal and write to him.”
“And it helps?”
He nods. “I wanted to talk to you about it, but you ran. You vanished after graduation, and I thought you were fine.”
“I wasn’t fine. . .” my voice breaks. “I thought it was my fault.”
“Your fault? Chloe, it was a drunk driver.”
Sitting beside each other, focused on Aaron’s headstone, I spill everything to Miller. Words and years of grief pour out of me. “I’ve blamed myself for nine years that Aaron died. I ran because I didn’t want to lose you too.”
“Chloe, you wouldn’t.”
“You say that now. Are you mad at me?”
“Not because of the accident, I don’t blame you.” My twin grabs my hand, squeezing it. “I’m mad because you chose to go through this alone. Just because our grief took different shapes doesn’t mean we weren’t dealing with grief. I needed and wanted my twin.”
“I did too. . .”
“Then don’t run away again. Stop forcing goodbyes because you believe you deserve them.”
“I’m done doing that. Love you, Mills.”
“Love you too, sis. Now tell Aaron about Cal. You know he’d want to know about who his sister is in love with.”
***
*attached photo*
Tucker took your side of the bed
I forgot how bad at cooking I am.
Almost burned the place down.
I’m kidding.
I miss you, Pretty Boy.
I love you.
All of my texts and calls go unanswered. I even resorted to sending him ridiculous memes in his DMs, practically pleading for a scrap of response.
The decline in response worried me that he changed his mind.
Emerson flew out early for my birthday. She was supposed to come next weekend for our annual best friend’s sleepover extravaganza.
Her being here didn’t change anything. Physically, sure, someone was here. Emotionally, I was drowning in his ocean eyes, which haunted mine every time I closed them.
I’m worried about him. I hadn’t been till the last day when he didn’t respond.
Emerson dragged me out of bed this morning—we’ve been sharing the one in my old room—for a walk. We walked along the river with Tucker, stopping for coffee and a new bouquet of daisies.
As soon as we returned, I threw them in the trash, staring at the vase of dying ones—the last ones he bought for me. We’ve been curled up on the couch since we got back.
“I don’t want there to be an after him,” I tell my best friend as she sifts through my hair. Emerson alternates between twirling a strand and rubbing gentle circles on my scalp.
“There’s not going to be,” she tries to reassure me.
“How can you be sure? I can’t shake the sense that something’s changed.”
“Chloe. It hasn’t.”
I cry. I feel his absence everywhere.
I’ve had a lot of goodbyes in my life.
But Callum Jasper Sullivan. . .
He’s one I never thought I’d have to say those words about.
“There can’t be an after him.” It comes out between sobs.
“There won’t be.”
That voice.
His voice.
I shoot up, looking around our place for him. He’s standing in the doorway, a backward hat and an icey blue gaze fixated on me.
“Hi, Dais.”
“Hi, Pretty boy. ”
I’m out of Emerson’s arms quicker than the Flash. Sprinting across the apartment that suddenly is way too big and into his open arms. He tugs me to him, and it feels like home. Everything about Callum is home.
“There will never be an after us.” He kisses the top of my head before drawing my chin upwards. Cal wipes away my tears and all the fears that I have. He kisses my forehead, then my lips. “Please don’t be cross at me. I needed a few extra days. And you know me, I worked, but my phone broke on a run.”
That untangles a small laugh from me.
I should never have doubted Cal. He’s never given me a reason to.
“I told you I was staying.” He kisses my temple again.
I’m koala carried back to the living room. Cal sits down on the couch, my body still curled into his.
“That’s my cue. I’m out.” Emerson stands. “It wasn’t too long ago that someone special in my life told me that you don’t have to let what hurt you become you . It took a few years to understand what they meant, but I got it. We’re alike, you know? The kids growing up feeling like they’ll never be enough. Never amount to anything that would make someone proud,” she says to Cal. “Or for someone to love. But how lucky are we to have found those people who never once questioned their love for us? People who have chosen and love us for exactly who we are and expect nothing less.”
“Thanks, States.”
“I love you both. See you in a few days, Chloe. Our sleepover isn’t changing.” I nod as she closes the door behind her.
Cal taps my shoulder and I shift, pulling away enough to see him. He kisses me before leaning back.
“I’m happy you’re home.”
“Me too.”
“Did you talk to your dad? ”
“Her name was Holland and she’s beautiful.” Cal tells me everything. The affair Tripp had and the photos he gave him.
It was the most he’s ever talked. I listened, letting him share, watching him let me in. Every closed door to his heart is open. Wide open. And I couldn’t love this Cal any less.
The messy. The broken. The imperfect. The lonely.
If anything I love him more because he’s this way.
We’re human, we weren’t designed to be perfect. We are flawed, we make mistakes. We see red flags and still date them. We blame ourselves for things completely out of our control. We fall to society norms and pressure because if we don’t we are cast aside.
Cal isn’t immune to being human and I hope he sees that now. That no matter what, I see him and love him.
“Did you talk to Sienna after you saw your dad?”
“We did. She apologized and meant it. Sure, I need to see actions and words going forward, but I’m choosing to believe her. I’m choosing to let it all go. I can’t keep performing, I’m exhausted. It’s not up to me to make her love me. I can’t make anyone love me—you can’t force it.”
“I’m proud of you, Pretty Boy.”
“Me too.”
“Show me the photos? Tell me about your birth m—” I stop.
“You can call her my mom. She was—is.” Carrying me to his bag to pull them out. Cal won’t let go of me and I’m not letting go either.
***
We made pancakes. Cal finally admitted he didn’t like bananas and was eating them because they were my favorite.
For someone who sought out love, wanted it displayed in a trophy shelf, he knows how to love silently. He’s loved me in so many small ways it overwhelms me.
“I missed you.” Wiping a chocolate coated finger along his nose, I catch him up on the past two weeks. “But I behaved. Didn’t watch a single episode without you.”
Cal scratches the back of his neck.
“What?”
“I may have watched three seasons without you.” I glower at him. “You said you didn’t like those seasons,” he says around another bite of food.
“We are never watching a show together again.” I point my fork at him before pushing my empty plate aside. I climb into his lap. “Oh, I think I’m going to quit my job.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I had the realization when I was visiting Aaron that life is too short to not be doing what makes me happy. I don’t care to be twenty-nine and starting over. I’m already going to need a new permanent place to stay, why not find a new job too.”
“Chloe, you are confusing me.”
“My apartment is fixed.” Cal’s eyes flare. Shit, wrong thing to say and wrong timing. “Oh, no. I, uh, I got out of my lease. Jonathan let me out of it. So, I need to stay a little longer if you want a roomie.”
“I wouldn’t let you leave if you tried.”
“Possessive.”
“Only of what’s mine.” He tickles my sides, and I giggle.
Floating on this lighter, freer side of me. The darker, rougher version of me is still there, but she’s morphed with the old me. Finding my sparkle and using it to ignite this new version of me.
“Yours.”
“ I haven’t lost my virginity because I don’t lose, ” Cal reads. He starts kissing down my body, pulling up my shirt that has him laughing.
“These are mine.” He kisses across my braless chest. “And this.” His lips are warm against my skin, his color and warmth back. “Ready to become a loser, Henry? ”
Cal changes our position, pushing me into the couch as he rolls my spandex shorts down, underwear with it. He doesn’t await a response before he’s making paintings with his tongue.
“If you keep doing that,” I moan, back arching off the couch. “I’d be considered a winner.”