34. Calliope #2
My eyes sting so fast I don’t have time to hide it. I blink once, then again, but it makes the room blur around the edges. Garrett notices. Of course he notices. His brow draws together, and the concern on his face looks so believable that I feel ungrateful for being hurt by it.
“Calliope?” he asks.
“I’m fine.” My voice cracks on the lie.
Sloane is already moving. He crosses the kitchen in two strides and gets between me and the island without looking at Garrett first. One hand goes to my waist, the other to the back of my neck, and his mouth presses into my hair hard enough that my knees soften.
“Baby,” he says, and his voice is wrong in the way it gets when he’s trying not to scare me with how scared he is. “Look at me.”
I do, because Sloane asking is different from anyone else arranging. His eyes move over my face, then toward Garrett, then back to me. Idris appears on my other side a second later, quiet and close, his gaze dropping to the basket in Garrett’s hands before he touches my wrist.
“What happened?” Idris asks.
“Nothing.” I try to laugh, but it comes out thin and wet. “That’s the problem. It was nothing bad.”
Garrett sets the basket down slowly. “I was reassuring her.”
“I know,” I say too quickly, turning toward him before Sloane’s arm can tighten. “I know you were. I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”
“You don’t need to apologize for being nervous,” Garrett says, still soft, still careful, and somehow that makes the tears harder to hold.
Idris watches my face, not Garrett’s. “Calliope,” he says, and there’s enough command in my name to steady me without taking me over. “Come with us for a minute.”
I almost say I don’t have time. I almost say the eggs are getting cold, Theo is watching, the interview clothes are upstairs, the house needs to stay calm. Sloane’s hand rubs once over the back of my neck, and the excuses scatter before they can become useful.
They take me into the short hall between the kitchen and the mudroom, close enough that Theo can still see us if he needs to, far enough that Garrett isn’t standing beside my shoulder.
Sloane keeps me against his chest, one arm locked around my waist, while Idris stands in front of me with my wrist in his hand.
I’m held on both sides, and the tears finally spill because my body trusts the shape before my mind can organize the reason.
“I really don’t know what’s wrong,” I say, and the confession comes out ragged. “Everything is fine. It’s great, even. Theo’s being cared for, and the house is ready, and Garrett’s trying to be kind.”
Sloane’s mouth presses to my temple. “But?”
I close my eyes. “It feels like he’s pulling away from me. Or pulling me away from everyone else. I don’t know how to say it without sounding dramatic. He keeps saying things that should make me feel better, and they make me feel smaller instead.”
Idris’s thumb moves over the inside of my wrist. “Baby, we’ve all seen it.”
The words hit harder than I expect. My eyes open, and I look at him because if he says it, if Idris says it in that steady voice, then it isn’t only my fear twisting kind sentences into threats.
“No,” I whisper. “Please don’t make this real right now.”
“It’s already real,” Sloane says, rough against my hair. “I’ve been feeling it too. The way he talks around you. The way Theo locks after Garrett gets him alone. The way every reasonable sentence somehow puts you one step farther from the room.”
My chest tightens so hard I have to breathe through my mouth. “Sloane, please. I have the interview. Theo’s close to his heat. We can’t do this today.”
“We’re not doing a fight today.” Idris steps closer, and his free hand comes up beneath my jaw, tilting my face until I have to meet him. “But we can’t keep pretending everything’s fine.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, and my voice sounds younger than I want it to.
“It means you’re going to go be brilliant at your interview,” Idris says.
“You’re going to text me when you arrive, and you’re going to eat the food I put in your bag.
When the house is settled and you’re on your way back, Sloane and I are going to talk to Garrett.
Calmly. Clearly. Then you’ll come home, and we’ll figure out the next piece together. ”
“Together,” Sloane says into my hair. His arm tightens, and the bond bite in my shoulder warms under the pressure of him. “No more letting him make you feel like you’re outside the room.”
I nod because I want to believe them. I want that more than I want the job, more than I want the clean, bright future waiting over an hour away with my name printed in professional font on a folder.
I want to go, be impressive, come home, and find that the people who love me have started naming the thing I’ve been swallowing.
Idris kisses me first. He holds my face in both hands and kisses me like the hallway, the house, the heat, and the interview can all wait for one breath. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, and his voice is low enough that the words feel private even with Sloane wrapped around me.
“Bring every version home,” he says again.
“I will.”
Sloane turns me in his arms the second Idris lets go. His kiss is rougher, less patient, his hand spread over the bite in my shoulder through my shirt. He kisses me until I have to grip his forearms to stay upright, then holds me there while his mouth moves against my cheek.
“I’m going to hate watching you drive away,” he says.
“I know.”
“I’m going to let you do it anyway.”
That breaks something loose in me, a soft, painful laugh that turns into another tear before I can stop it. Sloane catches it with his thumb, then presses his mouth to the place it left behind.
When we step back into the kitchen, Theo is still in the sunroom doorway with my sweater pressed to his mouth. Garrett has moved the basket of cooling cloths to the correct shelf, and his face softens as if the small hallway huddle has been a normal part of a normal morning.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says.
“I know.” I wipe under my eyes with the heel of my hand, careful not to smudge the mascara I already regret putting on. “I’m just nervous.”
“Of course.” Garrett’s expression turns warm with immediate understanding. “Big day.”
The kindness should land. It almost does. Then his gaze shifts to Theo, and the morning rearranges around logistics again.
“If Theo still wants lunch before your interview, I can take him,” Garrett says. “Sloane and Idris should keep the house ready, and you shouldn’t have to rearrange your morning any more than you already have.”
Theo lowers the sweater from his mouth. “I still want to go.”
“You can go,” I say, turning to him before anyone else can make that sound difficult. “I’ll meet you on campus before the interview. We’ll eat something normal and complain about vending-machine coffee.”
Theo’s mouth trembles into a small smile. “I want the café with the soup.”
“Then we’ll do the café with the soup.”
Sloane’s hand settles at my lower back. Idris’s fingers touch my wrist again, brief and grounding.
Neither of them looks comfortable with Garrett driving Theo, but the house is stacked with half-finished heat prep, and Theo’s eyes are on me with so much fragile hope that nobody argues in front of him.
Garrett nods once, practical and calm. “I’ll have him there by noon. That gives you time to arrive, settle, and breathe before you see him.”
“Main campus café,” I say, because the logistics suddenly matter more than they should. “Lunch there, then I drive to the sister campus for the interview.”
Garrett nods. “Exactly. One normal lunch, then I’ll bring Theo home.”
“Thank you,” I say, and the words taste wrong even though the help is real.