Chapter 21
Cal’s phone buzzed with a text alert, then another. He groaned and rolled over on Carrie’s pull-out sofa bed. It was so early. He could definitely use another half hour of sleep—
Oh, right. Awareness hit groggily. He was at Carrie’s house, so it wouldn’t be her texting.
He felt around in the near-dark for his phone and finally found it.
Vic. So eager to make sure she didn’t have to see him again that she’d messaged before the crack of dawn.
Okay, so yet another Friday night alone. Ah, well. All wasn’t lost. He appreciated Vic’s honesty. If she wanted, needed to work on herself, well, good for her. That’s what he wanted for himself, after all, to be the kind of person who continued to learn and grow—
He thought about that for a moment, his and Carrie’s conversation from the night before slipping back into his mind—along with a few other things he’d left unsaid or hadn’t elaborated on as their chat moved here and there.
As he’d alluded to with Carrie, he was slipping in some areas.
His hermiting every weekend, for example.
It would be fine if he was happy about all the solo time, but if he wasn’t, then he was the one who needed to make a change.
It wasn’t up to anyone else. And certainly not up to Vic.
And then there were the tiny snakes of bitterness about Melanie that had started to slither back into his mind again.
Okay . . . so perhaps he should follow Vic’s lead.
He’d do more thinking on that. Later. Or tomorrow.
He plumped his pillow, mashed his face into it, and shut his eyes.
A moment later he opened them again. It was no good.
The chance to get a bit more shut-eye had come and gone.
He was wide awake, his brain going a mile a minute.
He got up, remade the sofa bed back into a couch, carefully folded the bedding he’d used, and stacked it neatly by his pillow.
Then he quietly let himself out, making sure to lock the door as he left.
He’d go home, grab a shower, then pick up something carb-laden for him and Carrie for breakfast—something to help keep any hangovers at bay.
“Bless you,” Carrie exclaimed when she arrived at work and saw the telltale foil wrapper of a bacon, egg, and cheese bun sitting on her desk. “It’s like you know me.”
And then the day started and disappeared in a busy blink of an eye. He made it back to the office before Carrie headed out, though.
“You go,” he said. “I’ll lock up.”
“But don’t you have a—” She stopped herself and reworded. “I thought your friend was coming to your place for pizza?”
Cal caught Carrie’s not-so-subtle inflection on friend. “Ha, joke’s on you. She doesn’t even want to be friends.”
“Honestly, bro,” Carrie said after he told her the early morning text saga. “I think you dodged a bullet.”
Cal half-grunted, half-laughed. “I don’t know. You should see her. It might be worth getting shot.”
Carrie snorted and opened her mouth, no doubt to scold him for being gross and sexist. Cal held up his hands in surrender.
“Kidding, kidding.” Secretly, he also didn’t like that his “joke” had focused on Vic’s looks.
She was pretty, for sure, but it had been talking with her that really pulled him into her orbit.
“So what are you doing instead? Want to come out with me? Trivia night at North End’s.”
North End’s was a new pub that looked quite nice, actually.
“Another time.”
Carrie looked skeptical, so he added. “I mean it. Just tonight . . . well, after being at your place yesterday I was already planning to take a page from your book and start making my place, not just clean and serviceable . . . but like homey or something.”
It was so embarrassing to say it out loud, but Carrie didn’t seem to think it was lame.
“Good for you,” she said softly, and was it his imagination or did Carrie’s eyes well up a little? “We have to be our own home, first and foremost.”
He nodded at the echo of her oft-repeated theme.
She was right though. He’d heard enough from her on the topic to know it made good sense.
He hoped the fact that he still wanted to be someone else’s home—and for someone else’s to be his—wouldn’t keep him from living a full, satisfying life if it wasn’t meant to be.
Carrie brought him back to the present. “Do you want help decorating?”
“Uh—no. Thanks. I’m going to take my time. Figure out what I like. I’ve never really been in charge of stuff like that, you know?”
Carrie nodded and said good night. Cal puttered for a bit, then ordered pizza to be delivered shortly after he got home. He was keeping his pizza-and-a-movie date. With himself, sure, but so what? He was worth it. He laughed a little at his inner Carrie-esque commentary and headed out.
By the time the pizza guy rolled up, he’d finished scrolling through movies on the various streaming apps and settled on one of the newer comic-based movies that seemed to come out on an endless rotation now. He remembered loving the stuff when it first came out, but now so much seemed the same.
The pizza boxes were hot to his touch, and the familiar mingling aromas of garlicky tomato sauce and melting cheese made his stomach growl audibly. Both him and the delivery kid snickered at the sound. Cal tipped the kid, then settled on the empty couch in front of the TV with his food.
He wasn’t sure what exactly triggered it just then, but Carrie’s comment about how she was going to get a dog came back to him.
I should get one too. Even though it came from nowhere, he didn’t dismiss it immediately. It was something to think about.
His stomach rumbled again, however, and he took that as a cue to stop getting distracted. He hit play, then opened the top box of pizza. He’d stuck to his original order plan too—what he’d planned to get when he’d thought Vic was joining him because, well, why not? He was game to try new things.
He stared down at the pizza that he’d thought would be a nice surprise for Vic, but now the surprise was on him. He lifted out a piece of the oyster and onion pizza and sniffed it cautiously. It smelled good. Really good. He took one bite, then another. Then he hit pause on the remote.
Holy cow, it was good—so good that he needed to fully concentrate and appreciate at least this first slice. Slightly smoky and savory, not at all fishy like he’d worried it might be. Who knew? Maybe he had a second favorite pizza now.
Cal didn’t bother restarting the movie he’d only been feeling humdrum about in the first place.
Instead, he thoroughly enjoyed his feast, put the leftovers away, and fetched the newest Louise Penney from where it sat on the shelf in his entryway.
Armand Gamache. Now, there was a man to look up to.
Of course, he also loved Jack Reacher, so what exactly did that say about him?
He grinned to himself. That he was a man of many layers, a lot like a good pizza was, come to think of it.
When Cal went to bed that night, he didn’t have to convince himself it had been a good night.
It really had been—and it occurred to him that there was an upside to solo life that didn’t get spoken about enough.
Melanie hadn’t been a reader, which would’ve been fine, but she resented that he was, and she definitely didn’t want him reading in the same room or staying up late at night—even if she was just planning to sleep.
He wondered if Vic was a reader, reminded himself that it didn’t matter, and felt happyish as he pulled the blankets off his feet, which were always too hot. He’d had a nice night. Not a mopish one where he wished he was doing something other than what he was.
As he was drifting off to sleep, Cal did wonder if he should’ve texted Vic back to see where she stood with the list of work he’d agreed to do. Was that still on, or was it off too?