Calliope #2
“You knocked up your friend while I was going through the worst moment of my life,” I say flatly. Guess we are doing this today. “Nadine.” I stress the name. “And you are now with Amber. Does she even know? And I thought running away was the polite thing to do.”
He winces. “I just wanted to say… I’ve been meaning to reach out.”
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. “There’s nothing to say.”
“There is, though.” He steps closer. “You never even gave me the chance to explain.”
I clutch the candle like a weapon. “Three years too late, don’t you think?”
Would growling be too much?
“Callie, please.” He glances over his shoulder, probably looking for her. Homewrecker number two.
No. She redirected your life. It’s all about framing. She didn’t ruin my life, she just showed me I deserved better. Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. Which it did. Hurt like hell, that is.
“James,” I sigh because I don’t want to talk to this man. I tried to talk to him our entire marriage before I realized I was just talking at him and he was just waiting for me to finish and move on from the hurt. He never listened. And then I stopped listening to him.
I rub my temples like it will help the headache.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers it into the air between us.
For a moment all I can do is stare at him. At the way his height causes his shoulders to hunch. At the lines around his eyes and his neck. Life aged him. Though that was probably all the cheating catching up with him.
“Okay,” I say, and turn around, aiming for wall decor. Maybe an oversized print would look great on my wall.
“Okay?” He scoffs. “That’s all I get?”
“Yeah.” I toss it over my shoulder. He’s actually following me. “That’s all you get. Okay.”
“Callie, listen,” he attempts again.
I’m way too invested in a painting I will never buy. I side-eye him.
He takes it as permission to keep talking. “I miss you.”
I drop my head and close my eyes. I waited forever to hear those words. I miss you. Me. The human I am. The woman who loves oddities. Who loves dirt and archaeology. The woman who falls asleep to documentaries. Me.
But he doesn’t miss me. Not really. He just misses the woman who did shit for him.
“You miss having someone to cook your dinner,” I say, turning to face him fully. “You miss having someone to pick up your dry cleaning and remember your mother’s birthday.”
I can’t believe Amber doesn’t do these things. I bet she does. I bet she does it all and more. And honestly, a little piece of me breaks at the thought, because he hasn’t changed. He will never change.
He’s just blind to the woman who loves him. Always hungry, always seeking out the next thrill.
“That’s not—”
“It is, James.” I cross my arms, the painting forgotten. “You never once asked about my dreams. My work. What I wanted from life.”
He shifts. “I tried. God, I tried with you. Nothing was ever enough.”
“You tried to fit me into your life. Like I was another piece of furniture.” My voice cracks. “And when I didn’t fit perfectly, you found someone who would. And then a few more for those just-in-case moments. Normal people call those backups.”
His face falls. “You always do this. Twist it around until I’m the bad guy.”
“You are the bad guy.” I glance toward the kitchen section where Amber is probably browsing, oblivious. “You got everything you wanted. A wife who fits. Another mistress. A family. What more do you need from me?”
“I just need to know we’re okay,” he whispers.
Okay? He wants to know if we are okay?
I swear if I were a serial killer he’d be dead by now. See, these are the thoughts I have to keep to myself and not tell my therapist.
“Callie,” James says. He’s using the tone that used to work on me but now makes him sound like a manchild. “Callie. I mean it. Nobody ever got me the way you did.”
I spin around, abandoning the painting. “No, you don’t. You don’t miss me, you miss what I did for you.”
“That’s not—”
“Save it.” I hold up my hand. “I’ve moved on.”
It’s mostly true. Mostly.
He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You have?”
I pick up a hideous vase with neon stripes. I’d never buy this. I tuck it under my arm anyway. “New life,” I say. “New me.” Mine. Nobody gets a vote.
“Amber and I are—” he starts, then stops himself.
“Happy? I can see that.” I wave toward where his pregnant wife is probably still browsing. “Good for you.”
“Callie, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.” His eyes search mine. Forgiveness, maybe. Or absolution.
“Well, you’ve said it.” I set down the vase. “I should go.”
“Wait.” He reaches for my arm but stops just short of touching me. “Can we get coffee sometime? Just to talk?”
“Coffee.” I look at him like he suggested matching tattoos. “No.”
“So I can explain.” His voice cracks. “You owe me that much, after everything.”
“I understand perfectly.” I meet his eyes. “You fell out of love with me. It happens.” And his dick fell into every female coworker he met.
“There’s my muse.” A deep rumbling voice I’d know anywhere rolls over me like liquid warmth.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
Wait. His fucking WHAT?
Soren looks fucking incredible, and glancing from him to James is striking.
Even the way they carry themselves is different. James slouches. Soren stands tall. James wears jeans and a T-shirt, clothes that hang on his lanky frame. Soren, much the same only his are tailored to fit.
He walks past James and right to me. He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, gives me a wink, then turns to James and holds out his hand. For a breath I’m not even sure James is going to shake Soren’s hand. Except he does. Complete with the evil eye and everything.
“Soren Marquis.” He introduces himself.
“James Rhoads.”
“Ah,” Soren says, and it’s deliberate. Soren never does anything that isn’t deliberate. “Well, we were just on our way. Weren’t we, Calliope.”
That’s when it hits me. Calliope. The Greek muse.
The nerve of this man.
He leans down. “Breathe,” he says, just for me.
Oh, I’m breathing all right. Barely.
“Oh.” James looks between the two of us. His beady eyes darting under his glasses. Back and forth they go. “You’re her why.”
My what now?
“We must make our reservation.” Soren presses his palm to my lower back, and I shouldn’t feel so goddamn comforted by that small touch. But I do. I love it.
You’re a relationship person.
Shut it, brain.
“Callie,” James says as we pass him. “Lunch?”
“I don’t think so, James.” I get to the end of the hall, barely breathing, when I see Amber and her stupid little belly. “Night,” I chirp.
“How many pillows?” Soren asks.
“What?”
“How. Many. Pillows?”
I pause, looking back to James and Amber before focusing on Soren. “You want to buy me pillows?”
“Quantity and color, Calliope.”
“You called me your muse.” I evade. “Don’t do that.”
“Quantity and color,” he repeats.
“Green and pink.” I squint at him. “Six,” I say, wondering if he’ll actually buy them. “Of each.”
He pulls his phone out, punching at it with his fingers, before guiding me to the front of the store. “They’ll be delivered Monday.”
“I’m not thanking you.”
“I didn’t ask you to thank me,” he states.
“I didn’t expect it.”
He pauses, his head rocking from side to side. “Thank me by eating a meal.”
“A meal.” We pause outside the store, where a fine humid mist converts my hair to a frizzy mess. “A meal?”
“Right now,” he says leading me to his car. He opens the door, waiting for me to get in.
“Right now?”
“Get in the car, Calliope.”
I only get in the car because I hate the way he says my name. I hate it. I swear I hate it.
I’m just not sure who I’m trying to convince.