25. Calliope
Calliope
“You’ve been ignoring me,” Calypso grumbles over the line.
“I’m not ignoring you,” I sigh glaring at the rows upon rows of workout clothing. It’s, odd. I’m not entirely sure what fantasy I was living in, where these men have a room for me, and it’s full of clothing.
Exercise clothing.
“See,” Calypso whines. “You’re distracted again.
“I’m at Lazarus’s,” I admit nibbling my lip.
“I’m coming to get you.” I hear Calypso jangle her keys.
“Relax.” I huff. “Question.”
“Only if you let me pick you up and we do weird sister shit for the rest of the night.” There’s a crackle in her voice and I feel a pulse of worry that I don’t think is my own. It’s definitely her worry.
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying like hell to repair what I fucked up, Calliope,” she says as I hear a baby cry and a lock engage. She is definitely on her way.
“I don’t know how to rebuild us.”
“Because you are looking at it all wrong, Callie.” There’s humor in her voice that reminds me of our teen years when conversations flowed easier. They were also mostly about our current crushes. “I don’t want to rebuild what we were. I want to build a relationship based on who we are right now.”
Damn it.
“Lazarus has a room,” I hiss making sure the door is shut, and no one can hear me. “For me, in his house and he stocked it with gym clothes. What does that mean?”
“Are you serious right now.” I hear the engine start. “Address.”
I rattle the address off and then continue to try and dissect what the fuck this means. “I feel like a guy who is sure about me buys me lingerie. Or one of those widow robes, you know.”
“A widow robe implies homicide, Callie.” I can hear her amusement. “Are you planning homicide because I have a sword.”
“That’s a little dramatic don’t you think?”
“I keep it in my trunk,” she mutters.
“A sword?” I’m honestly speechless. I thought she was kidding. “A sword. Calypso, what the fuck?”
“Yes, Calliope, I keep a fucking sword in my fucking car in case I want to take off a fucking head. Is that too much to believe.”
“And how often do you get the chance to take someone’s head off.” I toss a pair of expensive yoga pants down on the bed. They’re more linen-like and cozy. And I pair them with a matching tank. Brown and cream and I love it.
“More often than you’d think.” I swear she says. “Okay so he bought you gym clothing. Panties?”
“Not a single one.” And I checked every single drawer. Seriously. “No lace, no nothing. Am I overanalyzing this?”
“Yeah,” she says with way too much force. “Maybe he wants to watch you work out, maybe that’s his kink. Or maybe that is just how he’s choosing to spend time with you.”
“That hurt for you to say, didn’t it?”
“You have no idea.” I am pretty sure she shudders.
“Okay, so the sword thing. We’re coming back to that,” I say, pulling on the yoga pants. They fit perfectly. How the hell did he know my size? “But first, tell me why this is bothering me so much. It’s just clothes.”
“Because it means he’s thought about you being there. Regularly. Enough to prepare a space that’s yours.” Calypso’s voice softens. “That’s commitment, Callie. The scary kind.”
I swallow hard, running my fingers over the soft fabric of the tank top. “I’m not ready for commitment.”
“Then why are you there?” Her question hangs in the air between us.
I open and close my mouth while glaring at myself in the mirror. I inhale and hold my breath as I struggle for an answer that even remotely makes any sense.
Nothing does and I flop on the bed. “All I know is this draw to them. Yes, them all of them which is ridiculous what would people think? What would Mom and Dad think?”
“Meh.” She grunts. “Mom and Dad live in their little bubble that hasn’t left the sixties. I think you’ll survive.”
“I don’t want to just survive anymore that’s just it. I want to thrive.” Why do I sound so whiny?
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Calypso says, and I hear the blinker clicking through the phone. “Put on something cute. We’re going out.”
“I just put on yoga pants,” I protest, rolling back up to sit. And she evaded my questions. “And I thought we were doing weird sister shit.”
“We are. At a bar. With alcohol. And possibly karaoke.”
“Absolutely not.” I glare at all the workout clothes. Fuck it I’m staying in this. “You know I don’t sing in public.”
“You used to,” Calypso says, and there’s something wistful in her voice that makes my chest ache. “Before everything got... complicated.”
I pause. She’s right. There was a time when I’d belt out ABBA with her, our terrible harmonies echoing through empty parking lots at two in the morning.
“Fine,” I relent. “But only if you promise to sing backup this time instead of trying to steal the spotlight with your interpretive dance moves.”
“I make no such promises.” I can hear her grinning. “Now hurry up. And Callie? Don’t overthink the gym clothes thing. Maybe he just... sees you.”
The line goes dead before I can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean.
I stare at myself in the mirror, the stranger in Lazarus’s guest room. My hair is still damp from the shower, curling wildly around my face. The woman looking back at me seems younger somehow, or maybe just less guarded. It’s disconcerting.
The bedroom door opens before I can answer.
Lazarus leans against the frame, his eyes darkening as they travel down my body.
He’s changed into athletic wear himself, black shorts and a gray tank that shows off those ridiculous arms. I’m starting to think in his off time all he wears are those gym shorts.
Which I am not complaining about.
“Your sister?” he asks, nodding toward my phone.
“On her way to rescue me,” I say, trying to sound casual despite my racing heart. I don’t want to be rescued. I’m happy existing right here right now.
“Come on, I’ll walk you down.” He takes a step backward letting me pass him in the hall. He smells freshly showered with a hint of spice. “Did I hear something about a bar?”
“Ugh.” I groan but I’m smiling. “Calypso and I used to go out. I loved being with her.”
“But?”
“Our relationship got complicated.”
“Why?” He leads me to the front door, Soren and Vex nowhere to be seen. I’m sad they aren’t around to say bye too.
I chew my lips and turn to him. “I want to tell you I just don’t know how.”
“I’m a patient man, Calliope.” He opens the door just as Calypso flies down the driveway. “When you’re ready, you’ll know.”
I get the feeling he isn’t talking about why my relationship with Calypso is complicated but he’s talking about us.
“I’ll see you Monday morning.” Then because I’m a glutton for punishment, “Maybe I’ll tell you over lunch.”
“I look forward to it.”
Calypso honks.
Rolling my eyes I take off toward her shiny red car. I don’t look back because looking back shows him I don’t want to leave and a part of me doesn’t. But another part is dying to spend time with my sister. So I climb into her little red sports car, and she takes off before the door is even shut.
She doesn’t say a damn word until we are down the road and sitting at a red light. She looks over at me, her eyes scanning all down my body.
“What is with you?” I push her head forward.
“Just making sure you’re in one piece.”
“I am whole, Calypso.” I shake my head. “You’re weird now. I mean you were weird before but you’re really weird now.”
“Trauma,” she answers like that explains everything. It fucking doesn’t. Not a goddamn thing. I stare at her, waiting for more, but Calypso just guns the engine when the light turns green.
I want to pry the words out of her one by one.
“What kind of trauma?” I finally ask, watching her jaw tighten. “Calypso, you can’t just drop that word and not elaborate.”
She sighs, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “Not tonight, Callie. Tonight is about us. Reconnecting. Remembering how to be sisters without all the... complications.”
I want to push, to demand answers, but something in her expression stops me. There’s a fragility beneath her usual bravado that I’ve never seen before. So I let it go.
I don’t like when she’s insecure. I’m insecure for the both of us. I need her to be confident. And maybe that makes me selfish.
“Fine,” I concede, settling back into the leather seat. “But we’re coming back to this.”
“We always do.” She turns down a side street I don’t recognize. “So, tell me about these men of yours. All three of them?”
Heat creeps up my neck. “They’re not my men.”
“Uh-huh.” She smirks. “And that room full of gym clothes is just... what? A coincidence?”
“It’s weird, right? That’s weird?” I turn to face her fully. “Normal guys buy lingerie or jewelry. Not... yoga pants.”
Calypso laughs, a genuine sound that takes me back to late nights in our shared bedroom. And how we used to stay up all night talking. No subject was ever too small.
“Maybe normal guys do. But these aren’t normal guys, are they?” She looks over at me with that intense gaze of hers.
I think of Lazarus’s intense gaze, Soren’s quiet intensity, Vex’s effortless charm. “No,” I admit. “They’re definitely not normal.”
She pulls into a parking lot of a corner pub. Nothing more than a hole in the wall. It’s not even after six at night and people are stumbling out of the bar laughing and drunk.
We climb out together, Calypso leading the way. The door swings open too fast, I’m not even sure if it can lock anymore.
“I don’t know, Soso, if I walk through those doors will I catch syphilis?”
Calypso trips over her feet, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Hey,” I tug her to the side of the sidewalk. “What is it?” Tears blur her brown eyes. And her cheeks turn bright red that has nothing to do with the Pennsylvania humidity.
“You called me Soso.” She can barely get the words out and she bends over breathing rapidly.
“I did.” I rub slow circles on her lower back. “It just came out I’m sorry if you’d rather I not.”