Chapter 15
Mitch
The lake is glass this morning.
I’m sitting on the porch, coffee in one hand. The sun is coming up bright now. I’ve been sitting here, just thinking, since about six a.m. No one else is up yet.
Last night was good. A relief to get some things out there in the open. I could tell everyone didn’t quite know how to act, though. It wasn’t awkward, just different. You could feel it in the air.
I rub a hand over my jaw, staring into space. Macy’s question, the way she looked into my eyes when she asked if Mom and Dad knew. Because, holy crap, it’s going to light a fire. They’re not going to be happy. I’m more scared of mine than Callie’s, if that says anything.
I don’t know how we’re supposed to tell them or what life looks like after we do. Where we’ll live, if they’ll let us stay, I have no idea. I remember Macy jokingly asked our mom at the ripe age of eleven, “What would you do if I got pregnant in high school like that show?”
It was just a generic question. She meant nothing by it; and I don’t think Macy even understood the weight of it, but my mom looked her dead in the eyes and said: “You won’t.
Because I raised you better than that.” Then she looked at me and asked if I heard her.
I just nodded. I didn’t even know how babies were made at eleven, so I didn’t really ponder it.
I’m just not ready for her wrath. And Callie’s’ never seen that side of my mom. She’s heard stories, sure, but to witness it… She’s going to be scarred for life.
We know we messed up. We crossed a line we shouldn’t have, and there’s no excuse for it. But I also know God isn’t done with us. He doesn’t just quit on people when they make mistakes.
The screen door creaks. I smile small when I see it’s Callie, and she reciprocates. She sits beside me, holding a mug of coffee in her hand.
“Hey,” she says quietly.
“Hey. You sleep alright?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Better than the last.”
I reach an arm around her and bring her in to kiss her cheek. “That’s good then.”
“Yeah.” She stares down at her coffee.
After a long minute, she whispers, “I just hate how different everything felt last night.”
“Yeah…well, everything is going to be different.” I rest a hand on her knee.
“I know. I talked to Macy last night, just us, and she thinks we should go to the doctor before we tell anyone else, just to be sure. That way we don’t—”
“Create a breaking news story?” I guess.
“Something like that.” She smiles but doesn’t laugh.
“Hey.” I rub my hand against her leg, “Remember, I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure it out together.”
She nods, I pull her in and just hug her.
* * *
Everyone’s acting pretty normal around the breakfast table. Callie’s the most talkative she’s been all weekend. I’m sure she feels better with no more secrets from our friends. I know I do.
Luke’s manning the stove, shirtless and sunburned, hair sticking up in a dozen directions.
Maddie’s beside him, buttering toast like she’s been his sous chef her whole life.
Brad’s tossing paper plates onto the table like Frisbees, missing half of them, and Macy keeps threatening to clock him with the mustard bottle if he doesn’t knock it off.
The windows are open, letting in that thick July air. It smells like lake water and sunscreen and fruit—probably because there’s a big bowl of watermelon and cantaloupe sitting right in front of me.
It’s the most normal the weekend’s felt since Friday night. Everyone’s laughing, music’s low on the radio—some Guns N’ Roses song that fits the mood perfectly.
And Callie’s smiling. Really smiling.
I can tell she feels lighter—like getting the truth out finally loosened something in her chest. I feel it too. No more pretending. No more sneaking glances across the room or waiting for a quiet moment to breathe.
“So,” Maddie says, propping her elbows on the table, “are you telling your parents you’re dating first or—”
“Or you hitting them with both?” Brad cuts in, that signature smirk spreading before he can even finish the sentence.
Macy’s elbow finds his ribs instantly. “You’re such a jerk.”
He laughs, clutching his side. “What? I’m just asking the real questions!”
Callie and I laugh, and I wait for her to answer because, well, it’s up to her.
“I think we’ll just start with the dating,” she says, looking at me. “Then, after the doctor’s appointment we’ll tell them. When we know for sure.”
No one makes a big deal out of it after that.
Callie sits beside me instead of across the table.
Her knee presses into mine under the wood, steady and warm.
Conversation drifts—what time we need to leave, who’s riding with who, whether there’s enough gas in all the trucks.
The baby comes up once, briefly, and then drops just as fast. Like it’s already understood that this is how it’s going to be from now on.
We start cleaning up; Callie hands me plates, I rinse, she dries. Someone bumps into us and jokes that we’re domestic already. I should feel exposed, but I don’t. If anything, it feels like exhaling after holding my breath too long.
By the time the cabin’s cleaned and trucks are packed, there’s no more pretending. She takes the passenger seat this time, leaving Macy and Brad in the back, her hand naturally finding mine as we head toward the road.
* * *
By the time everyone’s dropped off and I pull into the driveway, Macy and I both sense it—Mom’s in a mood the second we walk in.
She’s sitting on the couch, blank expression, eyes on the TV. She asks if it rained while we were there, then goes right back to staring at the screen. No smile. No “welcome home.” Just…that.
Macy leans toward me as we start up the stairs, bags in hand.
“Think she’s mad we went away, or at Dad?” she whispers.
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “She actually spoke, so probably Dad.”
Macy rolls her eyes. “She’s always mad at him for something.”
She’s not wrong. One wrong joke, one offhand comment, and it’s days of silence. We’ve both learned to tiptoe until she decides she’s over it.
After I unpack, I head downstairs looking for Dad. He’s out in the garage, reorganizing the same piles of stuff he’s reorganized a dozen times. My equipment’s still in the corner where I left it—the mowers, the trimmers—though everything else looks shuffled.
“Hey,” he says, glancing up. “How was it?”
“Good,” I answer, leaning against the wall. “What are you up to?”
“Too much junk in here. Your mom’s all bent out of shape about the clutter, so I’m cleaning it up.”
“Yeah, well—”
“You gotta get your stuff out of here,” he cuts in. “You looked into renting a shed or anything yet?”
I bite back a sigh. Here we go.
Luke and I started the landscaping business just last summer—every dime going into keeping it alive. Of course I asked before I stored some equipment here. Luke doesn’t have space for it all, and we’ve got a two-car garage. My parents were fine with it. Or so I thought.
Macy warned me at the time, saying, “You know that’s gonna come back.”
I didn’t believe her. She usually takes the hits, more than me.
Fast-forward to now—guess that streak’s over.
After a shower, I hear muffled voices from Macy’s room. Mom and her, talking about something. By the time I’m dressed, Mom’s downstairs again. My phone buzzes on the dresser—Macy.
“You hear any of that?”
“No. What now?”
“I’ll come over.”
A minute later, she slips into my room, eyes glossy, not quite crying. I close the door quietly. She sits on the edge of my bed, dragging her hands over her face and through her hair.
“I’m going crazy,” she says, voice shaky. “She makes me think I’m the problem. I start questioning everything because the way she says it all…it sounds so real I can’t even remember if it was.”
“What happened?”
“She told me to clear out the hall closet. Says she wants to use it for storage.”
I blink. That closet’s been Macy’s since she started Pure Serenity two years ago—filled with products, ingredients, shipping stuff. Mom offered it to her.
“Storage for what?” I ask.
“I don’t know. She didn’t say.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she says, even though it’s clearly not. “I’ll just have to reorganize. Maybe buy another shelf or something.”
“You can keep it in here if you need,” I offer. “I don’t mind.”
She waves it off. “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”
She stands to leave, hand on the door.
“Wait,” I say. “About Callie and me…think I should still tell them tonight? Or is the mood too far gone?”
Macy pauses, thinking. “They’ll probably like the dating part,” she says finally. “So yeah, go ahead. The baby, though…definitely don’t.”
“No. Not yet.”
“Right.”
She nods once, then slips back down the hall.
It’s about an hour or two later, I’m unpacked, Macy’s unpacked, and we’re sitting around the kitchen table with Mom and Dad getting ready to eat. I let Macy talk, lighten the mood. She tells them about the Frisbee game, shows them a video even. They laugh.
I swallow, wipe my mouth with a napkin, and say, “Actually, I wanted to tell you something.”
That gets everyone’s attention. Mom looks up, fork in hand, waiting.
“Callie and I…decided to date.”
Mom blinks, her expression caught somewhere between surprise and delight. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual. “We’ve been together a few weeks now.”
Her face softens into a smile. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. You two have been joined at the hip since you were kids.”
Across the table, Macy just grins into her water glass.
Dad finally chimes in, voice quiet. “She’s a nice girl.”
“She is,” I say.
Mom nods, still smiling, but there’s something in her eyes—something calculating. “So,” she says lightly, slicing into her chicken, “does this mean you think you can just go away for the weekend with your girlfriend now?”
“I mean, yeah? It’s never just us?” I say, swallowing.
“Mm-hmm,” she hums, taking a sip of her tea. “I’m just saying, that’s a new level of freedom, isn’t it?”
It’s like she knows.
Macy shoots me a warning glance, silently begging me not to say it—not yet, stick to the plan. See if Callie really is pregnant before blowing up the house.
“Yeah, I know,” I say, and shove another bite of potato salad in my mouth. And thankfully, the conversation ends there.
* * *
It’s ten p.m. when I finally call Callie.
My room is dark, the only light coming from my closet. I told her earlier I’d call once everyone was asleep, and she said she’d wait up.
The line rings once before her sleepy voice comes through. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I whisper, leaning back against the headboard. “You still awake?”
“Barely.” She laughs quietly. “I almost fell asleep waiting for you.”
“Sorry,” I murmur. “Mom stayed up late to watch some show.”
“Of course.”
“Yeah, I know. How you feeling?”
“Okay, I think. I don’t know if it’s in my head or what, but I just can’t handle the smell of a lot of food at once.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not much anyone can do, so…”
“Maybe the doctor will have some medicine or something.”
“Mmm, I think nausea is just something you deal with.”
“Right,” I utter.
“So what did your parents say?”
I run a hand over my face and breath out quick. “Nothing really. Mom made a comment about going away from now on with my girlfriend. Kinda like questioning that. I don’t know. She was in a mood when we got home.”
“Again?”
“Yeah.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, whatever. Not something I need to bother you with; you got enough on your plate.”
“But I’m here for you too. I want you to be able to talk to me.”
“I know. But I’m good. Alright?”
“Whatever you say…”
There’s such a long pause between us that I hear crickets out my open window.
“So,” I say after a beat, “how’d it go with your parents?”
She exhales, a sound that’s half sigh, half nerves. “I didn’t tell them yet.”
I sit up a little. “You didn’t?”
“I wanted to,” she says quickly. “I just…couldn’t find the right time. Mom was rushing out the door for a church thing and Dad came home late. I’ll do it tomorrow. I promise.”
“I got ya, it’s all good. But you definitely should tell them soon before they find out through someone else.”
“I know, I will. Tomorrow.”
“Good. Anxious to see what they say.”
“I know they’ll be happy. The next news…not so much.”
“Yeah. Now that I’m back home and seeing how tonight went, I’m a little nervous.”
“Mitch, don’t say that. You’ll just make me more worked up.”
“I’m sorry. But I mean, it is a big deal. I just…uh…”
“You just what?”
“I just wish we would’ve thought clearer.”
“I know. Me too.”
“And I feel bad saying that. I mean, babies are blessings, gifts from God. I know that. But I just hope everyone remembers that when we drop the news.”
“Yeah. I know. It’s sorta a gray area. I’m going to feel like a hypocrite walking into church on Sunday.”
“Well, I’ll be right there with you, feeling the same.”
We’re quiet for a while. I’m listening closely, hoping I didn’t make her upset.
“Night, Mitch,” her voice drifts through the line, small and tired.
The words I love you sit heavy on my tongue. It feels like the right moment—and also completely wrong. Not like this. Not through a speaker, not when I can’t see her face and kiss her afterward. So I swallow it down and settle for the safest thing I’ve got.
“Night, Callie.”
The call ends, and the quiet that follows feels louder than the conversation ever was.