Chapter 26
Mitch
I get home way later than I planned. It’s eight forty-five p.m. and I’m running on empty.
The house is dark, the TV’s off. Callie’s stretched out on the couch, blanket pulled to her shoulders, her phone lighting up her face. She doesn’t even look up when I step inside.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hi,” she mutters, eyes still on her screen.
“The good news is we got it all done. I’ll definitely be home by five tomorrow—maybe even four.” I try to sound upbeat, like I’m offering her something good.
“Okay.”
She still hasn’t moved, hasn’t even blinked at me.
“You okay?” I ask, stepping closer.
She exhales, sets her phone down. “I’m tired, Mitch.”
I snort, half a laugh. “Do you think I’m not?”
“Obviously I know you are.”
“So what do you want me to do?” My voice rises before I can stop it. “I said I was sorry about tonight. I didn’t have much choice. The rain—”
“Oh my gosh, I know about the rain!” She sits up, blanket falling into her lap. Her eyes flash in the dim light. “I know you can’t control the weather, but I’m frustrated that Monday night you went out with the guys, and again on Tuesday, and today you worked late!”
“Dinner with Luke was about work, Callie. It’s not like we were off slugging beers around a bonfire.”
“Well, you might as well have been!”
I freeze midstep. “What do you mean by that?”
“It means it doesn’t matter what you’re doing.
The fact is, I’m still here, by myself.” Her voice cracks but she keeps going, louder, sharper.
“Landon was up half the night. He’s teething, miserable, wouldn’t let me put him down all day.
I barely ate, barely showered, and barely got anything done that I needed to! ”
Her voice is raised now, which tells me she’s been holding this in all day, probably all week.
I scrub a hand over my face. “I told you back before Landon was even born that this time of year wasn’t going to be easy. You said you knew and understood and that it would be fine.”
Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t look away. “Well, what was I supposed to say, Mitch? I was already knocked up. I didn’t have much choice!”
The air freezes between us. I was already knocked up. It hits a nerve somewhere deep.
My jaw tightens. “You’re really gonna say that to me?”
“I’m just being honest!” she snaps, standing now, blanket falling to the floor. “You think this is the life I pictured, Mitch? I mean how long are we going to just keep pretending this is an ideal lifestyle choice? Two people who have a baby together, living apart and barely seeing each other.”
“What you signed up for was me. The guy who was going to provide something so you didn’t have to worry about a house over your head, bills, or how to keep the lights on.”
She scoffs. “Providing is not the same thing as being here.”
“I am here,” I bark back, louder now. “Everything I do is for this family. Everything! You think I want to be out there fifteen hours a day? You think it’s fun for me?”
“No,” she fires back instantly, voice trembling but fierce. “I think it’s what you’d be doing anyway! Baby or not, this is what you and Luke wanted, and having a baby didn’t alter it at all!”
“That’s not true!” I shout. “I have to be out there even more now because I have you and Landon!”
She stands across from me, arms folded. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head, her eye on the ground.
“I need a partner, Mitch. Not a landlord who pays the bills.” Her voice is calmer now, but my blood is still hot, and that sends something inside me over the edge.
“Then maybe you should’ve slept with someone lazy, someone who wanted to stay home all day while you went out and worked!”
I turn around and start toward the door.
“Wow,” she whispers, huffing in disbelief, and I leave.
The anger is still running hot, so I light a cigarette and sit on the porch, the side where Macy and I live. The first drag loosens my tension. I lean back and take another one in, more anger fading out. But it starts to quickly turn into something else—guilt.
I let it burn all the way through before I open the front door. Macy’s watching TV, laptop in her lap, plate of snacks beside her. She says hey around a mouthful of food, but I don’t respond.
“Whoa…bad day?” she asks.
“Yeah, and Callie’s pissed off,” I snap. Because for some reason the question brings it all back.
“What’d you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. I forgot date night, but I said we’d go tomorrow!”
“Why are you yelling at me?!” she bites.
“I don’t know!”
She shakes her head and looks back at the screen.
Something hits me then. Maybe I don’t know how to have a conversation.
Why does everything turn into a fight? Why do voices always get raised?
I don’t know if I start it or just add to it, but I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d kept my voice calm, even when she didn’t.
Maybe it wouldn’t have escalated. Maybe neither of us would’ve gone that far.
Maybe I’d still be there, and we could’ve spent a little more time together.
I keep replaying the fight, word for word, every sharp thing I threw at her. God, I wish I could take that back.
The second the hot water hits my shoulders, I’m expecting it to feel good after a day like today, but it doesn’t.
I head back over to Callie’s side after I get dressed. Because going to bed like this feels unsettling.
I open the door. She’s not in the living room, but I hear her upstairs. Footsteps, Landon fussing.
Callie’s sitting up in bed, her bedside table lamp on, hair pulled up in a knot, face red and eyes puffy. It’s like a punch to the gut. Landon’s in her arms, nursing, and she doesn’t look up.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slowly under me.
“Callie,” I say, gentle now, because yelling like I was earlier is not what I want in this. My mom used to scream at everyone, and that’s not how I want to be. I know it’s not right, so why would I do it?
She doesn’t look at me. She just stares down at Landon, running her thumb over his cheek while tears fall. Each one breaks me a little more.
“I’m sorry I raised my voice, and I’m sorry I wasn’t home hardly at all this week,” I whisper.
She shakes her head. “I’m just tired. I’m already tired of tomorrow and it hasn’t even started yet.”
I swallow hard, stare at my hands. The sound of Landon eating fills the space between us.
“I’m sorry. If I promise that I’ll be home in time for a date night out, would you believe me?”
She shrugs, wiping the tears away on her free hand. “I want to. But you keep breaking my trust.”
“I never want to do.” I shake my head, “Do you believe that?”
She sniffles and nods her head.
“Good. Because I love you so much, and I hate fighting with you.”
“Me too. I’m sorry.”
I brush my hand over her leg, watching her with Landon. It hits me a little harder now…I really do miss them. A lot more than she’ll ever know. But I do. And I’m going to make it my mission for the rest of the week to fix that.
* * *
It feels good to leave the house without a diaper bag or a baby in the back for once. Just me and Callie again.
Her mom showed up right on time, loving on Landon like she hadn’t just seen him two days ago. Callie didn’t have to give her many instructions before we left; she sees him often enough that she knows the routine.
It’s been pouring all day. The sun hasn’t shown, the sky still gray and low, thunder rumbling somewhere in the distance.
Callie’s wearing a floral dress she hasn’t worn in forever, her hair pulled back in a ponytail with a white bow pinned to it.
I glance over now as she gets settled in the truck.
“You look beautiful.”
She smirks. “Thanks.”
We spend the seven-minute drive talking about our day. How Holland and Nash were pretty good for her, especially considering Landon was a little clingy, and with the rainstorm preventing them from going outside.
The Tavern isn’t too busy. Once the waitress takes our order, we just…talk. About anything and everything, like we always used to. It’s easy—being with her always has been.
Somewhere between the appetizers and our meal, she lets out a soft sigh and looks at me. “Last night scared me a little.”
“Yeah?” I lean back, watching her. “How’s that?”
“I don’t know,” she says, twisting her straw wrapper between her fingers. “Just how fast we started yelling. I don’t want that to be us.”
“Me neither,” I say quietly. “We just have to remind ourselves to take a breath first. Step back before it gets there.”
She nods, her voice low. “Yeah. I think I just had so much built up that I exploded. When you came home, I was already sitting with it all day. And so when you walked in…I just lost it.”
She’s not wrong. I saw it in her face the second I came through that door—tired, worn, trying to keep it together. And I still let my pride get in the way.
“I should’ve listened first, then talked,” I say after a second.
Her eyes soften, and she gives me a small nod. “Yeah. Next time,” she says with a laugh.
“There’s probably gonna be a few of those.” I chuckle under my breath.
The corner of her mouth lifts. “For sure.”
We both laugh. I feel better talking about it again, about where we went wrong so that we can be better next time.
The waitress brings our food, and we dig in, sharing bites and talking about absolutely everything and nothing at the same time.