Chapter 19
Callie
Opening the interior garage door to the residence is like walking into a funeral parlor.
A thick, heavy silence hangs over the main room with every single occupant feeling bereft and confused.
There are no records crooning softly in the background.
No fire popping in the hearth. Despite the warmth, a chill sends shivers down my spine.
My parents and siblings, with the exception of Prescott, all sit on the sectional, and I send a quick thanks to the hot chocolate gods that Goldie must be upstairs taking a nap.
It feels like the night I told everyone I wanted to be a teacher.
Disappointment.
Condescension at the audacity to choose something so mundane.
Only Connie showed me any kind of encouragement for something so outside our family’s standards.
No matter how fast Oliver and I ran from the table and back to the car, Chris was faster.
The volume of the crowded restaurant only made our pursuit that much harder.
Anyone who knew me tried to stop us, looking questioningly at Oliver and primed for Rutherford family gossip.
Unfortunately, I’ll have to tell my parents there will be some social relationships they may need to repair after I all but shoved one of Dad’s sleazy business associates out of the way.
Even if I would never admit that I’ve wanted to do just that for several years now.
Connie peeks up at us from her spot on the couch. Eyes wide, her face conveys every horror I’ve dreaded since that night in Theo’s. The night my world shifted.
The night Oliver and I agreed to deceive our families.
My heart and stomach fight to be the most dramatic organ, twisting themselves into knots and becoming lodged in my throat.
Oliver stops half a step behind me, yielding to my judgement of how best to proceed in the Rutherford minefield. His warm knuckles brush against mine.
Despite the cold seeping into my bones at the situation before us, Oliver being right here with me does strange things to me.
Like giving me confidence knowing I don’t have to face this alone.
Imogene rings her slender hands together, a brow furrowed in concentration. She furtively glances at our stoic and cautious mother, clearly hoping for some kind of direction on how to proceed about something so unprecedented.
Mom lifts her face from the veil her hands have been providing. Sighing, her glazed look makes its way to me. “Calloway … ”
My feet take me further into the space, reaching the back of the sectional where I have a front row seat to the back of Chris’s head. “Please, let me explain.”
My father’s voice cuts through the air, causing me to startle.
“No.” The word is sharp, threatening harm to any who dare contradict it.
An unnatural shade of red paints his face as he turns to look at us.
Dad stands slowly from the couch with an expression I’ve only seen on him during litigation that’s going poorly.
Or when he would berate any of the older Rutherford children for showing anything short of extreme excellence.
One that reads as calm and collected while he rages below the surface.
“Ira,” Mom cautions.
“Not now, Lillian.” Dad holds out a hand to silence whatever was going to come next.
The gesture has Imogene recoiling, as well. Worried brown eyes flick from us, to Dad, and back while my oldest sister is clearly churning through some kind of internal turmoil.
“Why don’t I go first?” Dad says politely, each word more clipped than the last. His hawk-like eyes are trained on my rapidly heating face.
“My son just told us how you and—” angry eyes cut to the man standing beside me “—that man have been using a bogus romantic relationship to manipulate our family. Now, I can’t really say I know why you would want to do that, exactly, but I would sure be interested to learn. Calloway, start talking. Now.”
Oliver tries to step in front of me, but I manage to keep the front position. If anyone should be in the direct line of fire here, it shouldn’t be him.
“I’m waiting.” My father’s voice is low, ominous.
I look my father in the eye when the next words leave my mouth. “No one has called me a glorified babysitter since Thanksgiving,” I whisper. It wasn’t something I’d been aware of until this very moment.
But it’s a truth that Oliver has helped bring about.
Dad’s face contorts in disgusted confusion. “What?”
“The family joke that nearly everyone else has been in on since I graduated college?” My voice comes out stronger this time.
Despite the slight tremor in my words, I can feel the flush rising in my cheeks.
“Or rather, since the day I announced my major. That was the first time. And one time was all it took.” My fists clench, pressing into my sides.
Oliver places a steadying palm on my lower back.
The calming effect on my nerves is instantaneous.
Dad’s eyes don’t miss the movement. Pointing an intimidating finger at my boyfriend, his eyes bulge. “You,” he roars, “get your hand off my daughter. This is all your fault.”
“Dad—”
“My family is hurt because of you,” he spits.
When Oliver tries to step in front of me this time, he succeeds. “Because of me?” Incredulity colors every syllable. Anger rolls off of him in sheets. “What about Callie? Your entire family has done little except hurt her for years.”
Dad scoffs, waving him off. “If Calloway can’t take a joke or live up to her full potential, then that’s on her.”
“Calloway is the strongest person I’ve ever met. You should all be ashamed of how you’ve treated her over the years, some of which I’ve had the misfortune of witnessing firsthand.” Oliver fumes. “And that is my professional opinion.”
Imogene leans forward in her seat while Dad tries to gather his jaw from the floor. “So Calloway brought you in to … what, exactly? I mean, you really are a therapist—and a good one. We looked you up after you came to Thanksgiving. What was the end goal here?”
Oliver reaches backward until his strong hand finds mine, unfurling my fist and intertwining our personal universes. “I was supposed to help balance the family dynamics, however that needed to happen.”
Chris, who has been annoyingly silent throughout this entire discourse, snorts.
“And you needed to act like you’re in love with her to do that?
” He looks over his shoulder with narrowed eyes, finding our point of connection immediately.
“No offense but, like we told you at the school that night, you could do way better than Calloway.”
Oliver’s hand inadvertently strangles mine while he clearly focuses on not punching Chris in the face.
Something I’ve only had the satisfaction of doing once when we were teenagers. It didn’t end well.
For me.
Our parents took Chris’s side, naturally.
Connie, on the other hand, smacks Chris on the arm. My sweet, timid sister who dominates the financial world and acts like little woodland creatures help dress her each morning absolutely radiates fury.
Chris yelps. “Connie, what the hell?”
“I’ve told you for years to quit being such an ass to Calloway.”
“Only because you have feelings for one of her best friends,” her twin sneers.
Connie rears back like she’s been slapped. “Excuse me, but I’ve never needed a reason to be kind to my sister, thank you. You, however, have only ever taken pleasure in ridiculing her for something she’s passionate about. What if you have kids one day?”
Chris snorts, and Connie slaps him again.
I’d find it hilarious if I wasn’t so stunned.
“Have you ever considered that your younger sister may actually have a more difficult job than you and I do?”
“No,” he retorts.
“That’s because you’re an idiot,” she bellows.
“Our jobs are stressful because they involve other people’s finances, sure.
But Calloway? She spends her working hours molding the next generation.
I know I couldn’t do that job. I know for a fact that you wouldn’t be able to, either.
” Connie pokes her twin in the ribs. “Yet, year after year, you and Prescott have made fun of her profession, never letting her forget that you two think she’s beneath the rest of us. ”
Chris gapes at her while the rest of us hold our breath.
That’s the most Constance Irene Rutherford has ever said in front of everyone at once.
And she's defending me.
Dad stares bewildered at his favorite daughter. “Darling,” he starts in a tone I’ve heard five thousand times. As if Connie’s some wounded animal, like her voice makes her out to be.
But she turns on him, too. Whirling around to face our father, Connie stands.
Setting her jaw, Connie folds her arms across her chest. “And you, Daddy, you’ve done nothing but encourage them this entire time.
” Her voice loses some of its previous edge, replaced instead by heartache that her favorite parent would dare to be so cruel, as her frame begins to tremble.
Releasing Oliver’s hand, I move to stand by my favorite sibling. Gently, I grasp her shoulders. “Connie, it’s okay,” I whisper.
Sorrowful eyes cut to mine. She shakes her head. “No, it’s not, Calloway.” Those large emerald eyes swell with unshed tears.
Swallowing, I push down the guilt building in my core. All I wanted was to be seen as worth something in my family. Instead, the only one who has ever seemed to care about me within the walls of our childhood home is hurting. All because of me.
“You were right to enlist Oliver’s help,” Connie insists.
Dad rubs his face in disbelief. “Darling girl, are you saying you knew about this?” His soft eyes reserved only for Connie turn hard as they slide to me.
“I found out after Thanksgiving.”
Wide eyes take in his newly defiant daughter. “And you didn’t say anything?”
Connie lets out a humorless laugh. “What would you have wanted to hear, Daddy? That Calloway is finally happy? Because that was the main thing that changed. The man she brought to dinner did nothing but help her.”