Chapter 21
Callie
Sunday afternoon, the oven timer and a knock on my door sound at the same time.
Looking at the microwave clock, I frown knowing Oliver should still be with John right now.
Besides, he already let me know he was planning to stay with Blythe tonight since she’s back from her trip.
That way he can fill her in on everything.
But I get to keep Nacho with me. So, really, I win.
An insistent knock hammers on the door again.
“Just a sec,” I call. There may be someone freezing outside, but burning down my apartment by leaving my food in the oven too long won’t do anyone any good. So they can wait.
Nacho barks, clearly siding with me.
Glancing down at my favorite green sweats and Oliver’s old university shirt, I shrug to myself. If people don’t want to see me dressed down with no makeup and a messy bun, they should really call first.
Depositing the chicken casserole on the stovetop to cool, I make quick work of wiping my hands on a dishtowel and rush to the door.
“No way,” I mutter, checking the peephole.
Confusion settles deep in my stomach, curious about what ball is about to drop here in my own home.
Especially considering the last time we were all in the same room, when things did not go supremely well.
I open the door and sure enough, there waits all four of my siblings.
“Geez, Calloway, let us in.” Connie’s teeth chatter in spite of her being wrapped up in a down winter coat and boots. Moving me aside, she leads the pack into my apartment.
Each of them look around the space in wonder. Never having been here before, they all take in the insane amount of plants, no doubt wondering if I’ve lost my mind. Or if all the plants have kept too much oxygen in the place and have thus made me the defective Rutherford they’ve come to know.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” I grumble, heading back into the kitchen to cover the chicken in case Nacho gets any bright ideas while I’m distracted by having the entire Rutherford legion in my living room.
“You didn’t attend that school,” Connie teases, smirking down at my shirt, “but I bet I can guess who did.”
Rolling my eyes, I grin and turn to grab the tin foil.
They all remove their coats, hanging them off the two barstools as they wander farther into the space that’s much too small for the five of us.
Prescott hightails it to the single chair on the far end of the living room, as if he’s been on his feet all day and can’t wait to sit down.
Given that it’s the weekend, I know he wasn’t in court today.
Maybe Mom had him walking from place setting to place setting at their house to help with the New Year’s party planning.
Frankly, that would exhaust me, too.
Prescott clears his throat. “Man, something smells good, Calloway. I guess you really can cook?”
“How else do you think I eat?”
“Take out?”
I snort. “All the time? On a teacher’s salary?”
His lips form a flat line. “Fair point. Are you ever sorry that you didn’t choose something more lucrative?”
“Money’s not everything, Scotty boy.”
The nickname he usually despises earns me a small smile. “No, but then you wouldn’t have to cook all the time.”
Shrugging, I put some fresh water in the electric kettle.
If I’m going to make it through having my siblings spend time in my apartment, I’m going to need some gourmet hot cocoa, stat.
“I really like cooking, actually. I even grow some of my own herbs.” I nod to the row of basil, thyme, rosemary and oregano on a shelf above the sink.
Imogene sits down on the couch … right in my spot.
I try not to dwell on that fact.
“I didn’t know you have a dog,” Imogene says absently. Nacho leans into the timid pets my oldest sister offers.
“Or so many plants,” Chris gripes.
“This is Nacho, right?” Connie asks. She takes a place on the couch next to Imogene, leaving the last spot for Chris.
The sweet baby’s tail wags in confirmation, making Connie giggle.
Chris huffs. “Is she Dr. Hotness’s dog?” But the gruffness of his voice is diminished by the smile threatening to take over his face as Nacho delivers a wet kiss right to his waiting cheek.
What can I say? That girl’s quite the charmer.
Ignoring the edge in my brother’s voice, I nod. “Yep.”
“Where is he?” Prescott glances at the only other interior door, leading to the bedroom. “You’re wearing his clothes, and I’m surprised he’s not attached to your hip.”
“Believe it or not, we can still function as individuals,” I laugh.
“But he’s out with friends right now, and will be seeing his sister later tonight.
Since she doesn’t know about, well, everything, he’s taking this opportunity to tell her.
” My cheeks flush at the taboo mention of our strange predicament.
“So Nacho and I are having a girl’s night in.
” With the casserole securely covered and the hot water almost boiling, I lean onto the counter facing my unexpected visitors.
While none of them look particularly comfortable in my home, no one looks oddly out of place, either.
It’s a little unnerving to have this situation feel so commonplace.
I’ll be the first to admit that I have no idea what the Rutherford siblings get up to in their evenings, but it sure isn’t sitting around in their youngest sister’s apartment watching the latest episode of their new favorite hyperfixation.
I briefly wonder if I should snap a quick picture for Ian and Aaron—they sure aren’t going to believe this without some proof.
Sensing everyone in the room is now in love with her, Nacho makes her way back to the kitchen and collapses in a furry pile at my feet.
“So,” I clap my hands together out of the pure need to do absolutely anything other than just stand here like a moron in my own home, “what brings you all here on this lovely Sunday afternoon?” I think my smile comes across a bit more manic than I intend, but my nerves are only leaving me so much to work with here.
Connie shifts to face our brothers. Her delicate eyebrows raise, and her shoulder-length waves swish through the air with each sharp turn of her head as she looks at each of them.
“What?” Chris grimaces.
“I think one of you should start.”
“Why?”
“Christopher Irving Rutherford.”
“Constance Irene Rutherford.”
“Fine,” Prescott interrupts, “I’ll start.
You two, shut up.” My oldest brother sits up straight in his chair.
Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he looks at me and begins speaking.
“Calloway, we had no idea about how you’ve felt all these years.
I mean, we knew what we were saying, but we never realized how much it affected you.
And we’re sorry. Right, Chris?” Prescott kicks our brother’s foot.
Chris grunts in disapproval. Still glaring and making his displeasure known, he nods at me.
“Say it,” Connie commands.
Her twin cuts his annoyed eyes her way and sighs. “We’re sorry, Calloway.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, brows furrowing further in confusion.
Chris sighs in exasperation. “Relax, there’s no ulterior motive. We’re not recording this to blackmail you or anything weird. Like to, I dunno, gaslight you later on.” He doesn’t stop the grin from spreading on his face.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Imogene says, sitting up, “when exactly did you and Oliver actually start dating, since you weren’t at Thanksgiving? Even though you could’ve fooled us.”
“They did fool us,” Prescott interjects.
Imogene nods while I fight the urge to crawl under the counter. “Right. Were you dating when we were all up at the school for your program?”
Biting my lip, heat flushes my cheeks. “Actually, not until Christmas Eve.”
Connie grins from the couch like a proud mother.
Prescott rears his head back. “Wow. Well, I feel like an idiot.”
I wave him off. “Eh, I hear that’s good for you once and a while.”
Imogene, my stoic oldest sister, bursts out into laughter while Chris groans. “Ugh, that means you were probably being gross just down the hall, right? You know what”—he waves his hands in front of his face, shaking his head—“you’re my baby sister and I don’t wanna know.”
“Smart man,” Connie snickers while I try to not die from embarrassment.
Prescott rubs his forehead and sighs. “Look, we’re having a family dinner tonight,” he explains and glances at his watch, “in a couple hours, actually.”
“I know,” I answer, “Mom left me a voicemail.” I still feel kind of bad for not answering her call.
It was Dad who was so loud and upset, after all.
And while I don’t blame Mom for siding with her partner, I still didn’t feel prepared to talk to her just yet.
Then I outwardly cringe as I make the connection.
“Did she send you all here to drag me to dinner gagged and bound?” I gasp. “Am I what’s for dinner?”
My oldest brother rolls his eyes. “Mom didn’t send us.” He looks around my tiny living room at each of our siblings before landing his gaze on me. “We wanted to come talk to you and apologize. And then ask you to come to dinner.”
“Why?” My voice is quiet, unsure. I admittedly don’t know how to handle my siblings being decent to me all at the same time.
Connie stands and makes her way to where I am floundering in the kitchen.
Stepping around Nacho, my sister places her palms on my shoulders.
“I know how hard this whole thing has been for you,” she says, “but I don’t think you realize it’s been difficult for us, too.
We were raised in the same house as you, but you had vastly different rules than the rest of us.
You always felt like Mom and Daddy overlooked you.
But the entire time, the rest of us were struggling to survive. ”
“Not to mention,” Imogene pipes up, “that they were always pitting us against one another. It made it hard to know who to trust a lot of the time.”