10. Callum
Callum
Hi, Cal, it’s Tammy and Jeff. We just got back from Ellis Hall.
The school did a good job. The ceremony was really…
organized. We looked for you afterward, because we were hoping to get a picture of you in your cap and gown.
But your name wasn’t called. Sorry—it’s allergy season, so I’m, uh, constantly stuffed up. You know how it goes.
Anyway, we saw Sarah on our way out, and she said that you’re still, um, going through it. And we… Gosh, we hate to hear that, Cal.
So we were thinking. We have a copy of the program, and—the picture’s a little grainy—but, they said we could give them any one we wanted, and we actually chose the photo of you two in your uniforms. Maybe, if you’re open to it, we could bring it over?
In case you wanted to see it. Or, us. We’d love to—sorry for the long pause.
Just thought I was going to sneeze. These damn allergies.
I was trying to say that we’d love to see you.
Happy Graduation Day, bud. We’re so incredibly proud of you.
* * *
The large steel tanks with copper tops are visible through the floor to ceiling windows outside the brewery, but I can’t see behind them to get a feel for the number of patrons inside. Based on the number of cars in the parking lot, I assume it’s a packed house.
Peyton turns toward me on the sidewalk out front, tightening the belt around her wool coat. “Thank goodness the bill tonight was to dress autumn chic and not clubwear. It’s so chilly.”
I didn’t really get the chance to look at Peyton earlier, as she braved the cold and rushed into my truck, so my eyes quickly appraise her—except there’s nothing quick about it. My gaze lingers longer than it should. It’s like she carries all of my focus in the palm of her hand.
“Peyton. You look really, really nice.”
She holds up her gloves, her green eyes peering over her thick scarf. “You can’t even see me.”
She’s not wrong. There’s not much of her that’s visible underneath her winter wear, though I can’t imagine a scenario where she doesn’t look really, really nice.
Instead of saying all of that to my new woman-friend, I hold open the door for her.
The smell of malt and hops hits me as soon as we cross the threshold.
It’s a little sweet but more on the earthier side.
Once we get farther into the brewery, the scent of mulled wine and cider is more pronounced.
Given the restaurant/brewery combo, I’m not surprised to see some small kids near the back eating food, but most of the adults are gathered near the bar area.
It looks clean. Tidy counters, towels hanging over the correct bars—
I shake my head. I’m not here to inspect.
Peyton takes off her winter coat and scarf, hanging them up on a coat rack.
I lied when I told her she looked “really, really nice” earlier, because, in actuality, she’s a walking daydream in a long, flowy, sage dress.
It’s fitted up top—some sort of corset—with painted maroon flowers around her waist. The billowy sleeves make her appear so soft.
Standing next to Peyton, all I feel is happiness.
When I’m with her, I just move in her orbit while she spills sunlight.
Light that I get to bathe in, too, just by being close.
“I spy the manager near the kitchen.” Peyton cranes her neck to get a better view. “I’m going to let her know I’m here and find out if there are any last minute changes. Be right back.”
“Sounds good. I’ll hang out near the bar,” I reply, checking out a poster on the wall advertising a Halloween bash later this week.
Servers weave through the guests, holding trays of delicious looking appetizers.
Peyton mentioned she didn’t have a ton to eat before we left, and I wonder which bites will be her favorite.
Hopefully not the tray of steak tartare on toast I spot in the corner.
I don’t care how carefully they prepared it—it’s still a risk.
“Cal?”
I turn around and find a familiar, short woman standing in front of me. My ex-girlfriend, in fact, who’s still sporting the same light brown bob and blunt bangs after all these years.
My stomach turns. “Sarah?”
“What are you doing here?” Her tan skin flushes coral. “I mean—wow! I’m so happy to see you out and about! Thank you for coming!”
The neon “Stan’s Brewery” sign blinks at me in the background, and all of the pieces fall into place. It’s been years since I’ve seen Sarah Stanley. It never even occurred to me that the “Stan” in “Stan’s Brewery” would be short for her last name.
But here we are.
I take a quick breath and try to hide my discomfort. “It’s great to see you.”
She shifts on her feet awkwardly. “You, too. Gosh, the last time I saw you, you were…”
Going on two weeks since I last shaved? Having no clue how I’d get through the hardest week of the year? A hair’s breadth away from dropping out and moving back home?
Her lips pull to one side in a nervous pucker. “Well, we don’t have to talk about that. You look really good!”
The phrase you look really good only registers as a compliment from people that stick around. When Sarah says it, after not seeing me for years, it sounds more like I thought you’d look worse.
I don’t owe her any details about my life now, so I shrug. “Thanks.”
“Aunt Stanny gave me three cookies!” A young girl—maybe five years old—tugs on the hem of Sarah’s dress. It doesn’t take much past the matching brown bangs to see that she’s her daughter.
Sarah sighs. “Lovely. Is Aunt Stanny going to stay up with you until midnight, then?”
“Let me ask her!” The girl runs away and latches onto her aunt’s leg next to the bar.
“Sorry about her,” she says. “Anyway, how’re things?”
Sarah asks me the question casually, like she didn’t break up with me the last time we talked.
Like she didn’t drive an hour to my dorm only to end things during the most unbearable week of each year for me.
Like she didn’t say, “It’s been four years, Cal,” and, “This isn’t what I signed up for,” and, “I don’t think I can be what you need me to be,” over microwavable ramen noodles and Diet Coke.
If I’m honest, she didn’t break my heart, because it was already broken. All she did was confirm my lurking fear that I’d become impossible to love. And that type of heartbreak is more of a mindfuck.
I didn’t fault her for it, though, and I still don’t. I wasn’t the same person she knew. I wouldn’t have wanted to be stuck with me either.
“Things are good,” I say non-commitally. I’m not interested in extending our conversation, and I’m even less interested in making things weird in front of Peyton.
Peyton. Where is—
“Hi! I’m Peyton!” She steps to my side and smiles at me, handing me an apple cider.
It’s impossible not to smile back as I take it from her hand, careful not to touch her in the process.
Sarah’s eyes dart between Peyton and me, and her jaw drops slightly. After practically growing up with Sarah, I can’t imagine her looking more surprised. The sight of me smiling next to a woman must be really jarring. I’d be offended if I wasn’t feeling so damn good standing next to Peyton.
If Peyton can tell things are uncomfortable, she doesn’t let on. “It’s so nice to meet you! Have you tried the cider yet? It’s delicious.”
I stifle a laugh. Peyton’s in work mode and has zero idea that Sarah’s related to the owner. Sarah’s probably tried a thousand versions of this cider, but Peyton’s energy is so contagious, she might actually convince her to get another glass.
Sarah exhales a small laugh. “Um, yeah. Hi, I’m Sarah. My sister, Annie—Stanny—is the owner.”
Not that she has any reason to be, but Peyton doesn’t look embarrassed. I’m not even sure she’s capable of being embarrassed.
“Oh!” She takes a sip of her cider. “My mistake. Well, I’m jealous that you get free access to this elixir of the gods then. The cider is truly life-changing.”
Peyton’s exaggeration makes me chuckle, especially given the “life-changing” smoothie she had just a few weeks ago. As if she knows exactly what I’m thinking, she turns to me and her lips curve into a grin.
God. She’s just so much fun.
“How do you two know each other?” Sarah cuts in.
“How don’t we know each other at this point? With how often we see each other, it’d be impossible not to know this guy,” Peyton replies, a classic flash of mischief in her eyes.
Sarah squints, and I realize that this will make city-wide news tomorrow. Headline: Cal Galvin Interacts with Human Woman by Choice, and She Looks Happy: What This Means for Waterton.
After a moment, Sarah reaches out and clasps my shoulder. I’m surprised by how much the touch throws me, and I can practically feel Peyton’s stare at my side.
Sarah gives my arm a squeeze. “Well, I’m really happy for you, Cal. Looks like you finally did it.”
Her specific choice of words pry a memory from me, one I’d prefer not to revisit.
“Hey, Cal? When you finally do it, feel free to call me.”
My body sags against the futon. I feel so numb. “Do what, Sarah?”
“Get over it.”
Her voice yanks me back. “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to get out of here sometime soon to put the kiddos down. I hope you two enjoy the brewery!”
“I know we will,” Peyton replies cheerily.
A moment or two after Sarah joins her kids in the corner, Peyton leans my way. “So, what was that about?”
I scratch the back of my neck. “Hmm?”
“Who was she? No offense, but that whole interaction was kind of awkward. And that’s saying a lot, because I’ve been in a lot of awkward situations.”
“If it felt awkward, it’s probably because it was awkward. Sarah’s my ex, and that was the first time we’ve talked since we ended things years ago.”
Peyton nods. “Oh, got it. The one you told me about at the golf club? From high school?”
“Yeah.”
Peyton’s nose scrunches. “Did things end badly?”
Did things end badly? There isn’t bad blood between us, but there’s no fond nostalgia either. I’ve been grappling with much bigger things than the end of a childhood relationship.