15. Callum
Callum
Hi, Cal, it’s Tammy… and Jeff! We were eager to see you around town during fall break, but your mom mentioned you chose to stay at school.
It feels safer to heal alone, sometimes, doesn’t it?
For years, we only left the house in November for work and essentials.
Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now, things do get better.
In fact, we just got back from the Harvest Festival.
We thought we might never go again, but we went, and it wasn’t as scary as we thought it’d be.
Don’t get me wrong—it was hard. But not harder than our worst day.
And if we can survive that, we can survive anything.
Today, when we visited him, we saw two butterflies.
One was blue, nearly identical to the color of his eyes, and one was brown with deep orange undertones—almost a perfect match for your hair color.
I… Sorry. Just needed a minute. Anyway, the butterflies, they wouldn’t leave each other alone.
It almost looked like they were playing.
I took it as a sign that he’s doing okay.
It’s funny, isn’t it? How everything seems like a sign after tragedy.
Maybe I look for them, or maybe they look for me.
We miss you, Cal. Do you think we can go to the festival together next year?
* * *
What was said in the locker room during halftime when the Mustangs were down 27 and came back to win the championship? Why did you choose to retire two years earlier than anyone expected?
Did you really grow longer hair from the shampoo company you worked with, or was that just for money?
These are the questions I’m burning to ask DT. In another life, one where I’m just a fan and not in a relationship with his little sister’s best friend, I might ask them. But I’m trying to make a good impression for Peyton. I really need this to go well.
Even though I’ve been on high alert most of the day, Peyton hasn’t been able to tell. She’s so preoccupied with her friends, she hasn’t noticed that my hands are a little clammier than normal, my skin a little paler. I’m grateful. I don’t want to pull focus away from her reunion.
DT keeps the conversation going as we wait in the long line at the donut and cider stand, asking me where I’m from (Waterton), where I went to college (Toledo), and what I like to do for fun (hang out with Peyton). None of my answers have been remotely captivating.
“So, when do you—”
Brassy sounds blare out of the speakers surrounding the gazebo, cutting him off. Two kids come marching out with fake plastic trumpets.
DT laughs. “Oh, hell yeah. Gracie loves small-town stuff like this. Do you think she can see them all the way from the pumpkin-painting area, or no?” He pulls out his phone. “I should take a video just in case.”
When they reach the center of the gazebo, one kid pulls out a long, scroll-like paper and reads into the microphone. “Here ye! Here ye! We’d like to present…”
Fuck. Fuck. Not here.
“The Harvest Festival Royal Court!”
Panic invades my nervous system, and I’m swept up in a tornado of dread.
My temples throb, and I reach up to apply pressure to them, like I can push whatever’s happening back inside my head.
My heart pounds, and I lift my fingers to tap, trying to fight the trigger that’s yanking at me.
But exhaustion covers my hands, and they feel denser than normal. Heavy.
Dull static fills my ears as the festival goes cloudy around me, and I can’t fight it anymore, so I helplessly surrender to another memory I’ve tried to suppress. A memory of him.
“Don’t tell me you’re actually going to follow through with this shit.” I laugh, watching him strut around his bedroom dressed up in a furry cape and crown.
“If Erica’s going to be the Harvest Princess, you best believe I’m going to be the Harvest Prince. I can’t let Xander sit by her during the parade.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think any girl is worth the plastic crown.”
“Like you wouldn’t do it for Sarah.”
“Speaking of Sarah, I think our anniversary is the same day as the festival.”
“You have an anniversary just for dating? Mhm. You’d throw on a cape in a second if she asked.” He puffs out his chest. “Be honest, Cal. You’re just jealous because I’m the town darling. You wish you could pull off this awesome costume.”
“You look like an idiot.”
He grins, adjusting the cape around his shoulders. “An idiot maybe, but an idiot in a crown. You’ll be at the parade, right?”
But the parade never happened.
“Hey. You okay, man?” DT’s voice cuts through the memory.
I realize my hands are shaking. “Fuck. No, I’m. Fuck—”
My lungs seize, and it hurts to breathe.
I need to go. Far away from this festival, and far away from DT.
I step forward, but the dizziness causes me to stumble.
Everyone’s probably watching me. Why did I even show my face at the festival?
I knew better. Peyton will come back soon, and I’ll ruin the day, just like I ruin everything else, and she’ll never want to be with me, and—
“Let’s go over there.” DT’s hand discreetly grabs the back of my elbow, steering me toward a deserted corner behind a tree to the left of the donut stand.
He sets his coat on the cold ground and tugs me down by my elbow. He sits next to me. “Breathe. In through your nose.”
I try, but it’s useless. All I can think about is how embarrassing this is while my body continues to betray me. Can’t even fucking breathe without having to think about it.
DT nudges my elbow. “Hey. I’ve been here before. We can talk about it, but not until you breathe through your nose. Out through your mouth, now.”
I blow all the air out at once.
He shakes his head. “Come on. We both know you have to go slower than that. Again.”
I inhale slowly, then exhale slowly. He does it too, syncing his breaths with mine. Maybe it helps, maybe it doesn’t. It’s hard to tell because the pain in my chest is still killing me.
“What else?” DT asks calmly.
“What… What do you mean?” I grit out in between shallow breaths.
“Is there something else you do when this happens? I like to picture three things I can see, hear, and smell.”
There’s no time to wonder how he seems to know exactly what to say. I start tapping and do my best to ground myself, trying to visualize somewhere comfortable. DT waits patiently for me to finish.
When I’m done, it doesn’t feel like much time has passed.
But then I notice that the donut line only has one person in it and the royal court has left the gazebo.
Even the crowd looks thinner, having cleared a bit to watch the parade.
My heart rate lowers, and though I feel calmer, I’m still uneasy in front of DT.
“Sorry about this, man. I don’t usually…” I trail off. I don’t usually do this in front of people.
DT tilts his head. “Did you know that Caribbean reef squid can change colors to communicate a mood? Like, if they’re interacting with two mates at once, one half of their body can be one color, and the other half a different color.”
I blink. Caribbean reef squid? Peyton was right. This family is weird.
“Sorry.” He laughs softly. “It’s something Gracie and I do. Sharing facts like this can help distract you from… Well, from whatever this is. What is it, by the way? I had panic attacks for half my life, but I’m not familiar with tapping.”
“It’s PTSD. The tapping is a technique I use to calm down from a trigger. I… Fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m embarrassed you had to see me like that.”
He blows right past my apology. “And the festival’s a trigger for you?”
“I haven’t been to one since I was a teenager,” I mumble.
DT hums. “If you don’t mind me asking, why’d you come then?”
Heat rises up my neck, and I avert my gaze.
“Ah. Peyton.” He gives me a knowing look.
“She wanted me to meet all of you, and I didn’t want to disappoint her… which is laughable, now, seeing that this happened.”
“Hey. We’re not gonna do that. Get down on ourselves. This shit’s hard enough without adding pressure from yourself. We all have something we’re dealing with.” His voice sounds firm, definitive. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I hesitate. I haven’t shared anything with Peyton yet, and it feels wrong to give details to someone else before her. “Not right now. I need to work on some stuff first, then talk to Peyton.”
He searches my face for a moment, maybe to check I meant what I said. “Okay. But this is nothing to be ashamed of, Cal.”
I exhale slowly. “I know.”
“If you’re good, we should grab the donuts and head back to the group. They’re probably wondering where we’ve been.”
“I’m good,” I say, grabbing his coat from under me.
We both stand, and he starts walking back to the donut and cider line.
“DT?”
He swivels around. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.” He pauses. “And I think we’re past ‘DT.’ You can call me Daniel now.”
If I wasn’t already feeling a little better, getting permission to call him by his real name might do it. For the first time today, I forget about his fame and see him as my friend. My lips curve into a genuine smile, and as we start walking again, Daniel returns it with one of his own.
When we approach the donut counter, I lower my voice. “One more thing. I’d… I’d appreciate it if you kept what happened today between us.”
He rears his head back. “Why?”
My shoulders tense as I launch into an explanation, one that I know isn’t good enough. “Peyton’s having the time of her life today, and I don’t want to bring her down.”
Also, there’s the small, lingering detail that I haven’t shared my PTSD with her yet.
But I don’t want to get into all that.
Daniel nods. “Listen, man. It isn’t mine to tell. But a word of warning from someone who’s been there: keeping this kind of shit from someone you care about rarely ends well.”
My cheeks heat with guilt. “I know. I’m going to tell her really soon. Tomorrow, even. Just… not today.”
* * *
We come back to the group with warm donuts in hand.