18. Peyton #2
Mom wasn’t ever my confidant, and Dad didn’t get me through my first heartbreak.
The Christmas trees stopped the second I found out about Santa, the Tooth Fairy’s financial reserves dried up just shy of my molars falling out, and they sold our childhood home and booked the next flight to Greece before I blew out the candles on my nineteenth birthday cake.
I think they spent last Thanksgiving in Thailand.
We don’t have inside jokes as a family, and we’d never swear in front of each other, or act super silly… I guess it was all just kind of polite.
Callum’s lucky to have two over-the-top, loving parents.
And love they do.
Callum starts steering me away from his dad, and I throw an amused wave goodbye over Lila’s shoulder.
He leads me into the family room, where his brother plays the piano.
When Christopher spots Lila fused to my side, he switches to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” and throws me a wink. “This one always cheers her up.”
At the opening notes, Lila’s head perks up a bit, leaving a puddle of tears (and probably some snot) on my shoulder. Worth it. I sway Lila to the music, humming softly, and by the second chorus, Lila kicks her legs, signaling a dismount. I let her down, and she runs off to find her twin brother.
“You’re free,” Callum grabs my hand.
I intertwine my fingers with his. “I already miss being Lila’s prisoner.”
Christopher stops playing. “Any requests, Peyton? You’re our special guest.”
I tap my chin, remembering one of the songs Callum played on the car ride here. “Hm… do you know ‘Come Rain or Come Shine’ by Frank Sinatra?”
Christopher nods, smiling to himself.
“Stop stealing my favorite genre,” Callum murmurs. “I thought you didn’t like ‘elderly music.’”
Giving his hand a squeeze, I lean closer to him so he can hear me over the piano. “I’m warming to it.”
Callum presses his lips against my forehead and lingers there for a moment, just breathing against my skin.
He starts swinging my hand to the rhythm of the music, and we stay like that until the song ends.
I drop Callum’s hand to clap for Christopher, and he gives a little bow before heading back into the kitchen to check on the family.
When we turn to follow Christopher, I nearly run into the bookshelf to my right. It’s full of picture frames, and some of them rattle from the bump.
I scooch back a few frames that moved. “Whoops.”
“No worries.” Callum tugs on my hand, trying to lead me into the kitchen.
But I stay put, picking up one of the frames. “Oh my God. Is this you as a toddler? Baby Callum is so cute. Your hair used to be even redder than it is now. It’s really darkened up over the years.”
He shrugs. “I guess so. We should get going though.”
My feet stay planted in front of the bookshelf. “No way. Your mom hasn’t called us for dinner yet, and I have about one million more frames to go through.”
Callum drops my hand to scratch the back of his neck, looking a bit uncomfortable. He has nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s literally one of the cutest children I’ve ever seen.
The pictures appear to be in age order, from left to right. Each child has their own shelf, though it looks like the twins share one. Makes sense—I’d imagine most of their pictures are together.
I spy another picture of him on the Callum Shelf, this one a bit older—maybe fourteen. He’s sitting on a soccer field surrounded by his teammates. A huge trophy is in front of them. “That trophy is almost as big as you. What did you win?”
“It was a state championship.” His voice comes out completely monotone, and I wonder if he’s being modest again.
“Well, that’s pretty epic for a high schooler.
” My eyes travel the length of the shelf, but there aren’t any other pictures of him from high school.
The frame after the state championship houses a picture of him at college graduation.
I sneak a glance at his sibling’s shelves.
They’re fuller. They have at least three pictures of each sibling as a teenager.
“Did you have a teen wolf phase you’re hiding from me?” I joke, nudging him.
He laughs woodenly. “No. We should probably—”
“Dinner!” Mrs. Galvin shouts from the kitchen.
Callum picks my hand up again. “Don’t want to keep Ma waiting. Let’s go.”
Something’s off about his reaction to the bookshelf, but plenty of people don’t love seeing themselves in photos, especially from childhood. I shudder to think about showing him pictures from my pageant days—the magenta lipstick smeared over my braces wasn’t a great look for me.
When we get back to the kitchen, Callum offers to help his mom with drinks, and Lila runs up to me immediately, grabbing at my leg.
“We might as well just move her booster seat next to you, if that’s okay,” Cait says, an apology in her eyes.
“More than okay. I can’t be separated from my new best friend.”
“What’s this about a new best friend?” Callum returns with a sparkling water in his hand, setting it down in front of me. Cherry-lime, my favorite flavor.
I frown dramatically. “I regret to inform you that you’ve been demoted to Best Friend Number Three.”
“Dang,” he mutters. “I was just starting to think I might be gaining on Tessa.”
“Sorry,” I tut. “Chicks before di—”
“Turkey time!” Mrs. Galvin comes out with a giant turkey on a platter, setting it down in the middle of the table.
I lean toward Callum’s ear. “I’m surprised you don’t have your thermometer out to poke the turkey.”
He shrugs. “I already checked it in the kitchen. The breast was 169 degrees, and the thigh was 178. Safe to eat as long as it’s consumed within two hours at room temp, honey.”
“Your food safety knowledge is starting to sound hot, and that deeply concerns me,” I mutter.
“If you’re good, I’ll tell you all about botulism later,” he whispers sultrily in my ear.
“Now,” Mrs. Galvin announces. “Before we get started—”
A chorus of groans cuts her off.
“Order in the court!” She knocks on the wooden table and glares at her children. “As I was saying, before we get started, we’ll go around for our annual tradition of saying what we’re thankful for. Who’d like to start?”
“I’ll go,” Caitlyn says. “Same as last year. These two little monsters.” She juts a thumb out on either side of her, pointing to Lila and Logan.
“Boooorrrinng,” Carter calls from across the table. “Why don’t you mix it up for once?”
“If we’re mixing it up, here’s what I’m not grateful for this year. Number one. Carter.”
“Who’s next?” Mrs. Galvin asks, trying to maintain some semblance of decorum.
“I’ll go,” Callum offers, and I watch nearly every Galvin jaw drop. I’m pretty sure Caitlyn gasps, and Clementine mutters something to Clover. Even Lila and Logan look surprised. I guess Callum doesn’t usually volunteer, which doesn’t shock me.
Mr. Galvin claps. “Wonderful, Cal Pal! Go ahead.”
He clears his throat. “I’m grateful for Peyton.”
Holy shit, my boyfriend is so awkward. And I’m obsessed with him. A slow smile spreads across my face, and almost immediately, I notice a lot of little things happen at once.
Caitlyn says, “Oh my God.”
Clementine whispers, “Pay up,” to Christopher, and he starts digging in his pocket.
Clover slowly raises her phone, snapping a picture of us.
Jackson, Clover’s boyfriend, yawns and spins his baseball cap around.
“Well, what about Peyton, dear?” Mrs. Galvin asks.
Callum, who I think is starting to realize the repercussions of being so forward with his gratitude selection, flushes scarlet. Poor guy obviously wasn’t expecting any follow-up questions.
“Just… everything about her,” he mumbles.
Mrs. Galvin looks on approvingly. “That’s very sweet, Cal.”
“Suck-up.” Carter coughs the insult into his hand.
“You really like me, huh?” I whisper.
He presses a soft kiss behind my ear. “Yes.”
I shiver, and it’s like I can feel each and every goosebump that pops up on my arms. I grasp his hand and squeeze it.
The rest of the Galvins finish their gratitude in record time, eagerly awaiting the food.
Mr. and Mrs. Galvin are thankful for “everyone at the table this year,” Carter’s thankful for his gym, Clover’s thankful for her followers, Clementine’s thankful for early college acceptance letters, Christopher’s thankful for the fancy gig he’s playing next week, and Jackson’s grateful for his “sick ass sneakers.”
I, of course, am grateful for Callum. Can’t leave my boyfriend hanging like that.
After stuffing myself with temperature-zoned turkey, Mrs. Galvin sets her fork down. “Well, I think it’s time for pie!”
“On it, Ma,” Callum replies, setting his napkin on the table.
Before he stands up, I whisper suggestively, “You go do your duty and bring in those external pies, Callum Galvin. You bring them in real good.”