Thirteen
thirteen
SHE WILL BE LOVED - MAROON 5
CALLIE - MAY 23, 2013
W ith only a few hours left in our trip, Taylor cranks up a family road-trip classic—Hanson’s Snowed In album. It’s a bizarre choice for an eighty-five-degree day at the end of May, but it doesn’t matter. We’re belting out Christmas carols like it’s the middle of December, not caring that we’re sweating under the hot sun. The windows are down, and the wind whips through my hair, carrying away the heat of the afternoon. For a while, I let myself get lost in the rhythm of the music, my voice blending with Taylor’s in a way that feels effortless, familiar, like we’re those two carefree girls again, road-tripping without a worry in the world.
As we laugh through the final chorus of “What Christmas Means to Me,” I feel a stitch in my side from all the singing. I let my voice trail off, leaning back in my seat to catch my breath, and the reality of everything begins to creep back in—the growing weight of my belly, the uncomfortable tightness of my clothes. I shift in my seat, suddenly aware of the contrast between this fleeting moment of joy and the heavier, more complicated reality that’s waiting for me when the music stops.
Taylor seems to sense the change in my energy, her voice fading as she lowers the volume on the stereo. There’s a beat of silence, the kind that only happens between people who know each other well enough to feel when something shifts beneath the surface.
“We’ve still got it,” Taylor says with a grin, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.
I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, but I’m not sure my lungs can handle it like they used to. I feel like an out-of-shape Santa Claus over here.”
“Cutest Santa ever!” Taylor giggles, her eyes twinkling amusement. I can’t help but smile at her playful tone. After a moment, she sighs, her fingers tapping absently on the steering wheel. “I’ve missed this, you know?” she says, her voice almost nostalgic. “Just us, singing our hearts out like nothing else matters. Adam never really let you talk to me when you were together. There was always something more important he needed you for when I tried to call.”
My heart sinks a little at her words. She’s not wrong. My relationship with Adam isolated me from almost everyone unless he was able to find the person useful. A part of me feels like I’m still mending my relationship with my sister after a falling out she and I had thanks to Adam and her ex not getting along. “I’ve missed you too, Taylor,” I assure her. “I’m sorry for everything.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” she says. “Just… don’t disappear on me again, okay?”
“Sisters over misters,” I say, holding up my pinkie. Taylor smiles softly, reaching over to loop her little finger in mine. We lean toward one another, pressing our fists together to lock in our promise, just like we’ve done since we were kids.
For a moment, the mood feels lighter, but when she glances back at me, her expression grows more serious. She turns her attention back to the road, her grip on the wheel tightening just a little. “I just don’t want you to lose yourself, Callie. You deserve to be happy.”
Her words catch me off guard, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat, not sure how to respond. It’s like she’s saying what I’ve been too afraid to admit to myself. I clear my throat, searching for the right words. “I’m getting there,” I finally say, though it feels like a half-truth. “It’s only been six weeks since I found out Adam was messing around with Janelle and that stupid FlameFinder profile of his.”
Taylor gives me a mischievous look, her mood lightening again. “Speaking of which, did you ever delete that profile you made to catch his attention?”
I groan, rolling my eyes as I lean my head back against the seat. “Honestly, I forgot it even existed,” I admit, but the moment the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve opened the door for whatever Taylor has in mind. Her grin widens, and I know I’m in for it.
“Well, well, well,” she teases, her voice playful but with that familiar undercurrent of mischief. “You know, just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean you can’t let loose and have a little fun.”
I laugh, feeling a blush creep up my neck because I know exactly what she’s hinting at. These pregnancy hormones have been no joke, and I’ve almost considered buying stock in AA batteries. “Oh yeah? What do you suggest, wild one?” I ask, pretending to be serious, though we both know Taylor’s always been the more reserved one between us.
I shake my head but that doesn’t seem to deter her interest in the subject. “I can’t imagine anyone would want me right now,” I say looking down at my growing belly. “Look at me!”
“So you never deleted the profile?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” I admit hesitantly. “But I haven’t logged in since the day I made it. Never even turned on notifications.”
Taylor’s grin widens. “Well, why not log back in and update it? Use it to meet some people. You deserve to have fun too, Calico Cat,” she says with a wink, reviving my old nickname from when I was more chaotic and carefree.
I’m a little taken aback, not used to my sister being the one to push for this kind of thing. She’s not prudish, but we’ve never really talked about stuff like this so openly. “I don’t know, Tay… it feels kinda weird,” I say, half laughing, half genuinely nervous.
She nudges me, undeterred. “Come on, what’s the harm? You don’t have to take it seriously. Think of it as a confidence boost. Besides,” she pauses, her grin now full-on mischievous, “it’s not like you’re gonna get pregnant.”
“TAYLOR!”
She’s cackling now, tears practically forming in her eyes. “What?! It’s true!” she says, her face turning red from laughter. “Seriously, Callie. I’m not saying go full ‘post-divorce-hoe-phase,’ but you can have fun. At the very least, log in and read the messages. I guarantee your inbox has been blowing up since you made that profile. I bet it’s full of cringy gold.”
She glances over at me, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well? What are you waiting for? Chaos Callie wouldn’t have given this a second thought back in the day.”
I cringe a little at the mention of my old nickname. Chaos Callie was what I dubbed myself back in high school when everyone was calling me a mess. Instead of letting it get to me, I embraced it—probably more than I should have. “Well, Chaos Callie wasn’t a mom,” I point out, trying to sound more responsible than I feel.
“Callie, men do this crap all the time and get high-fives for it,” she says, her voice carrying a hint of frustration, like she’s giving herself the same pep talk she’s giving me.
She has a point. Why can’t I have some fun as long as it’s safe, sane, and consensual? After a moment of hesitation, I shrug. “Fuck it, I’m in,” I say, pulling out my phone.
Taylor cheers beside me as I log into the account, already laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. Sure enough, my inbox is full of messages—some of them beyond cringeworthy. One particularly charming message from Slay_N_Pussy69 reads: “Well, if your husband’s on here, you might as well have some fun too, baby.” Gross. Thank God this app doesn’t allow picture messages, or I can only imagine what horrors would be waiting for me.
“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this,” I say, mass deleting everything in the inbox so I can start fresh.
Taylor laughs, throwing me a knowing look. “Oh please, Callie, it didn’t take that much convincing. Don’t act like you’re not dying for a little... excitement. You’ve forgotten I know what pregnancy hormones are like!”
It’s so strange hearing my sister talk like this—about sex, no less. She’s always been the one with a spotless reputation, while I’ve been the one causing trouble and making questionable life decisions. But here she is, encouraging me to let loose, to reclaim a part of myself I thought I’d buried.
With her encouragement, I update my profile, adding some new photos and tweaking my description. And as a final act of rebellion, I change my username from Callie_co to ChaosCallie, fully embracing my old persona. It feels oddly liberating, like I’m reclaiming a piece of myself I’d lost somewhere along the way .
The profile reads:
Not looking for another Baby Daddy. I already have one that I can’t stand.
Age: 22
Location: Hawkridge, IA
About Me: Hey there! I’m Callie, a mom of an adorable little girl and a soon-to-be mom of another bundle of joy. I’m rediscovering myself and not really looking for anything other than someone to talk to and share laughs with. I’m trying to learn not to take life too seriously. I love reading, coffee, and indulging in spontaneous dance parties in the living room.
Occupation: Barista
Favorite TV Shows: One Tree Hill, Friends, That 70s Show and Sons of Anarchy
Fun Fact: I’m pregnant. Yes, I’m serious. And no, you are not the father! *insert best Maury impression ever*
Looking For: Someone to have intelligent conversations with. I won’t respond to any messages if you just start with a “Hey girl,” or try to get in my pants.
If you’re interested in actually getting to know me, send me a message!
By the time we reach New Orleans, the sun is setting, painting the sky with brilliant hues of orange and pink. The French Quarter is alive with music and laughter, its ironwork balconies and vibrant colors a feast for the eyes. The aroma of Cajun spices fills the air, mingling with the sound of jazz spilling out from nearby bars.
This city has a heartbeat all its own, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I might just find mine again here.
Our dad, Edward, is waiting for us on the porch of his weathered house in the Marigny district, the kind of place that feels like it holds centuries of stories. As we pull up, his broad smile is the first thing we see. He strides toward us with open arms, his laughter ringing out like music, making everything feel lighter, if only for a moment.
“Welcome, my girls!” he exclaims, his eyes gleaming with joy as he pulls us into a bear hug. His warmth is infectious, the kind of embrace that promises everything’s going to be okay, even when it isn’t.
Inside the house, the scent of gumbo bubbling away on the stove fills the air, mixing with the scratchy sounds of Dad’s old vinyl records playing in the background. It's like stepping back in time—before everything got complicated, before the heartache and the mess of adulthood. The weight I’ve been carrying around feels a little lighter, just being here.
Friday morning, we venture into the vibrant streets of the French Quarter. The city hums with life—street performers fill the air with music, and artists sketch passersby with quick strokes of charcoal. The unmistakable scent of beignets from Café du Monde floats through the air, sweet and rich, tempting us at every corner.
Sara’s eyes are wide with wonder, taking in the kaleidoscope of sights and sounds, and I tighten my grip on her tiny hand, feeling that fierce pull of love and protectiveness. This trip isn’t just for me; it’s for her too—a glimpse into a world beyond the walls of our messy, broken home.
At Jackson Square, we weave through artists’ stalls filled with vivid paintings, pausing every so often to watch horse-drawn carriages clatter by. The city’s pulse beats around us, each moment more alive than the last. Taylor and I take turns snapping pictures of Sara, capturing the pure joy that dances in her eyes. I can feel my own shoulders loosening, the knots of stress untangling bit by bit.
As we wander further through the lively streets, something inside me shifts. The vibrant energy of New Orleans seeps into my bones, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to imagine a future that isn’t clouded by the past. Maybe—just maybe—this trip is the start of something new. The beginning of a chapter where freedom and happiness aren’t just fleeting, but possible.
As the night deepens, the vibrant energy of the city slowly fades, replaced by the rhythmic hum of cicadas and the distant murmur of voices winding down for the evening. I sit outside, the warm New Orleans breeze brushing my skin, and reflect on the past few days—the road trip, the laughter, the fleeting sense of freedom I haven’t felt in what seems like a lifetime. It’s a sharp contrast to the suffocating reality I’ve been trapped in with Adam.
Taylor breaks the silence, her voice soft but steady, like she’s anchoring me back to solid ground. “You know, we’ve been through a lot, Callie. But we’ve always had each other. And we always will.”
Her words settle over me like a comforting blanket, and suddenly, the tears I’ve been holding back spill over, hot and uninvited. I nod, my throat tight, struggling to find my voice. “Thank you, Taylor. For everything. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.” Each word feels heavy with the gratitude I’ve been carrying for her. Through every storm, she’s been my constant—my anchor when everything else was slipping away.
She reaches over and gives my hand a firm squeeze, her grip grounding me even more. “You’ll never have to find out. We’re in this together, no matter what.”
For a moment, we sit in that quiet understanding, and then Taylor breaks the silence again, her voice more reflective now. “I was scared too, you know. When I left Nick, I didn’t know if I could make it on my own. But I did. And so will you.”
I turn to her, meeting the fierce determination in her eyes. “It’s just... sometimes it feels impossible to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Especially with everything that’s happened.”
She nods, her expression softening but still resolute. “I get that. But, Callie, you’ve got so much ahead of you. And you deserve to be happy. You deserve more than what you’ve been settling for.”
I inhale deeply, feeling a shift inside, a small flicker of resolve rekindling. “You’re right. It’s time to stop dwelling on the past. It’s time to start thinking about what’s best for me.”
Taylor smiles, her support unwavering. “Absolutely. And no matter what you decide, I’ll be right there, cheering you on.”
We sit together in a peaceful silence, the cool night air wrapping around us like a quiet reminder that things can change, that maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay. I feel lighter, like I can finally breathe, and for the first time in a long while, hope doesn’t feel like such a foreign concept. Whether it’s this city’s magic or the warmth of being with family, I start to believe that things can get better.
Resting back in my chair, I pull out my phone, its familiar weight grounding me again. I start scrolling through social media, watching the endless parade of curated lives and picture-perfect moments, but none of it grabs my attention. Boredom sets in quickly, and my thoughts drift. Maybe I should check FlameFinder, just for a distraction. Anything to pull me away from the tangled mess of my own thoughts.
Taylor, as if reading my mind, glances over with a knowing look, casually leaning back in her chair but not-so-subtly trying to peek at my screen. “Have you checked your messages on the app since you updated your profile?” she asks, her tone both playful and teasing.
I chuckle, rolling my eyes. “Your timing is impeccable. Were your spidey senses tingling or something?”
Taylor grins, her excitement contagious. “Come on,” she nudges. “Check your messages. Let’s see if there’s anything in there that isn’t a disaster pickup line!”
With a deep breath, I open the app and navigate to my inbox. Sure enough, the messages have piled up. Most of them are cringeworthy at best, but as I scroll, one message catches my eye—different from the rest. I pause, intrigued, as a mix of curiosity and hesitation bubbles up inside me. Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea after all.