Chapter 8 #2
I wipe my hands on the white towel and turn my back on the potatoes I was cutting. I lean against the counter and lift an eyebrow. “No, why?”
“My mom just called and invited us for dinner,” he says, shrugging as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“On a Wednesday?” I reply, my surprise evident in my voice.
He grabs a piece of bread off the counter and takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully before responding. “Yeah.”
Atwood Sunday family dinners are a huge thing, a tradition steeped in warmth and togetherness, but Wednesday night dinners are something I’ve never been invited to.
This unexpected invitation sends a jolt of anxiety through me.
What could it mean? Is this just a casual dinner, or is there something more to it?
As I mull over the possibilities, I can't shake the feeling that this dinner might be more than just a meal. The tension between Anya and me is palpable, and I worry that her family has picked up on it. The thought of facing her tonight, in the intimacy of her family’s home, fills me with a mixture of dread and anticipation.
Callum finishes his bread and looks at me expectantly, waiting for my answer. “Sure,” I finally say, trying to sound casual, though my mind is racing.
“Great,” he replies with a grin. “We’ll head over right after work.”
“This is something you guys do often?”
He shakes his head, a seriousness settling in his eyes. “No, never. I’m worried she has bad news and wants you there to help me through it.”
Shit.
I nod, crossing my arms. “I’m there. What time?”
“She said around six, but I told her there’s no way we could slip out that early.”
“Some things are more important than work, Callum. I’ll get everything prepped, and my team will be able to handle it. Tell her we’ll be there.”
One thing I know for sure is that life is fragile. If Carol needs us, we need to be there. To hell with everything else. The Atwood’s have done so much for me; the least I can do is show up when they need me.
“You sure?” he asks, reaching for a piece of cheese from the platter on the counter.
“Yeah, buddy, I’m sure.” I chuckle as he pops the cheese into his mouth. “You want me to make you something to eat?”
He grins, shaking his head. “Nah, this cheese will do for now. But thanks.”
As I watch Callum, I’m reminded of the countless times he and his family have been my refuge.
I can’t help but think about what this dinner might mean.
Could Carol have sensed the tension between Anya and me?
Is this her way of addressing it, or is it simply a routine family gathering that I’ve been fortunate enough to be included in?
The uncertainty gnaws at me, but I push it aside.
Carol needs us, and that’s what matters.
“I need to get back to the office and make sure everything is in order so we can leave early.” He forces a grin before walking toward the door. He turns his head and says, “Thanks, Griff.”
“Hey, no thanks needed.”
He leaves the kitchen, and my mind wanders to what this dinner could be about. Is it a casual invitation, or is there something more behind it? The Atwood’s aren’t the type to hold formal interventions, but the timing and the unusual midweek gathering make me uneasy.
I push all the thoughts buzzing through my head aside and get to work preparing everything for my crew.
They are perfectly capable of handling a night without me, so I’m not worried.
Still, I want to ensure everything runs smoothly in my absence.
I meticulously go through the prep list, double-checking every detail.
From the ingredients for the weekend party to the tasks for each team member, I leave nothing to chance.
It also helps keep my mind occupied as time goes by.
The rhythmic chopping of vegetables, the precise measuring of spices, and the organization of the kitchen are all distractions from the uncertainty of the evening ahead.
As I work, my thoughts drift back to Anya, her smile, and the way she lights up a room.
I wonder how she feels about seeing me tonight.
Has she been avoiding me as deliberately as I’ve been avoiding her?
I set up the stations, ensuring everyone knows their responsibilities. My team is a well-oiled machine, each member skilled and reliable. I trust them implicitly, which makes it easier to step away, knowing they’ll handle any challenge that comes their way.
“All right, guys,” I call out as I gather my things. “I’m heading out for the evening. You’ve got everything you need, and I’m just a phone call away if anything comes up.”
They nod and smile, giving me reassuring thumbs-ups and quick waves. Their confidence boosts my own, and I feel a bit more at ease as I leave the kitchen.
Callum walks into the kitchen just as I’m unbuttoning my chef’s coat.
“Ready?” I ask him.
“Yeah,” he says, glancing at his phone.
He hops into his car, and I climb into my truck, my stomach in knots the entire time. I'm hoping it’s nothing serious, but preparing myself for the worst. I’ll need to be the rock for all the Atwoods; it’s the least I can do after everything they’ve done for me.
When we park in front of the Atwood family home, I stare at the big white house. It’s always been a beacon of light in my dark life, and tonight is no different. Its welcoming presence calms me a bit, but I can’t shake the anxiety gnawing at my insides.
We get out and meet on the brick walkway that leads to the front door. “It’s gonna be all right, Cal,” I say, slapping his back, trying to sound confident.
“Yeah,” he mutters, but his voice lacks conviction.
The front door opens before we even reach it, and Carol stands there with a huge smile on her face. “I’m so glad you could both make it,” she says warmly.
Callum doesn’t say anything, just wraps her in a tight hug. I need to look away so my emotions don’t get the better of me. Seeing their bond always tugs at my heartstrings, reminding me of what I missed out on growing up.
“Callum, what’s wrong, son?” Carol asks, her smile fading into a look of concern as she holds him.
I step inside behind them and see the worry on her face. “We’re here now, Mom. Just tell us,” Callum says, his voice steady but with an edge of urgency.
Her brows furrow as she looks between us, confusion evident. “Tell you what?”
“Carol, we’re here for you,” I add, my voice gentle yet firm, trying to convey that we’re ready for whatever news she has.
She looks puzzled for a moment, then laughs softly. “Oh, boys, there’s nothing wrong. You two are always so thoughtful. I invited you to dinner because Tripp is out and your father and I are going out for a fancy dinner, and I didn’t want Anya eating alone.”
Callum steps back, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. “You’re kidding, right? You didn’t actually pull us away from work because you want us to babysit?”
She hits him lightly with the kitchen towel she’s holding as she smiles. “Your sister doesn’t need to be babysat, silly boy. She needs company. She’s been a little down.” Her soft eyes slide to mine, and I feel myself stiffen. “I think she just needs a friend.”
My heart cracks in my chest, knowing I’m the reason she’s feeling this way. The guilt weighs heavily on me, each glance from Carol a reminder of the turmoil I’ve caused.
“Mom, what the hell? There’s nothing wrong with you? You aren’t dying? No one is dying?” Callum yells, his voice echoing through the hallway.
It sounds muffled to me, though, as I keep thinking of Anya. The image of her smile haunts me, a stark contrast to the sadness Carol hinted at.
“Callum Atwood, don’t raise your voice to me,” Carol scolds, her tone firm.
“You need to realize what an asset your sister is to that brewery. She needs to hear it. So stop being such a hardhead and do what you know is right.” She shakes her head and looks at me.
“Griffin, you’re here to keep them from going at each other’s throats. ”
“Mom...” Callum starts, but she holds up her hand as Don walks down the stairs.
“Dinner is ready. It’s staying warm in the oven. Anya is in the shower, so it would be nice if you had everything set for her when she gets out.” She tosses her apron at Callum and smiles. “Have fun.”
A night with Anya and Callum. This really is bad news.
Callum catches the apron, grumbling under his breath as he heads to the kitchen.
I follow, trying to shake off the unease that’s settled in my gut.
The kitchen is warm and inviting, the smell of lasagne and fresh bread filling the air.
Callum starts pulling dishes from the oven, and I set the table, my movements automatic as my mind races.
“Dude, can you believe this?” Callum mutters, placing a few dishes on the counter. “All this fuss just because Anya’s feeling a bit down?”
“She’s your sister, Callum. Sometimes it’s the little things that matter,” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant. But inside, I’m a mess. I know I’m the reason she’s feeling down, and it tears me apart.
We set everything up, and I can hear the faint sound of the shower running upstairs. My thoughts keep drifting to Anya, wondering how she’ll react when she sees me. Will she be angry? Sad? Indifferent? The uncertainty is killing me.