19. Vivienne #3
“Mostly contemporary fiction. Some poetry. A few classics I’ve been meaning to get to.” She adjusts her glasses, a small smile appearing. “It was a good reading month.”
Iris is quiet for a second. “Low, uh, my landlord raised my rent. Again.”
“That’s illegal,” Hayes says immediately, sitting up straighter. “They can’t raise it more than ten percent annually. That’s California law.”
“It’s exactly ten percent each time.” Iris’s voice is flat and resigned. “Which is technically legal. But this is the third time in three years. They raise it every year.”
“You’re getting priced out of your own apartment,” Hayes exclaims, visibly frustrated over the situation.
Iris shrugs, but I can see the stress in her face. “I’m managing. I picked up some extra freelance work. I’ll make it work.”
“What kind of freelance?” Patrick asks.
“Editing. Proofreading. Content writing. Whatever I can find online that pays.” She adjusts her glasses again, a nervous gesture. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
No one looks convinced. Not even a little bit.
But they don’t push. They just file it away. Another thing to remember. Another person to help when the opportunity comes.
Then everyone looks at me.
My heart starts pounding.
“Oh,” I say, my mouth suddenly dry. “I don’t have —”
“You can keep it simple if you want,” Patrick says, and his voice is kind. “As the kids say, we listen and we don’t judge.”
Beckett groans loudly. “Dad. Please don’t.”
“What? I’m being supportive.”
“You’re being embarrassing.”
My mind races. What do I say? What’s safe? What can I share without revealing too much? Without opening doors I can’t close again?
Callum shifts next to me, and when I glance at him, he gives me a small nod. His eyes are steady on mine. Like he’s saying It’s okay. Whatever I say is okay. However much or little I want to share.
I take a breath.
“High …” I think about the week and the long hours working with Callum side by side.
The business plan we built together. The walk on the beach and his head against mine and the way his hand felt in mine.
“We submitted the business plan to the investors. We worked really hard on it, and it felt good to finally send it off.”
Several people nod approvingly.
“Cal told us about that. That’s great news,” Wesley says, the happiness he feels for his brother apparent in his tone.
“How long did that take you?” Hayes asks with professional interest.
“We had ten days to put together a comprehensive plan with financial projections, implementation timelines, and contingency strategies.”
“Ten days?” Hayes looks genuinely impressed. “That’s insane. I can barely write a basic proposal in ten days.”
“It was — yeah. It was a lot.” I glance at Callum, and he’s watching me with an expression that makes my chest tight. “But we did it. Together.”
“And it’s good,” Callum adds, his voice firm, his eyes never leaving mine. “Really good. If the investors don’t see that, they’re idiots.”
Heat blooms in my chest and spreads through my ribs and down to my fingertips.
“What’s your low?” Patrick asks gently, giving me an out if I need it. His tone saying that I can keep it simple. Or not answer at all.
This is harder.
So much harder.
I look around the room. At Wesley, who just admitted he’s struggling with Sloane taking over her father’s business.
At Beckett, who’s trying to hide how hard the sponsorship loss hit him, how scared he is about money.
At Hayes, living on takeout because he can’t afford to push his landlord harder.
At Iris, getting priced out of her apartment and working herself to exhaustion to make ends meet.
They all shared real things. Hard things. Vulnerable things.
And they’re all still here and still looking at each other with love and acceptance and the absolute certainty that whatever the problem is, they’ll figure it out together.
I look at Callum. He’s watching me so patiently, like he’ll wait as long as I need. He’ll sit here all night if that’s what it takes. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
This is a safe space. These people don’t judge. They just help carry things.
“I haven’t cooked anything in five years,” I whisper to the floor.
The words feel strange coming out of my mouth.
Foreign. Like they belong to someone else.
I’ve never said them out loud before. Not to my parents during our Sunday calls.
Not to the other consultants I’ve worked with.
Not even to myself, really. I’ve just lived around the truth, skirted it, avoided it, pretended it wasn’t there taking up real space in my life.
But now it’s out there. Hanging in the air between me and these people I hardly know.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure everyone can hear it. I’m positive they can see my pulse jumping in my throat. I want to take it back. I want to laugh it off, make a joke, and redirect to something safer.
But Callum’s hand finds mine. His hand wraps around it and squeezes hard.
So I keep going.
“Until today,” I continue, my voice shaky.
“The dip I brought — that was the first thing I’ve cooked since I stopped working in restaurants.
I spent all day on it. I failed five times before I got it right.
I couldn’t even turn on the stove without —” I stop myself.
That’s too much. That’s crossing into territory I’m not ready to share.
Not yet. Maybe not ever. “It took me all day to make a simple cheese dip.”
There. I said it. The truth.
Part of it, anyway.
I wait for judgment and for the questions I can’t answer. I tense, anticipating for the atmosphere to shift into something uncomfortable and pitying.
“That’s not a low,” Patrick finally responds, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “That’s a high. You did something incredibly difficult, and you succeeded. That takes real courage.”
“It’s just a dip.” I try to shrug it off and make it smaller.
“It’s not just dip,” Wesley interrupts. “If it took you five years to work up to it, it’s a hell of a lot more than dip. It’s a victory.”
“Are you ready to start cooking again?” Hayes probes gently.
I can feel Callum still beside me, his hand tightening on mine, ready to shut down the question if I need him to. Always ready to protect me.
Which is why we are in the situation we are in to begin with.
I sigh. “I don’t know. For five years I couldn’t even think about it.
And today I started again. Even if it was just a dip and took all day.
And I guess — I guess that is a high. But it’s also a low.
Because it shouldn’t have taken five years.
It shouldn’t have been that hard. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do more than that. ”
Beckett nods slowly. “That makes sense, actually. Some things are both high and low at the same time.”
“Yeah,” Iris says quietly beside me. “Some things are definitely both.”
Patrick is watching me with a fatherly look of compassion. “Well, for what it’s worth, the dip was excellent. And I’m glad you’re here, Vivienne. Really glad.”
“Me too,” Callum hums, his thumb moving in small circles against my palm. “Really glad.”
I give the room a small smile, a heaviness lifting off my being.
Patrick nods, satisfied, then turns to Callum. “Last but not least.”
Callum shifts beside me. He’s choosing his words carefully and weighing what to say and what to keep private. The same way I was.
“High: It’s been great having help with the restaurant and with the business plan, and the marketing, and the day-to-day operations.
With everything, really. It’s been —” He pauses, trying to find the right words, rubbing at his mustache.
“It’s been really good to not feel like I’m drowning alone anymore. ”
He doesn’t look at me when he says it. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, but I know. Everyone in this room knows.
He’s talking about me.
I have to blink back tears.
“That’s what we’ve been saying for months,” Wesley agrees, and there’s no judgment in it. Just relief. Deep, genuine relief for his brother. “You needed help, Cal. We’re glad you’re finally accepting it.”
“I didn’t really have a choice,” Callum quips wryly. There’s a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The investors hired some big-time consultant without really asking me first.”
“Best thing they ever did,” Patrick chuckles.
Callum glances at me then, just long enough for me to see the adoration in his eyes.
“Yeah,” he breathes, holding my gaze. “Yeah, it was.”
Everyone is watching us. I can feel the weight of their attention, but I keep my eyes on his.