Chapter 13
hope, intruding
Callie waited until after she’d entered her apartment to text Jess. Nudging the door closed with her hip and tossing her keys in a bowl by the door, she threw the deadbolt and started rifling through a thick wad of mail before she remembered.
She sent a quick made-it text, adding an emoji with a tongue sticking out for tone. Most of the mail was junk, except for a utility bill and a notice from her landlord that her lease renewal was coming up in three months. No doubt it included an increase in fees or rent. Probably both. Callie tossed it on the table to deal with it later.
Shucking off her coat, she collapsed onto the sofa to see her special sweater staring at her from the lounge chair. Callie hesitated, started to stand, and then sank back into the cushions with a frustrated sigh.
She could have sworn she heard Jess call her name as she backed out of her driveway. Faint above her streaming music, but she wasn’t positive. “Dammit.” She fussed, then crossed her arms over her chest in a full-body pout.
“Wanna talk?” Solrien asked, having been quiet since Callie had arrived home.
“No…” Callie growled, feeling more confident that she had heard something. “You didn’t chirp something when I was backing out of Jess’s driveway, right?”
“Me? Not a word,” Solrien confirmed, but that had implications. “It was hope.”
“God, you keep saying that,” Callie whined, then got up to grab the sweater adorned with stars along the shoulder. She sat down with a huff, holding it in her arms.
Solrien stayed purposely quiet.
“Because it keeps happening,” Callie offered in a weak argument. “Jess is breathing again. Hope sounds different in someone who thought they’d never feel it again. The evening was fun….we were…normal.”
“And,” Solrien asked, “How did that feel to you?”
Callie squeezed the sweater tighter, “Hope or normal.” She sat forward and smoothed the garment on her lap, careful not to snag the little pins she lined up along the front like sacred geometry, “I think this was a moment. I want to believe that it was.” Callie brushed her thumb along a bare spot at the end of the undulating line of tiny pins, “I’m gonna add a pin,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, “for the fun night at least, maybe if I really heard Jess for real.”
“A bonus pin,” Solrien said brightly, “for putting up with the Raven. She’s still dangerous, Callie. You have to understand that.”
“The Raven,” Callie sighed, “Or Jess. A rabid hockey mom, whoever she was tonight.”
“She’s all of them, Callie. That’s the point. But you…you’re the constant. The rock.”
Callie snorted, “That’s disturbing. More like my shifting ADHD sands in the desert.”
“I think you’re doing amazingly well.”
“Thanks,” Callie acknowledged, her eyes darting away, “You sound like therapist number three with a dash of number seven. “What part of you is speaking the loudest today?” she said, mocking her counseling experience. “Just a word of advice, the correct answer was almost always my vagina. That never went over very well.”
“You didn’t?” Solrien gasped.
“Oh yes, I did,” Callie said softly, then shrugged, “that was during my slut phase…phases.” She cleared her throat, “Never mind.”
“A bold answer, for sure,” Solrien agreed, but didn’t tease. “Regardless, you don’t sound like someone who wants to run. You’re commemorating your relationship with Jess. It’s darling. I’m serious.”
“Thanks.” Callie got up, then came from her bedroom with a tiny pin, “I think this might be a big one, a gold star moment.” With her tongue sticking out for support, Callie carefully added the new ornament to the line of stars. “Something better happen soon, or I will start clanking when I wear this.” Sighting down the line of pins, Callie frowned, “They kinda meander across...” She smiled softly, “not unlike myself.”
Solrien was quiet, then her voice flared to life, “You want stars? I’ll give you stars.”
Callie grinned, the corner of her eyes crinkling, “You’re impossible.”
“I’m empowering.”
“You’re a snarky spellstone with boundary issues.”
“And you’re in love with a storm in human form. A lovely human form, I might add. At least one of us is honest.”
“Ugh,” Callie groaned, “en garde. You parry with truth and thrust with precision. I never stood a chance.” She collapsed on the sofa like a melodramatic duel victim.
“Mmm,” Solrien responded dryly to Callie’s choice of words, “If you feel like impaling yourself again tonight, please put me in the closet.”
Callie started to laugh warmly, then with more gusto. “Sorry,” she snickered. “Yeah, I know it’s rare, but maybe not tonight.” She picked up the staff and brought it into her bedroom, “Sleep with me tonight, okay? I mostly promise I won’t do anything…” She was vaguely noncommittal.
“I said you were the constant,” Solrien laughed, the whisper of her voice like incense smoke, “but that’s not quite what I meant.”