16. Callie Rae
Callie Rae
I hook my arm around Jesse’s as we walk along the stone tiles. The pathway leading to the backyard is lined with tall white pillars, greenery, and fairy lights.
My fingers toy with the ruffled one-shoulder of my white cocktail dress.
Roger and Lindsey live in East Hampton, and tonight, they’re hosting a White Party for about fifty guests.
There’s been a few of these gatherings I’ve attended with Jesse, but somehow, I’m always left to converse with someone who isn’t him.
The lanterns on either side cast a mild glow against the indigo sky. I know a handful of his colleagues and their significant others, but not well enough for my excitement to override my anxiety.
If I say too much, I might expose my past. My heels might as well be stepping on eggshells rather than the stone tile right now.
“I’m glad you chose to put your hair back.”
Jesse’s voice shifts my focus to him. “Yeah?” I ask softly. My fingers glide over the sleek bun wound tightly at the base of my neck.
“The earrings will catch everyone’s eye. They make you look even more beautiful.”
“Oh,” I offer, turning my head forward. My grip loosens around the sleeve of his white dress shirt. I suddenly shrivel with foolishness, waiting like a dog for a compliment whenever he waves a shred of one at me.
“As if that’s possible.”
And just like that, he reels me back in. He flashes a smile, his brown eyes gleaming under the fairy lights as I hold his gaze. My stare swoops over his gelled hair that’s been perfectly parted to the side, and I decide that my abrupt reaction was silly.
Women wear jewelry all the time to make themselves feel prettier. This is Jesse’s love language. Both concepts are innocent.
We enter the huge backyard, manicured hedges and trees framing the rich grass. Clusters of guests mingle by the lounges surrounding the inground kidney pool, each person wrapped in pristine white.
“Wow,” I say.
The pool shimmers with a blue light, the sea breeze scent intensifying.
“Our backyard will look like this in time. Don’t worry,” Jesse says.
My eyes scan the abundance of lavish furniture throughout. There are tables and lounges everywhere. I begin to wonder where my garden would go if our backyard resembled this.
Where would the swing set for the kids go?
I never grew up with a swing set, let alone a yard. I always promised myself I would shelter my children from the life I grew up in. They would never know what it was like to go without sprinting across the lawn, running through sprinklers, and forming snow angels in the winter.
Where’s the space for all that?
“Ah! Callie, I love your dress!”
Lindsey stands before Jesse and I, styled in a white lace jumpsuit. Her acrylic nails fondle my ruffled one-shoulder strap when she asks, “Who’s the designer?”
“Champagne?”
My attention steers right to the woman holding a tray of slender glasses. “Sure. Thank you,” I respond.
I nod with a smile as she travels off, and then my eyes land on Lindsey. “I’m actually not sure. I bought it from Lulus.”
Her blue eyes light up within her bold lashes. “You know, I’ve come around to their dresses. At first, I was skeptical because there were no brands I recognized, but I might have to give it a try.”
Jesse’s palm lays on the small of my back as he stands beside me. “Where’s Roger?” he asks.
Lindsey’s big curls whisk as she pivots her head. “He’s probably setting up the cigar and bourbon lounge for later tonight.” She spins her attention back to us, gesturing a palm out. “Are you guys hungry?”
I nod enthusiastically, cradling the rim of my champagne glass between my lips. The crisp liquid seeps into my mouth before she’s firing off the assortment of food options.
“There’s a raw bar outside, and we have some hors d'oeuvres being passed around before the buffet. Duck spring rolls, goat cheese, and salami stuffed dates. Caviar tartlets.”
It’s a convenient thing I’m gulping my champagne. Otherwise, my face would plummet in displeasure. “Great. Thank you,” I manage.
My fingertips rest at the corner of my mouth, carefully dabbing my berry lipstick.
“I’m going to make my rounds, and then we’ll catch up later,” Lindsey says before strolling away.
“Duck spring roll?”
Jesse and I turn to the waitstaff holding the platter of hors d'oeuvres. He happily accepts, but I politely decline. “No, thank you.”
When the man in a black uniform walks off, Jesse’s holding out the spring roll. “Have you ever tried duck before?”
My lips curl in a snarl. “No.”
He laughs. “Well, this could be good to expand your horizons for the wedding menu,” he suggests before biting half the roll.
My brows climb, lips curling into a smile. “Oh, really? And what were your ideas for the menu?”
It’s not often Jesse discusses wedding details with me. After our engagement party, the new house localized itself at the center of his brain, nudging out all his other priorities.
His free hand buries in the pocket of his white slacks as he scans the yard. “Probably very similar to what they’re passing around here. A raw bar is a must. Lobster sliders, tuna tacos, roasted lamb canapes.”
My snarl stretches. “What happened to basic options like chicken and steak?” I tease.
He pops a shoulder. “We can have filet mignon, don’t worry.” Then he leans in, nudging his forehead to mine. Instinctively, my mouth softens into a fond grin. “With a wedding that’s going to be as enormous as ours, we either go big or go home. You deserve nothing but the best.”
My chest rumbles through a chuckle, reveling in the adoring gesture. “Well, when you put it that way ...”
Jesse’s grinning when he straightens up, tucking the other half of his spring roll in his mouth.
“You know,” I begin, casually pointing to him, “I’ve been collecting some ideas from this online forum for brides.
Some of them are offering these really neat stations during their cocktail hour.
Like a loaded mashed potato bar, or grilled cheese and tomato soup shooters.
What do you think? Wouldn’t that be cool? It’s different.”
He’s snatching a champagne glass from waitstaff before he turns to me. “Not denying that would be delicious, I just don’t think it’s really appropriate.”
I dip my brows, that familiar foolishness slithering through my veins. “Why not?”
“It’s a wedding, Callie. Not a sweet sixteen.”
“I don’t get it,” I say, almost skeptically. “You like mashed potatoes and grilled cheeses when I make them. What’s the problem?”
He steers his head to the side, his neat jaw pulsing. I’m positive he’s either stunned or irritated with my smart mouth.
“What’s the point of having all the money we do if we’re not going to use it properly?” He pins his eyes to me again. “A lot of people are being invited. They’ll be looking forward to our wedding and expecting fine dining.”
“If we like it, doesn’t that make it more personal?” I counter. “Isn’t that how a wedding should feel? Who cares what everyone else thinks, Jesse.”
His thumb and forefinger frame the bridge of his nose. “Callie, this is not the time.”
“It’s not even about the food,” I say softly. “It’s about wanting you to view our wedding as more than just a huge party to flash around.”
His stance is rigid when he inches a couple steps forward.
“I said enough,” he asserts lowly. “Do you understand?” There’re paper lanterns and fairy lights dangling from the pergola, but no light touches his eyes.
Those chocolate depths morph into an onyx shade, and I battle a lump down my throat.
“We’re at my colleague’s house, and the only thing you should be feeling right now is grateful.
You will not embarrass me by whining over goddamn food. ”
A jagged breath slips past my lips. My heart is reluctant to accept the vision in front of me. I’ve never seen this side of Jesse, but his new mask doesn’t excite me.
It startles me.
Frightens me.
“Now, I’m going to find Roger,” he says. “Lindsey is probably floating around, and I’m sure she’ll be happy to give you a tour if you look for her. Can you do that?”
My throat bobs, and I crank out a shy nod.
His eyes poke down the length of me before traveling back up. “Good. Seems like we can use the time apart anyway.”
He walks off, and my mouth twists alongside the curdling in my belly.
“Caviar tartlet?”
My hand snaps to my chest when the waitstaff slides in front of me. I skate my gaze back and forth between him and the platter, the last few minutes draining out of me. “Sure.”
I pluck the bite-sized appetizer, figuring if I’m going to keep myself company tonight, I may as well eat. No matter how unappetizing the food looks or sounds.
The man steers away once I thank him. I lean my nose over the tart shell to inhale a whiff, and I twitch from the pungent fishy smell.
Against my better judgement, I take a tentative bite. My fingers lay against my lips as I chew, attempting to hide my repulsion from the rest of the crowd.
I scoot my head around, locating a trash can near the entry point we came through. When I toss the remainder of the tartlet in the garbage, I turn on my heels to draw a generous sip of champagne.
My clutch vibrates in the crook of my arm, but I pay the rumble no mind. Instead, all of my attention is consumed by the scene before me.
The thing about the color white is there are no different shades. It’s not like when you pick a blue crayon from a box, you have the option to choose blue, sky blue, turquoise, or cerulean.
White is the same shade no matter which white crayon you pick up.
As I search around me, all I can think about is how everyone looks identical. All the men look exactly like Jesse. All the women mirror each other in their fitted cocktail dresses.
Including me.
As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to blend in.
I wanted to fit in the places where everyone desired to be.
But as I look at the sea of white in Roger’s backyard, I find myself begging for someone to throw caution to the wind.
For someone to do something radical. Look different. Say something outlandish. Act goofy.
I’ll take anything.
If it was up to me, I would’ve spit that caviar tartlet into the landscaped hedges along the perimeter of the fence. Nothing alluring resides here. As much status and wealth are dancing around me at the moment, there’s not one splotch of color that I see.
Not one.
My chin angles toward the fairy lights, and if I wasn’t entirely sure before, I sure as hell am now. Because after all this time, he was right.
The colorful Christmas lights are way better.
My lips wrench open, extracting a gasp when the car lights up in hues of red, green, blue, and gold.
I pivot around, eyes scanning the perimeter of the vehicle. Brant’s draped a string of Christmas lights over the top of the seats, the minuscule bulbs glowing radiantly beneath the black sky.
“What do you think?” he asks.
I shake my head, ejecting another breath as I regard the scene. “This is wonderful.”
“To be honest, I really like the warm-white lights. They’re simple, elegant, not too gaudy.” My head swivels to gift Brant my full attention. His throat rolls, his hazel eyes pleading with me to listen. “But I decided against it. I figured we could use the color.”
Brant
My forearms are draped over my head when my phone quivers against my abdomen.
Callie
I can’t tonight.
That’s it? That’s all I get?
I toss my phone by my feet on the couch, refusing to entertain her text. My palms scrub down my face, and the tear in my heart opens gradually.
Inch by inch, from the center of the organ.
We lived nothing but a dream last Saturday. Our younger selves greeted us that night, only to say goodbye too soon.
What does Jesse have? What the fuck does he have over this girl?
Money.
The realization tightens my jaw, and my insides crawl with hot fury. His security is the blanket Callie thinks she needs to escape the life she grew up in. She knows if she stays with Jesse, she’ll never have to worry about another world like that again.
She’s protecting herself.
Her and her children.
With him, her entire past is eliminated permanently. Never to be dug up.
But maybe my assumptions are off base. Maybe ten years is enough time for someone to change. To alter everything they once believed in and were once attracted to.
No.
Her spirit resides within me. Our souls have always been tethered together.
But I fear that Callie is intentionally breaking her wing away from mine. With every second guess and abrupt interaction, she drifts further and further away.
Until I have no choice but to fly alone.