Chapter Thirty-Three
119 days until graduation
I realize what kind of family dinners I miss out on every time I’m standing on the front porch of the Callaghan’s house.
The banner saying, “Congratulations!” hangs from the railing of the porch, celebrating all our college acceptances. Handmade tokens of how proud the Callaghans are of us.
It stings, knowing I won’t be getting that from my parents anytime soon.
Of course, I got the ‘Congratulations on Columbia’ call when Monica and Jim Alderidge finally got enough time away from their jobs. I even got a hug and pat on the back when the two of them were home for a week.
But nothing of this sort, not even since they’ve been home long-term.
I hear footsteps on the stairs behind me, and I realize I’ve been standing on the porch—staring at the front door—for quite a while.
“Hi!” Winnie smiles at me, with Eloise standing next to her.
“Hey.” I smile back.
That’s when the front door flies open. “Girls! What are you waiting for? Come on!” Wren waves us into the house, shutting the door behind us as we take our shoes off.
“The boys are waiting in the kitchen,” she tells us, “Oh, just wait until you guys see the cake we made. It is adorable!”
“Can’t wait to see it, Wren!” Winnie responds.
“Ladies!” Logan’s voice explodes through the kitchen as we enter. “How are you?” He asks as he hugs each of us.
“I’m ready to eat,” Eloise jokes as she pulls out a barstool.
“Well, you guys are going to be making your own pizzas,” Wren says, and I feel a hand grip my arm as she pulls the supplies out of the fridge.
“What—” My voice is cut off when a hand clasps over my lips.
“Shh,” Jameson whispers in my ear as he pulls me into the Callaghan’s sitting room.
“Jameson!” I hiss, turning within his hold to look up at him.
“Hi, love.” He smirks, holding one of my wrists in each of his hands. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” I clip. “What are you doing?”
His smile only grows, highlighting his perfect, white teeth as he leans closer to me. “Just wanted to say hi.”
That makes a small smile form on my face. “You couldn’t have done that at the door?”
He kisses my cheek. “Not the right way.”
He’s right. We agreed we were going to keep whatever is going on between us hidden, at least until we come up with a good explanation of how we went from hating one another to kissing one another.
And honestly I need time to figure it out for myself. Going from hating Jameson one moment to doing whatever this is with him is confusing, even for me.
My entire life has been built around reasoning and logic, and the way Jameson and I fell into place so easily is so conflicting because of how illogical it feels.
Yet, it doesn’t feel illogical in the way that it’s wrong, which is why I’ve chosen to ignore every part of my brain that’s screaming at me for being so senseless.
Because how could something that feels so right ever be wrong?
“I also have a question for you,” he says, fiddling with my fingers.
“Okay,” I sigh dramatically. “I guess you can tell your parents about me.”
He laughs, which makes me start laughing. “Well, I think we should at least go out on a date first.”
“That didn’t sound like a question,” I tell him, trying my best to keep my tone serious.
He pauses, like he’s thinking of the correct response. “Should I get down on one knee, you think?”
“If you must.” I motion toward the floor.
The fits of laughter start again, quieter this time before he grabs my face between his two palms. “Would you like to go on a date with me, Genova?”
I smile. “I think I could survive it.”
“Good.”
There’s a moment of silence between us before we look back and forth between each other and the door.
“Well, now we have to get back to the kitchen without them noticing we were both gone.”
He spins me toward the door. “You go first. If anyone asks, I’m upstairs grabbing something.”
Before I can give any type of snide remark, Jameson pushes me toward the door by the shoulders. “Okay, okay, I’m going!” I laugh before heading back into the kitchen.
Everyone else has already taken their seats around the island in front of the plates that we are going to be making our pizzas on. Only once I notice all the ingredients in front of us is when I realize how disgusting this is going to be.
I walk toward the sink, wanting to wash my hands before this chaos ensues. So far, no one has even noticed my entrance.
“Everyone, line up behind Genevieve,” Jameson yells as he enters the kitchen. He definitely did not wait long enough. “You’re all washing your hands before we start.” He’s already standing behind me, waiting his turn.
I turn my head toward him as I scrub my hands, silently thanking him. All he does is nod and smile as if it wasn’t a big deal.
It was a kind gesture, making sure that nobody creates a cesspool of germs in the bag of mozzarella. Plus, I know he did it for my peace of mind.
Once everyone’s hands are washed and we’re all sitting around the island again, we form the dough into circles.
“Pull this.” Eloise faces Winnie, struggling to stretch the dough on her own.
They each grab a hold of one side, pulling it until it rips, making them both fall into giggles.
“Watch this!” Logan shouts over the commotion of the kitchen. He throws the lump of dough in the air over and over until it looks like an actual pizza crust.
Everyone around the table smiles at his enthusiasm before Luke smacks a hand straight in the center of the dough, ruining its perfect shape.
“So…” I turn toward Jameson once everyone else is in their own side conversations. “Oxford it is.”
He hums, as if he’s contemplating. “We’ll see.”
“What?” I ask, suddenly confused. “I thought Oxford was a done deal?”
He shrugs, spooning sauce onto his dough. “Things could always change.”
“What other universities are you looking at?”
“Columbia.” He smirks, like he’s trying to get a rise out of me.
I point a finger at him. “Don’t do that.” He cocks his head to the side, silently asking what I mean. “Don’t decide what college you’re going to because of me.”
“I can promise you that, if I don’t go to Oxford, it will not depend completely on you,” he laughs, setting a discreet hand on my thigh under the countertop.
“I’m glad,” I tell him honestly.
“Are you guys not done yet?” Eloise asks as she puts her pizza in the oven.
“E, that pizza looks like shit.” Logan tells her, looking up from where he is methodically placing pepperonis on his pizza.She smacks him in the back of the head, making him bite down on his stuck-out tongue.“Ow!” He winces, putting a hand over his mouth.
“I’m not going for style; I’m going for substance,” Eloise says, shutting the oven.
“And I don’t think whatever that is will accomplish either.” Jameson grimaces as he looks at what’s supposed to be Eloise”s pizza.
“I didn’t ask for commentary,” Eloise snaps in return, plucking a pepperoni off Logan’s pizza and stuffing it in her mouth.
“Hey!” Logan smacks her hand when she goes to take another one. “There is an entire bag of them right there.”
Luke picks up the bag and throws it toward Eloise.
Eloise pretends to frown. “You’re no fun.”
“Winnie, what’s on yours?” I ask from across the island.
Her face flashes with a look of guilt, as if she’s been caught. “Pineapple,” she mumbles.
Logan’s head snaps up from his masterpiece. “You better not be planning to eat that in my house.”
Winnie giggles, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like I’m forcing you to eat it.”
“I don’t care,” he groans. “Winnie, we’ve been over this! Pineapple is a disgrace to pizza.”
“We’ve also been over the fact that I don’t agree with you.”
I smile, elated that Winnie feels capable of sticking up for herself, even if it’s just to Logan.
“Is yours ready to go in the oven?” Jameson asks me, holding his hand out to take it.
“Yeah,” I nod, pushing my pan toward him.
My pizza dough is only covered in sauce and cheese, while his has every topping imaginable.
He picks up both our pans, carrying them over to the oven and setting them on a rack.
“Thanks.” I tell him when he sits back down next to me.
“No worries,” he says while taking a sip from his water bottle, making his forearm visible at my eye level.
Jesus Christ.
“That’s not what happened!” Logan yells from across the fire as the rest of us are hunched over in our lawn chairs from laughing so hard.
After eating our pizzas, we all went outside to sit around the fire, wearing coats and wrapping ourselves in blankets.
“I’m positive she punched you in the face because you called her boyfriend, and I quote, ‘a mutated rat bastard with fewer brain cells than pecs.’”
“Hey, he deserved it!” Logan finally admits, making us all laugh even harder. “And that girl shouldn’t have even defended him when I was yelling at him for staring at Winnie’s tits.” Winnie’s cheeks flush crimson, embarrassed at the fact.
“At least it was his girlfriend who punched you and not him,” Luke jokes.
Winnie only adds to the jest, lightly punching Logan’s bicep. “He would have beat you to a pulp.”
“Whatever,” he says, grabbing one leg of her chair and tipping it enough to make her squeal in fright.
“Is it normal for them to act like this?” Jameson asks me, leaning close enough for his breath to brush against my ear.
“This is how they always act after a few drinks.” I smile, holding my solo cup up in a cheers motion.
Jameson’s beer bottle knocks against it, making a bit of the lemonade and tequila mixture splash over the edge of my cup and all over my hand.
“Shit,” I groan, standing from my chair before it drips onto my legs.
I look at Jameson as I hold out my hand, stunned and searching for something to wipe my hand with. He just breaks into laughter, subsequently making me do the same.
“Could you grab me a towel, please?” I ask Eloise through my laughter.
“That was classy.” Jameson smiles.
Once my laughter dies down, I send him a pointed look. “If that would have been an actual champagne flute, you would have shattered it.”
“And what would have transpired if that happened?” He asks.
“I would have picked up a shard and stabbed you with it,” I deadpan, making him smirk.
“I would expect nothing less.” He grabs the towel Eloise holds out to me, using it to wipe the sticky alcohol off my hand. As he looks in my eyes, he adds, “I assume you know you’ve already pierced my heart.”
I smile as I take the rag from him to finish drying my hand before throwing it at his chest. “Don’t be so cheesy,” I tease softly, making sure no one overhears.
I glance over at the back door, spotting Gwen and Mae in the living room sitting on the couch looking bored—like they wish they could join us.
I walk over toward Logan, seeing that he’s eyeing the same thing. “Do you think we should go inside for cake now?” I ask.
I always feel bad leaving them out when they’re around all of us. That’s why they ended up joining us for pizza earlier, but Logan prohibited them from coming outside.
Mostly because we were going to be drinking, but also because Logan and I don’t want them getting the idea that they’re meant to be hanging out with older kids all the time.
“Yeah.” Logan nods, setting his cup down before telling the other four.
Wren has been waiting all night for this, and by the time we’re sitting around the island—the younger girls included—she and Mr. Callaghan are already entering the kitchen carrying the cake with giant grins.
She sets it in the center of the island, and I can already see the smiles forming on all our faces out of my peripheral vision.
“To celebrate.” Wren smiles. “All of you.”
“We’re so proud of you all,” Mr. Callaghan adds.
“We’re especially proud of our special addition!” Logan smiles as he grabs Jameson by the shoulders.
I scoff, sarcastically of course, but it still causes Jameson to look at me with a glint of humor in his eyes.
“Maybe not all of us.” Wren laughs, pulling out a knife to cut up the cake.
“You know.” Jameson’s now standing in front of me, grabbing my attention once everyone is engrossed in their own conversations while eating cake “I think you might just be my favorite person here.”
“Even when I act like you’re my least favorite person here?” I ask.
“Especially then,” he says, letting his plastic fork dangle from his mouth.
I lean against the back of my barstool, trying not to feel inferior as he towers over me.“How tall are you?” The question comes out before I even think about it. This is a rarity for me, which causes Jameson to smirk.
“Why do you ask?” He runs his hand through his hair, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Just by looking at your bone structure, height would be an indicator as to what long-term conditions you’re more susceptible to,” I quickly amend, trying to cover my original intent.
“Oh, really?”
I sit up straighter. “Really.”
He leans down, closer to my height, as if he’s trying to stress how much taller than me he is. “I’m six-three.”
“Hm.” I nod. Seven inches. Jameson is a whopping seven inches taller than me. “Interesting.”
“Any underlying conditions you’d like to share?” He asks, as if he knows my excuse was all a ruse.
“None that I can identify at the moment,” I reply. “Besides the obvious narcissism.”
“You’re going to be one hell of a lawyer, Genova.” He sounds genuine as he grabs my hand out of view from everyone else. “And Columbia is lucky to have you.”
“Thank you.” A slow smile creeps onto my face. “Oxford is lucky to have you, Jameson.”