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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 6 months

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Sweet Dreams--Part 10

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted.

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

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“You’re sure they’re not going to hate me?”

“No, Calum, they’re not going to hate you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” you answer, patting at his thigh.

Those are silly questions, even Calum knows it. But he can’t help the flutter of his heart, the bounce of his knees. The brief introduction back at Teagan’s birthday was just that, brief. He’s never had much sustained interaction with children. He volunteered occasionally at the children’s hospital. It was mostly reading stories, maybe coloring a page or two with them. It’s a group setting, multiple children trying to grab his attention. A lot of diversions that required him to bounce back and forth between the displays of toy trucks and the drawings of playgrounds and seesaws. But today’s not the same. Tonight it’s just the two of them. Tonight, it’s more than the prince visiting kids for a couple hours. It’s your siblings meeting him—your boyfriend. There’s a little calm that you’ll be there too. But he’ll be the main attraction, he’ll be trying to get along with the two most important people in your life. Another pat to his thigh brings Calum to reality—your car pulling them over the roads. The fading evening surrounding you. The minimal traffic in the way. There’s you too--you’re his saving grace.

The sun’s setting earlier, a sign that fall has fully descended. The evening sky is purple and orange through the windshield of your car. Your car smells a little different--not that it’s bad. There’s a bit more of the smell of grease underlying the musk of the car scent hanging from your rearview mirror. He assumes it’s from the grease needed for the house fries. It’s the same smell baked into your uniform with only a month on the job. There’s little complaints from you though. You call Calum on your breaks laughing most days. Occasionally when you’re locked into the dinner rush, you sound a little bit more clipped as you speak. But it makes sense. A lot of voices, moving parts--a high stress environment that Calum is sure grinds down anyone in the way. But Calum would be a liar if he doesn’t enjoy the smell of sweat on your skin when you come home to him right after a shift. You’re smiling more too, even when the two of you are sneaking down to the kitchen and you interact with your friends still on staff.

“Charlie and Teagan are kids. They’re just kids.”

“Yeah but they’re your siblings. They matter to you.”

“They do. And you matter too. You’re going to do fine if you don’t sweat yourself to death,” you tease. “Glovebox has napkins and a towel if you want to dry off your face.”

Calum knew about the sweat in his armpits: it was not a help to his current predicament. But reaching up, the sweat is clear at his hairline so he opens the compartment in front of him and grabs a few napkins. He eases the window down a hair, a whistle echoing around the two of you now. Worry has a loud fucking mouth, Calum realizes. Teagan and Charlie are just children. But they are your siblings. They matter to you. And by god, all he wants is to make a good impression with them. A giant unicorn is only one step. But dinner, dinner is a different beast. Calum’s got a lot more to juggle. He reclines his head into the headrest of the passenger seat. He tries to recall what you’ve told him about your siblings thus far.

“Charlie’s birthday is in February, right?” Calum asks.

“Yes.”

“Teagan’s is in July.”

“Correct,” you laugh

“Charlie’s into baseball, right?”

“He’s getting more interested in it yes.”

“And what’s Teagan into again? I’m sorry, I forgot.” It was unicorns and glitter and though she does love the unicorn according to your last update, he distinctly remembers that you said glitter was out. It’s frustrating that Calum can’t pull it from his memory. He swears it’s always dancing on the tip of his tongue but he’s never able to get the full grasps of it.

You pause at the question, hands slipping just a little from the wheel. Calum watches the blinks, like you’re seeing but not something he can see. He pushes up from his seat, forward ready to take the wheel if he needs to. But then your hands tighten back around, you sit up a little bit straighter.

“Baby, are you okay?” Another silly question, Calum knows. But still he finds himself needing to ask. You’re not one usually to get lost like that.

“I’m—” you start and then shake your head. “It’s about Teagan. She hasn’t mentioned any other issues since then. But I don’t know. I just have this gut feeling. I know you told me to stop feeding that voice in my head. This one, this voice is in my gut.”

“Tell me. Please.” Calum wants to help, wants to take on whatever it is. Because if that voice isn’t in your head, then there is something valid to the concern. He doesn’t have any reference of course. Only you. But it’s all he needs. He’s the match; you are the spark.

“I don’t know, love. I just-I don’t know. She mentioned that Diana didn’t read her bedtime stories for a few nights and that she overheard Diana and Melvin talking. She couldn’t hear what about because it sounded like someone was opening and closing cabinets. I swear to God, if she’s drinking again I’ll ruin her. Teagan and Charlie have a real shot to have something.” Your voice quakes on the sentence, a little choked but the car remains steady.

“I can take over driving if you need.” In another half a mile is a gas station exit. Calum thinks with your navigation he could get the two of you there as needed. News of either one of your parents drinking again would be fit to send anyone into a tizzy. Calum’s not immune. He’s hoping it’s not that, prays that Teagan’s just a child noticing one set of odd behaviors and not the start of a pattern.

“I’m okay.” The sentence sounds steadier.

“Offer’s on the table, even if we get into their neighborhood. And I hope it’s not that it sounds like. I hope it was just a conversation.”

“She-she was just so scared to tell me. She begged not to get into trouble. And I don’t want her to think I would. I want her to trust me, but I can’t sleep some nights thinking that while she’s at that house, Diana’s drinking, shitting on everything Teagan and Charlie have.”

“Is-is it just Diana? Has Charlie or Teagan mentioned Melvin acting odd?” There’s still better odds if it’s just one parent. But it’s not going to look good if both are. Losing one kid should’ve been enough, Calum thinks. But then again, he does want to be sensitive to the reality--addiction’s not easy. It’s not a habit that’s kicked once. It’s a habit that one has to keep kicking, a habit one has to keep giving a fight to overcome. He just hopes that Charlie and Teagan are motivation enough to keep fighting.

“No, no, just Diana.”

“Then maybe it’s just a one off. Maybe it’s just something else.”

You nod. “I’m hoping so. I just--what do I do? You know? That’s what I keep asking myself? I’ll fight like hell. I will. But I just don’t know what to do?”

Calum understands the fear that sounds like it’s clawing at your throat. He gets it, in the way that if it were his siblings, he’d want to do something too. But there’s only one incident. “We’ll move. Okay, the second Charlie or Teagan tell you something else that makes your gut lurch again. We’ll get them. I don’t care what time that happens. Just call me and I’ll be half way to the house. Send me their address okay. I’ll save it. There’s space at the palace if all three of you need a place. I’ll get you the best lawyers if you want me too of course. But you don’t have to do this alone, okay?”

Your nod is vigorous. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

Calum edges forward, as far as the seatbelt will allow him before turning to face you totally, body buzzing to wrap you into his embrace. But he knows he can’t. “Of course, baby. It’s us, okay? It’s us now. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

“Starve that voice, right?”

He nods. “Yeah, starve that voice.” It’s rewarding to hear you say that. When Calum offered it up, when the words left his mouth, he worried. He meant it like he wanted you to start believing that you deserved the good things and they would last. Because they would. This will last. But it’s hard, he knows. When the cloud is so thick, there's no way to see the other side. When survival mode is on, and it’s been on for years, it’s not a switch to turn it off. There’s gradual progress, alongside slow and painstaking stumbles.

As you take the exit into the neighborhood, Calum wants to find something else to say, something that will make dinner a bit better for everyone. Sure he’s there to help. Sure, he’s more than happy to help. But this conversation shouldn’t paint the tone for the dinner you’re setting out on. You’d wanted to tell your siblings, though you addressed the risk of it getting back to your parents, about your relationship with Calum. It made his stomach lurch--a mixture of excitement and fear. Yet, he doesn’t want fear to be the first taste of this new phase. Charlie and Teagan deserve better than that. You deserve better than that too.

“I know you’re worried, baby,” Calum starts. “Why don’t we just focus on dinner for right now? One thing at a time, yeah? Dinner first, then whatever happens next happens next.”

“Dinner sounds good,” you laugh. “I can do that.”

“So, can you please remind me again what Teagan’s into again? I cannot make a fool out of myself.”

There’s a tilt to your head as the neighborhood starts to open up, Calum’s sure that you’re going to leave him out to dry. “She’s interested in medicine right now. And also horses.”

“Medicine and horses--quite the combination. Of which, I know nothing about in regards to either.”

Your laugh is soft. The house opens up in front of you two. It still sends a chill through Calum’s spine that you lived here. That’s still the same place that your voice was left abandoned. It’s a house that now fills with something lighter, warmer than what you described. Though, it’s still chilling for something that looks so idyllic to be sinister. Calum sometimes thinks if he stood in there long enough he might feel the draft, what lay there before. Do you feel that way? Walking back into the house every time, knowing that it means something totally different to your siblings than it means to you. He assumes so. Yet, it’s still a sensation he can’t shake, the way it chills down to his bones.

Calum takes your hand, watching the billowing of the curtains as you two ascend the stairs. The door swings open wide--to a beaming Teagan and Charlie. Charlie’s eyes go wide at the sight of Calum. He looks back between Calum and then to you, then back to Calum. “Hi, Teagan. Hi, Charlie,” Calum says. He uses his free hand to wave.

“The Prince?!” Charlie gapes. “You said you had someone for us to meet; I thought it was a friend. But it’s the prince! I’m not even wearing a suit!”

“Hey, no, Charlie. You don’t need a suit. I’m not wearing one.” Calum waves over the t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket. He’d purposefully avoided any of the button ups he favored, opting instead for a plain black t-shirt.

“Kiddos, c’mon. Let ‘em get inside so you two can get jackets on, please,” Melvin calls out. He stands in the hallway with a jacket on each arm.

Teagan only grins as she waves the two of you inside. “What is this ruckus?” a softer voice calls out. Calum can only place it as maybe Diana. But it’s not confirmed until she rounds the corner from his left and jumps at the sight of him. “Your Highness, I’m--oh--” she sputters, nearly dropping the glass in her hands. She manages to recover it, though Calum does step forward just a little to keep the glass from hitting the floor.

Calum watches the way Diana pulls the glass a little closer to her body. Her brows furrow for a moment but then she laughs. “Sorry, I’m so sorry for the mess. The house is not in order in the slightest.”

It feels obvious to say that there’s children around and even with them, Calm is sure that there’s not a drop of dust in the place. Not that he can see. The foyer is brighter. No shoes are strewn about. There’s no pictures that Charlie or Teagan have drawn haphazardly tacked to the walls either.

“No need to worry, ma’am,” Calum reassures instead. “It’s nice to meet you finally. You can just call me Calum.”

Diana nods. “Are you sure? I’d hate to offend you.”

“Positive.” The word falls slow due to his distraction. Calum watches the way she guards the glass. It could be nerves. That’s the most logical explanation for the way she keeps it tight to her body. But Calum’s desperate to get a smell, take a deeper look into the clear liquid in the glass. Perhaps, after all, it’s a bias, the want to confirm something that he’s already suspecting so it feels more solid, but the behavior strikes Calum as odd.

“Pat down, kiddos,” Melvin laughs out. “Jackets?”

“Check,” Teagan and Charlie answer. Calum turns to watch the three of them.

“Your exit buddy?” Melvin asks, squatted down in front of Teagan and Charlie.

The two of them link arms. “Check.”

“Best behavior and good attitudes?”

“Check,” Charlie says as Teagan starts, “I have a good attitude.”

Melvin fails at biting back the grin. “I need a check to booth before you leave this house, sweetheart.”

She sighs. “Fine. Check to both.”

He presses a kiss to each of their foreheads. “Alright, enjoy your sibling and dinner. Tell me about all the good food when you get back okay?”

“We will. If there’s mac’n’cheese, I’ll bring you home some,” Charlie promises.

“Thanks, buddy.”

There as Melvin grins at the two children, Calum feels that warmth. Though Calum would never discredit you, he thinks with Melvin the change is real. Your father does care to make Teagan and Charlie’s early life better than yours. It can’t replace yours, won’t fix what your parents did to you. But he hopes you see the strides are genuine. Yet, just under the warmth in his chest, he gets the feeling he’s being watched. From the corner of his gaze, he spots Diana still watching you and him from the sip she’s taking of her glass. Her gaze is assessing him head to toe, like there’s a calculus behind her eyelids. Calum wonders if your perceptions were more than just a gut feeling.

Teagan and Charlie all but run over to you and him. Calum knows they’ve approached when your hand slips from his to take Teagan fully into your embrace. It’s the thing that pulls Calum’s attention fully back to the two youngest. Charlie pauses, a few steps back and extends his hands. “I’m Charlie, Mr. Hood.”

“Ouch,” Calum laughs, but he takes Charlie’s extended out hand. “Mr. Hood is my dad. Seriously, just Calum.”

Teagan waves to Calum. “Hi, Santa,” she teases.

“Enjoying the unicorn?”

She nods. “Yes. Though she does like to take up my whole bed. They said I should just get a bigger bed,” she starts pointing to you. “But then a new bed would just swallow me up so I don’t think I’m winning either way.”

“Should we get a bed for the unicorn?” Calum offers up.

Teagan pats at your leg. “He’s a freaking genius.”

The laughter bounces, even from Diana at the exchange. “Yeah, he is,” you agree. “C’mon. We’ve got dinner to eat. Who’s ready?”

The question earns a collective shout of approval from Teagan and Charlie. But just as you get to the door, Calum carrying up the rear of the group, your mother calls out for you. “Maybe we can have dinner here next week,” she questions with a shrug.

“Diana, I-I don’t even have my schedule for next week,” you return. Your brows are pinched. Calum watches the flicker of your eyes over your mother’s face, like you’re trying to figure out where the request is coming from.

“Just-just let us know. We could work around it,” she offers.

Teagan and Charlie are peering up at you, one of their hands in one of yours. Calum can see the hope. It’s bright on their faces. It’s not really his place. These are your parents; a battle you should probably take up alone. But Calum hates to see you cornered.

“Maybe a more advanced warning,” Calum suggests. “If you want to pick something more solid, then they can take the request back to their job and go from there.”

Surprise opens up Diana’s face. It doesn't look like total satisfaction, some of it Calum does place as shock settling onto her brows and mouth. “But they work--” Calum knows exactly where that’s about to head and he realizes that the news of your new job hadn’t reached them--or least not Diana.

Your voice interjects the rest of her sentence. “Diana, please give me a call and the two of us can discuss something more in depth. But you do need to give me more advance warning.”

She nods, burying again in that glass. If Calum were a betting man, he’d hazard a bet that Diana’s clenched grip around the glass is a smoke signal.

You lead Teagan and Charlie out; Calum behind you, shutting the front door behind him after giving his last bits of gratitude. Calum watches the way you carry yourself, the way you’re rushing to the car. That didn’t go like he planned. Maybe he gave too much hope, too much of an opening than you were ready for. “Baby,” he calls out to get your attention.

“Let me get them inside the car please,” you return.

He waits, as you let Teagan and Charlie into the backseats. You double check the seatbelts are in and Calum waits at the driver side door for you. The back passenger door closes to your car leaving you and Calum staring at each other over the roof of the car—on opposite sides. There’s a fire in your eyes. Calum thinks perhaps he should’ve actually paid attention to his parents when they told him to start working on a will.

“Are you crazy?” you hiss.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. “I’m sorry. I-I wanted to get her off your back that’s all. I swear that’s all I was trying to do. But I didn’t know. I overstepped. That’s my fault,” Calum pleads. It was an honest mistake, one he thought twice about interjecting into but even that wasn’t enough to stop him. Not with you. The thing he won’t do is leave you to fend for yourself.

“You let me handle Diana, okay? Please. Let me handle her. I’m not ready for that and I don’t want to hurt Teagan and Charlie either,” you whisper.

Charlie peers into the car through the window. They both look up at you two. Charlie looks worried, big eyes wider than usual. His bottom lip threatens to turn over. “Fuck,” Calum whispers to himself, head dropping to the roof of your car. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” he croaks out. He hadn’t considered that they might be affected. Surely they wanted their sibling around more than you were. Surely, they watched with some confusion about why you weren’t around much. The hopes he might’ve shattered right after getting them up make his chest ache.

Calum lifts his head and walks to the passenger side door where you’ve remained. “Really, I am sorry. I’ll stay out of it when it involves you and Diana directly. I just wanted to help. Swear I did. I just--I’m sorry.”

You melt in his embrace. Where Calum was prepared for you to push away, you drop your head into his shoulder and soften like warming chocolate into his hug. At least you’ll still let him in. “We have to be careful around them, okay? It matters what we say around Teagan and Charlie.”

Calum nods, resting his cheek on your head. “I understand. I’m sorry,” he states again.

“Apology accepted, Calum.” Oh, the inclusion of his name and the omission of his pet name stings. It hurts twofold right after you’d use the plural. You said we. The same sentiment Calum was using, you were using now. And it’s all cut down in one word.

“You know how to make a man bleed by not using his petname,” Calum huffs, squeezing at your body.

Your laughter is soft. “But I bet you won’t do it again.”

“Absolutely not. I need to be called love at least four times in a day to make it through.”

“I’ll remember that. But I need two forehead kisses before we can move on from this.”

Forehead kisses--an easy demand, one he’s happy to comply with. “That I can do,” Calum grins, guiding your head out from the crook of his neck. He plants one kiss, draws all the way back and then pushes in to plant the second kiss. Each kiss is accompanied by the redundant muah sound to seal the deal. But when you snort and kiss Calum gently, he knows it’s worth it.

“C’mon,” he offers gently, walking you back over to the driver side door. Calum opens it and makes sure you’re all the way in before shutting the door.

Calum jogs back around to the passenger side door, cracking it to catch your voice floating out of, “I love you both and we’ll figure something out that makes us both happy. Okay?”

Teagan and Charlie return with an affirmative. The apology creeps up his chest, but Calum dares not utter it. He wouldn’t really get the chance too before Charlie pipes up from the backseat, “My socks are the talk of my class!”

“Oh God,” Teagan mutters. “He won’t shut up about them. Everyone else has.”

“They’re very cool socks, Teagan. They should be talked about,” Charlie counters.

“Agree to disagree?” Teagan asks.

“Hmm, which part?”

“Talking about them.”

Charlie pauses for a moment. “Agree to disagree about that. But they are cool socks.”

“They are,” Teagan agrees.

Calum snorts at the exchange. “Who taught you two the meaning of agree to disagree?”

Your name is repeated in unison and you raise one hand. “It was me. I take full responsibility. But Charlie, I am glad you like the socks.”

“Thank you again for making them.”

“You’re welcome,” you return before the radio station switches over. Calum can’t immediately place the song. But Teagan and Charlie do. Their singing fills the car just over the artist on the radio. Though Calum is nervous, feels it in the bounce of his leg and fears it’ll creep up, he’s relieved that outside of the initial introduction, your siblings don’t seem super phased.

“Love,” you start in a soft voice. Teagan and Charlie are still distracted with the songs on the radio. But their voice doesn’t drown out yours. Calum hums, looking over to you. “I should’ve said that I do appreciate what you were trying to do. Diana and I--it’s really complicated. But I appreciate you trying to stick up for me.”

Calum is beyond willing to admit his own shortcomings. But it’s nice to hear you acknowledge what Calum wanted to do--even if he’d missed the mark. “Thank you,” he whispers in return.

The mom and pop style Italian restaurant doesn’t seem too busy. There’s a few cars in the parking lot, but it seems like the dinner crowd may not be out just yet. It’s a small bit of solace. When you asked Calum if he cared to join you and your siblings for dinner, he was ecstatic. But he immediately followed up his enthusiasm with concern--would the dinner be out in public or not? Though pictures of him are to be expected and you’d grown a bit more accepting of the reality that you’d be snapped as well, it didn’t settle well with Calum that your siblings could get in the cross hairs.

It was decided to pick somewhere not close to Calum’s normal routine and to try and find a good time so that the restaurant wouldn’t be too populated. So far, the plan is working out. Yet, Calum can’t help the glance over the parking lot. He double checks to make sure that he doesn’t see anyone trying to snap pictures, but so far initial scans don’t turn up anything noteworthy. He opens the backdoor for Charlie.

“Are you two dating?” Charlie asks, soft like he’s trying to keep it secret. His only problem is that Calum’s not sure Charlie really knows just yet how to whisper without it coming out in a soft shout.

Calum contains the laughter bubbling in his chest at the sight of Charlie’s intent narrowed gaze. “Do you approve of me?” Calum questions. It’s way too soon to ask that, he knows. But Calum’s cautious now, walking the line between an answer and avoidance.

“Hmmm, not sure yet. I am sure you are nice. You seem so from the photos and videos.”

“A very reasonable assessment. Let’s see if I can change your mind, yeah?”

“I’m a fair man,” Charlie notes and then scurries to your call for him. “I’m here!”

As you described them, Teagan would be the tough one to crack. Yet, it seems like maybe Calum shouldn’t have immediately counted Charlie out of this dynamic as a true opponent. Calum thinks a kid as happy and trusting as Charlie is, it may not be a long fight. Perhaps, Calum worried for nothing--a statement that feels like it’s growing closer and closer to coming true. Your siblings cling to you, happy to take your hand as you all cross the parking lot. But Teagan turns back right before you cross the lanes and reaches her hand back. “No man left behind,” she calls out.

It hadn’t even occurred to Calum that he was lagging behind. But he picks up the extra half a step and takes her hand. “Thank you. How’s school? Getting bored yet? You can tell me. I won’t tell.”

She laughs but shakes her head. “Not bored yet. I like school.”

“What’s your favorite subject?” Calum knows better than to assume and doesn’t rattle off any particular subjects. The open air is scary, but Calum’s learned to let the silences stretch. They usually end up working out in the end.

“Hmm, math is okay; it’s kind of too easy though. I think History for right now is my favorite.”

Calum lets out a whistle. “Did I just hear you say math is too easy? Sounds like a genius is among us.”

“Oh, you’re smarter than I am.”

“No, I actively hated math in school. You’ve got me beat.”

“Oh, it’s my favorite trio,” a voice bellows. An older man leans across the bar and waves. Teagan and Charlie call back, but Calum waits. The man’s smile lifts from the two kids to you, then to Calum and his eyes widen for a moment. “Oh, my apologies, it appears it’s a quartet today. Hello, Your Highness.”

“It’s just Calum, actually,” Charlie interjects.

“Oh, I am sure. Give me just a moment and we’ll get a table ready.”

There’s only a handful of people in the place--one couple at a booth near the main windows. Four people spread across the bar. One family at a table in the middle of the open area, two pizzas to split for the family of five. There’s not much to get ready. Calum worries that if he says more that it’ll make too much of a scene. Your hand brushes over his elbow and he looks back to you while Teagan and Charlie peer into the side display of the desserts prepped and ready to be consumed. They point out the cheesecake slices they want from in front of the glass.

“You doing okay over there?” you ask.

“I think so.”

You slip in a little closer, hand creeping around his bicep. Your fingers inch up as you speak, “I’ll check for sweaty pits if you need.”

Not what Calum imagined your response to be, but it’s just enough humor that it unarms him. He laughs, reaching up to pat at the hand on his arm and feels a small bit of relief. Your humor is his saving grace he needs as he reminds himself as the four of you walk over to the booth set up that it can’t really get any worse. This dinner won’t be that bad.

Teagan slips into the booth first and you slide in beside her. Charlie slips in first on the opposite side and Calum slides in beside him. “Can I get a soda?” Teagan asks looking up at you.

“You can have a little bit of mine,” you concede.

“Have you ever been here before, Calum?” Charlie asks. He still hesitates on Calum’s name, like he’s not sure if he really should be usually just the first name.

“No, it’s my first time, Charlie. What do you suggest I get? What’s good?”

“Okay, so,” Charlie starts pulling gingerly at the laminated menu. Calum eases it in Charlie’s direction and slips out of the leather jacket as the young boy speaks. “Depends on what you want, you know. Pizza is always good. Stay away from mushrooms though. They’re gross. Meatball sub is super good. There’s also chicken tenders if all else fails.”

“Chicken tenders are always a good option,” Calum agrees. “Is that what you normally get?”

“If we’re not splitting pizza.”

“So, should we split a pizza?” Calum asks, looking over to Teagan and you.

“Charlie doesn’t do mushrooms. Won’t even eat pizza if it looks like a mushroom has been near it,” Teagan warns.

“I think I’ll survive forfeiting mushrooms this one time,” Calum jokes.

“You had better,” you tease from across the table.

“No plans on dying early, promise,” Calum laughs. Your smile is easy as you nod and help Teagan out of her coat.

The waitress stops by to gather drink orders and it feels like the roll they’d been on will come to a stop. However, as bright as Teagan is, she has the kind of grace only children have; it’s a ripped off bandaid with no countdown. There’s very little regard for tact and it shows when she questions, “So, is Calum your boyfriend? Like officially now? I remember that day at the park and I need answers.”

Paused halfway to pouring a small batch of your drink into the spare cup, you snort and risk a glance up. Calum, helping Charlie with getting out of his jacket, looks across the table. It was a brief thought--how to break the news. Charlie seemed to already have suspicions but it wasn’t discussed who would break the news, if you’d broach it or if he should. But it seems like Teagan’s taking care of it for the both of you anyway. Though, Teagan did seem like the one between her and Charlie to be a bit more perceptive and capable of handling the information a bit more delicately.

“He is,” you answer simply and tip your glass a bit more so that the liquid slips over the lip.

“Finally,” she huffs, taking the cup from your grasp. “Thank you.”

“Oh, c’mon,” you laugh. “This is the first person I’ve introduced you to.”

That’s not information Calum had. He’s not sure what he assumed--part of him did have an assumption that you’d been in relationships previously though you never mentioned it. But still your revelation makes Calum pause. Certainly, he couldn’t be the first. Though your siblings were young when you discovered they existed, Calum had some small part of him that assumed at the very least there was someone else before him. Maybe it was a silly thing to assume. Even you said it yourself that you were boring. It hadn’t crossed Calum’s mind to ask if boring meant also no romantic life. Underneath the curiosity is a small flutter of pride, Calum’t can’t lie. He’d meant something to you, enough so that you wanted him to meet your siblings. A feat no other had done before. It feels good to be wanted, to hear the validation of your feelings.

“How long did you know, Teagan?” Charlie pouts. “Am I always the last one to know everything?”

“I was sworn to secrecy,” Teagan defends.

“She figured it out before now, Charlie. I wanted to tell you both when it was a good time,” you reassure, reaching across for his hand.

Charlie holds his arms crossed against his chest, but he watches you. “You swear she figured it out?”

“I swear I did, when he gave me the unicorn,” Teagan answers.

“You gave her the unicorn?” Charlie asks, eyes wide and turns to look up to Calum.

There’s a small blip of panic. Is there resentment that Charlie didn’t have anything yet? Calum nods at the question regardless, “I did.”

He hadn’t wanted to bribe either of your siblings, though he did ask you if it would still be appropriate to bring something small. You told Calum to do what he felt was best and Calum opted not to bring anything. Though, he would--if the opportunity presented itself--get Charlie something during the course of the outing.

“You’re Santa!” Charlie shouts.

There’s stifled laughter around the restaurant at the exclamation. He misses that, Calum does. He misses the freedom to be loud, take up space. It makes sense now, how protective you are over Teagan and Charlie. He wants them to stay like this too. Calum wants them to be able to enjoy the joys of having the world unravel to reveal that your sibling’s boyfriend is the secret Santa. There is much worse to discover.

“That’s a few months, a beard, and several pounds early on that title,” Calum snorts.

You laugh too at the comment. “I think you’d make a handsome Santa--eventually, when the hairs go gray.”

Calum’s heart leaps. Were you thinking about the future together? Did it dance behind your eyelids too when you’re doing mundane chores like it did for him? He hopes it does. He hopes you think about folding laundry together while the kitchen blossoms with the smell of the food in the oven. Calum likes to imagine that it’s a recipe tried, that you only coached through. But the thought is fleeting when Charlie’s voice floats in again.

“I mean, like you’re not the Santa that gets around with reindeer and stuff. But like our Santa,” Charlie clarifies with a sip to his juice to seal the sentiment. “Which,” Charlie heaves after his long and heavy sip, “is very cool. Thanks for getting her that.”

Even though it makes a small churn in Calum’s stomach, he does have to admit that your parents managed to raise Charlie and Teagan well. That is of course, not including Teagan’s incident. For what sounded like it was a pretty shaking encounter, she seems to be doing well. You and her work on the coloring sheet provided to Teagan. Though, your help is mostly resigned to picking colors for the various objects while she colors.

Calum nods at Charlie. “You’re welcome. I’ve heard--and please correct me if I’m wrong--your birthday is in February, right?”

“Yes,” Charlie nods. “February 1st.”

“That’s just a week after my birthday.”

“No way,” Charlie laughs. “Tell me do you like baseball too? Are you somehow a secret twin?”

The longer this goes, the more time he spends, the more Calum realizes he really didn’t have much to worry about. His laughter shakes him and Calum catches the red crayon from rolling off the end of the table as the table rearranges to prepare for the pizza the waitress holds on her shoulder. “No, not a secret twin. But I did play football.”

“What position? That’s just so much running.”

“There’s running in baseball too,” Calum points out. But the conversation carries easily as Calum describes his position. He doesn’t dare forget Teagan, who immediately gags at the idea of a sport.

“I’d like to try ballet though,” she offers.

“I’ve heard it’s tough,” Calum offers. Not to deter her, but it isn’t as easy as it always sounds or looks.

“Mom’s signing me up for classes when they open again. I’m tougher.”

“When did this come about?” you ask, sliding a slice into Teagan’s plate. Charlie gives a thumbs up at the slice Calum points too.

“She had me if I wanted to give it a try.” Teagan answers. “I asked her to show me some videos and it looks fun.”

“It is fun,” you answer. “But it is tough. I think you’ll be good at it.”

“Did you do ballet?”

“No, I didn’t. I knew some people that did it, that’s all. Am shocked to hear little miss Teagan talk about anything involving physical effort outside of the playground.”

“I’m complex,” Teagan returns easily. “How’s the new job?”

“It’s good.”

“What are you doing?” Charlie asks.

“Cooking still. Just in a restaurant instead of the palace.”

The mention of the palace makes both Charlie and Teagan look up in Calum’s direction. If not for the slice he has between his teeth, Calum would’ve laughed at their synchronous smiles. “Are you going to miss their cooking, Calum?” Charlie asks. “They make good food.”

Calum will miss many things--like the smell of your biscuits in the morning, or how the kitchen is always alive with orders from staff about what they want and how you’re happy to collect the demands. He’ll miss seeing you off in the night to your shift and being the first person to greet you after he’s slept. But he’s looking forward to more things. He looks forward to your voice floating through his phone on your breaks. He looks forward to the food you manage to take home--extra helpings of soups of the day, a slice here and there of dessert, a side of the house fries. It’s not your cooking, but it’s the little ways you think of him even when you don’t need to.

“I’ll miss how often I’ll get it,” Calum confesses. It’s the most kid friendly way to say that you won’t stop cooking in the palace. He’s convinced you more than once to go down to the kitchen at the witching hour for a snack as is. He always washes the dishes if you cook anything. It’s the deal.

“You don’t do too terrible yourself,” you return. The sly grin on your face makes Calum’s stomach flip. It’s a compliment only you could give--a touch of sarcasm painting the sincerity of your tone. The most Calum’s done is make a sandwich or pancakes. He’s done more for himself, yet somehow he’s always felt uneasy cooking more with you. It’s not exactly him being embarrassed, but he always worries that you’ll want something better.

Teagan fakes a gag. “May I never look like that when I’m in love,” she huffs.

“I think it’s cute,” Charlie defends.

Teagan’s comment earns her the wrath of your tickles. She curls around herself trying to stop your fingers, but all she can do is laugh. You laugh along with her and the sound warms Calum’s chest. “Say your sorry,” you whisper to her.

“No,” she laughs. “I’ll never admit it!”

“Then I won’t stop. Not until you say you’re sorry. Because it’ll be you next. You’ll be calling me about some boy, or girl, or whoever, and you’ll tell me how in love you are.”

Teagan only giggles, and giggles, and giggles at the flutter of your fingers. It doesn’t matter who can hear her. Doesn’t matter if the whole restaurant has turned to your table. All that matters right then and there is that there is laughter. The worry, all the fretting Calum did earlier feels ridiculous now as he watches, as Charlie asks him more about his football days and as Teagan huffs that no one saved her.

Where Calum suspects that drop off is going to be awkward and tense, he finds himself happily corrected. Melvin opens the door with a grin, noticing the boxes in Teagan’s and Charlie’s hands, he nods. “Oh, treasures, I see.”

“We have enough for the Dad tax,” Teagan huffs.

“Dad tax is waived today,” Melvin returns, letting them step inside. He watches you--Calum notices. As you give Teagan and Charlie their last hugs and they wave back to Calum with thanks falling from their lips, Melvin watches. Calum sees it; the flicker of something not quite crossing over into sadness, but dances close to the edge of it.

Though Melvin said he knew his kid and that he felt good about having someone looking after them, Calum can’t help but wonder if Melvin’s also hoping. Quietly in the wings, Melvin is waiting. Diana’s already got the part of overbearing covered. But Melvin watches with quiet recognition and he is only waiting for a signal--the word from you that you wanted more and he’d give it in a heartbeat, Calum is sure.

The kids move further into the house, into the kitchen based on Melvin’s directive and he looks over to you. The sadness melts into the half upturned smile of potential hope. “Still doing alright out there in the world?” Melvin asks.

You nod at Melvin’s question. “I’m okay.”

“Good. Thanks, again, for offering to take them today.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks, for letting me take them out for dinner tonight.”

“I’m sorry--about earlier. With your mother. You take your time to find the right day, okay?”

It doesn’t feel like it means just the right day for dinner. But Calum is sure you know that too. It feels like Melvin’s asking you to reach out whenever you’re ready for more--if you’re ever ready for more. Easing up one of the steps, Calum pulls his hands from his jacket pockets. Where it was clear that you wanted to handle Diana, Melvin wasn’t drawn in the sand. Calum won’t cross that line twice though. There’s only two more steps between you and Calum, shallow steps at that, that Calum knows he could take them in one stride to swoop you away if need be.

But Melvin doesn’t say anything else, just gives another half smile. You can only nod and then turn on your heel to start down the stairs towards Calum. Melvin waves in Calum’s direction but doesn’t stand in the door much longer before heading back into the house. Calum takes your hand--one that you stretch out to him. There’s tremors in the grip but he squeezes and you squeeze back. Was it a good tremor or a bad one?

Calum decides not to say anything until you’re both in the car as a small bit of privacy. “Do you need me to drive?” he asks from the passenger seat. The car’s yet to rumble to life. But the question is a spark. You turn the key over and slip the car into reverse.

“No. I got it.”

Calum pulls the seatbelt over his torso. “Offer’s still on the table whenever you need it.”

“Thank you, love.”

It’s not a convincing tone. He nearly asks again. The question pressing hot against the tip of his tongue and the back of his teeth. Yet, Calum’s not going to pick a fight. It’d be pointless. “How do you feel about interacting with Melvin? Better than or worse than Diana?”

“Better. He’s a million times better than Diana, not as pushy. He’s good at backing away when he sees it’s going nowhere. You have more free reign to step in if he’s around.”

Calum nods, still watching the shifts of your face. From the slight pinch of discomfort into something more focused. You’re probably sick of talking about your parents though. All this time you’d built a system that worked for you, you’re not always looking forward to rehatching it. “Charlie turned out to be a little tougher than I thought,” Calum offers.

The smile is bright, melts every ounce of tension from your face. “He’s a good baby brother, watching out for an old fart like me.”

“You’re not even thirty yet. You’re far from old.”

“Closer to it than you,” you laugh, patting at his knee.

This is Calum’s first relationship with someone older. But it hardly matters in the grand scheme of things. “Barely,” he huffs.

“But they like you. Charlie’s just sensitive because he hates being out of the loop. But he’s usually the last one we tell things to because he talks…a lot.”

“So I saw too,” Calum laughs. It’s not a bad thing. It made conversation easy as Charlie easily ran with whatever line of questioning was given. “He’s got a gift; I’ll say that much.”

The echo of your snort erupts over the soft ringing of your phone. Calum sees it shaking from the cup holder. House is the contact name but the parenthesis hold T&C. “Is that the house number?” Calum asks.

You risk a glance. “It is.”

“Do you want me to answer?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Calum picks up the phone and swipes to answer the call. “Calum speaking,” he answers.

“Oh, hi Calum. It’s Teagan.”

“Hi, Teagan. Is everything okay?”

“Yup, you’re actually who I wanted to speak with. Wanted to say thanks again for the pizza. You’ve passed.”

If it weren’t for the high lilt to her voice that makes Calum want to laugh, he thinks it would scare him more to hear the phrase, you’ve passed. “I’ve passed?” he asks for clarification.

“Yes. I hope we can hang out again soon. I’d love to see how well you do in an arcade.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” Calum snorts. Though Teagan had been a bit shier in person, she certainly shines over the phone--all gas and very little brake. Not that Calum minds it one bit. It feels like step by step he’s being taken into the fold of your family. Piece by piece he’d find his place into the dynamic of you and your siblings. Even if it means absolutely embarrassing himself in an arcade to do it.

“Yes, it is. Do you accept it?”

“I do accept. We’ll find a day--on the weekend for us to face off in the arcade, okay?”

“I’ll talk to Mom and Dad. Charlie says thanks too. He’s scarfing down his cheesecake right now. But thanks, again. It was nice to meet you. Officially. Please tell my sibling I said get home safe, okay?”

“I will, Teagan. I will. Thanks for the call.”

Calum stares down at the phone, well after it’s ended, blinking as if that will tell him definitively that the call was real. “Your sister just challenged me to an arcade duel? I think?”

“Sounds like Teagan.”

“She also told me to tell you to get home safe.”

The relaying of the message makes Calum’s voice soft. It’d been less than ten minutes and probably no more than six since the two of you left the front door. Yet, Teagan was already calling. Clearly, she knew you’d answer. Or that at the very least someone would answer the phone. Maybe you always do. Not many calls involving you and siblings happened in front of Calum.

“I will. I always do.”

The words feel automatic, like you’ve practiced them a million times. “Is that what you tell her? When she calls?”

“Everytime.”

“And I’m sure she still calls.”

“Everytime,” you laugh. “The older they get, the more time they want with me. I guess it makes more sense. I don’t know. I’m glad they want me around.”

“They love you,” Calum returns. It’s like what he said about the friends you’d gathered from your time working in the palace kitchen. It’s family, however dysfunctional.

“I love them.” A nearly whispered confession from your lips. But the radio’s off. The windows are drawn up tight. The words have no place to go so Calum catches them, holds them softly because he knows those words don’t come easy for you. But you said it, no prompting, no prying.

“I’m taking your temperature when we get home. I need to make sure you’re not sick.”

“I probably am sick. Sick in the hand because I’m behind on that painting for the auction.”

“We just submitted the proposal two weeks ago. You’re not behind,” Calum laughs. “But if you need me to get anything tomorrow, I’ve got time to do it.”

The proposal submitted was a two part contribution: Calum’s volunteer time and your painting for the same charity. The proposal was detailed, so much so that Calum wasn’t sure how you’d manage to pull the thing off. Incorporating textures and fabrics into a painting doesn’t seem like an easy task. But he’ll do what he can to help, given that his end of the deal was the easiest.

“Can I crash at yours tonight? Because you need my help with final touches on the shed and it’ll be--”

“Of course,” Calum answers. He should’ve let you finish the statement, but the answer is always going to be yes. Sleeping’s not the same if you’re not around. The bed’s too big and too cold without you in it. The lack of snores has made falling asleep easier, but it doesn’t feel the same and that makes staying asleep harder. There’s no one to curl around him. No one for him to curl around.

“It’ll be easier to stay because I do need your library for a little bit of research too before my shift,” you conclude like you weren’t interrupted.

“What time are you going in?”

“One. I work until close.”

“It’s all yours,” Calum offers. It’s easy. But it’s true. Everything he’s got is yours. Every book, every cent, every fiber that he possesses he’d be happy to overturn in the blink of an eye for you. He knows it’s cliché. He finds himself remembering the faux gag of Teagan’s, but even he knows that the cliche’s still hold truth. He is utterly in love with you and even if it’s disgustingly obvious, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The hallways are empty when you and Calum return to the palace, though they do echo. Voices carry on around the two of you. But there’s you, right next to him. You are a tether, the buoy in a raging sea for Calum. You lean into his arm a little as you two are carried up in the elevator. Your inhales match-- a steady meeting of ribcages. “When you said I was the first one you introduced to your siblings,” Calum starts as the levels tick by, “did you mean that?”

“You are the first.”

It’s a sour thought, burns his tongue. But Calum has to ask. He has to know. “So, have you dated anymore before me?”

“Not to the same level that I’m dating you. Mostly flings.”

“Mostly?”

“I dated one other person. And I’d hardly count it as dating.” The doors open to the elevator.

“What would you call it?” Calum asks, following your lead out of the elevator. The walk to his room is shorter than Calum thinks he would like it to be. He’s not sure why, maybe because the hallways feel like they’ll have more space for the conversation that’s unraveling.

“We went on a few dates. Slept together on occasion. I wasn’t ready for more. I knew that, but I hadn’t been honest with them. It was clear they wanted more. I was making excuses to bail on dates. I had to admit to them I wasn’t looking for more.”

Calum reclines against the edge of his desk. You stop in front of him.“When was this? What changed your mind?”

“I was still in culinary school. I didn’t really have the time for dating then but I certainly wasn’t looking for a relationship. It was the first time in a long time I felt like I had some kind of control over my life. Dating felt like handing that control over again. Didn’t want to date.”

“But now do you want to date?” If Calum’s math is correct, that was at least seven years ago, if not more. But it’s a gnawing thought if you still thought dating was that kind of loss of control. He certainly doesn’t want you to feel that way about him.

You take Calum’s hands from where he’s folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me--are you worried?”

It feels like concern settling into his gut. It feels like Calum should know better but he still wants to know. What had changed? What made him different? “I don’t think so. I’m just curious, you know. I assumed you might’ve still had a dating history like me. I have a bad habit of that, making assumptions at times. I know your life is so much different than mine. I think I want you to have a normal experience so badly I convince myself you did. But you didn’t.”

You cup his cheeks, thumbs stroking over his flesh. The touch is grounding and warm. “No, it wasn’t normal. But that doesn’t mean it’s automatically a bad thing. What’s changed is me. What’s changed is that you’ve always treated me like a person. What’s changed is that nothing about this feels like it’s never been a choice. I mean a few things have been sort of this realization that either I make choices now when there’s less stakes involved or make choices when there’s more stakes. But I like choosing you.”

“I like choosing you too. Sometimes, it doesn’t even feel like choosing.”

___________________________

Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like choosing.

Calum had said it and his eyes looked misty, like he was on the verge of tears having witnessed something so beautiful the only thing he could do was just cry. You felt like maybe you should’ve cried, like the air that froze in your lungs should’ve just produced tears. He wanted you to live for him. And there--in just a single sentence--it comes crashing down that all you’ve ever wanted was someone to choose you. You’ve always wanted to be enough for someone.

If being seen means that you’d been a striped bare in less breath than two inhales, you don’t think you’d ask for it. But it’s a good thing you never did. One person. Just one is all you’ve ever wanted. Someone that would push back when you pushed them away. And people don’t do that. People will leave when they feel unwanted. You know they should. Yet, all ou wanted was to see just a little fight in someone. Someone who’d take the resistance as a challenge but nothing personally . And you got it. There is someone who thinks you’re enough--a bag of clubs on his back as you wait at the passenger side of the truck. David laughs from next to Calum at the front of the vehicle. David carries his own clubs as well over his shoulder.

“Sure you’re not going to get jealous of us out on the green?” David asks.

“I’m sure, Pops.”

Calum gives his father one last hug before walking over to you. His smile softens just a tad and he slips the bag from off his shoulder. “I hope these work for you. If they don’t, then you should be able to rent some too at the club.”

You’re careful as you take the bag of clubs. It’s a tad heavier than you anticipated but you readjust your grip and hoist it up. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Have fun.”

“I’ll try. I’ve never golfed before.”

“Dad’s a good teacher. You’re in good hands.”

Calum presses a kiss to your forehead. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like choosing. The sentence rattles you, every time it resurfaces. Every touch feels a little bit different, a little bit heavier but warmer somehow. Like you can feel them more. They last a little bit longer. They settle into your bones and where you’re sure they’ll ache, they don’t.

You grip at Calum’s sleeve when he goes to take a step back. His brows furrow. You slid in closer, nose brushing along his jaw as you cocoon around him. “What if I make a fool of myself?”

“Baby, you won’t. I lost my grip once, on a swing. Both the ball and club flew across the rough.”

“God, you’re a terrible shot then, huh?” you snort, inhaling the scent off Calum’s clothes. No cologne this time. Just the detergent and his natural musk. A scent you know you could bathe in if it were possible at all. It’s in a few of your shirts, from the time they’ve spent in Calum’s drawers. A couple you’re sure he either put on or put onto his pillow. It’s just a whisper of his scent, but it is enough. The ghost of him will come when the breeze comes and it’s a comfort you embrace with open arms each time.

Calum tightens his arms around you, his lips pressing against your ear. “You can’t be worse than that, baby.”

“I will golf by myself, however sad that is,” David teases.

“C’mon,” Calum encourages. He helps get the clubs into the trunk. “You’ll do great. He’ll be on his best behavior.”

“Oh, I’m not that bad,” David laughs. But you catch it, the soft glint in his eyes of concern. Your interactions with David, and even Joy, have been severely limited. They’ve been out of town, gone for press partially. But outside of the dinner you had with Joy, and the time breakfast David and you shared words, the interactions were minimal; hellos at breakfast, occasionally asking how they were doing and them asking who you are. The kind of interactions that don’t need much behind them to sustain them. You’re lying if you’re not also a little worried. You know David means well, but you can’t help thinking that as a parent he’ll always have that tint on his world.

And as the child in the situation, you’ll always have that tint on your world.

Yet, sulking’s never solved problems. So you return a soft smile in David’s direction. “Shall we?”

“I think we shall,” David laughs.

The car is spacious--a tad larger than big as Calum’s personal vehicle and it holds the two of you easily. Calum falls from the rearview mirror’s view. There’s a bump as you two descend out into the roads, through the gates. It leaves you with just David. Part of you thinks you could understand how a good father like David might be crushed to not have his child in his life. Maybe David had always wanted kids. Being a parent might’ve been part of his life and purpose that he’d been ready to take on when the time came. It’s not a question you’d ask your own parents. It never felt like a question that really needed a verbal answer. Not when the actions spoke so loud.

The soft pluck of the guitar gets even quieter over the radio. “So, how’s Forest?” David asks.

You nod, and turn to look at him for a moment--cheeks pink and rosy as he smiles. You see where Calum gets his smile now-- a trait you hope is strong. “It’s good. Menu’s about to get a revamp in a couple weeks so it’ll be nice to cook something new.”

“Oh, that does sound nice. Your coworkers--are they nice? Any trouble at all?”

“Yeah, they’re nice,” you laugh.

Your coworkers are more than nice; yet, you only find yourself able to form just that singular sentence. They immediately brought you into the fold. PJ, who’d been shadowing under for the last month now, took you in like a sibling rather than a coworker. He helped show you the ropes in the kitchen, a lot of the start was working on preparing the kitchen, chopping, marinating. As painstaking as it was to make sure the fryers were up and to mix the spices even for the slowest of days, you knew it was all important. There was a system the kitchen ran on and you needed to know it before you could even think about grilling chicken or dropping fries.

After the holidays, Turner mentioned plans to get you into classes for bartending and getting you licensed to work the bar. You assume the downshift will be drastic that is until February, in which another wave undoubtedly hits. It excites you just a little that Turner wants to make you a bit more versatile. But you watch her with everyone, how she’s the kind of manager to get her hands dirty and run plates to tables. This isn’t just a job to her.

“Well,” you start after a small bout of silence. “So far it’s good. We haven’t hit the busy season yet so that’ll really show me what the crew is made out of--me included.”

“Foraged in fire,” David laughs, “it’s truly the one way.”

You look down to your arm, tracing the small scar. Grease got you in the first week of training. You’d watched it, like it was happening in slow motion but still weren’t quick enough to get your towel over your wrist. “I think I’m starting a collection.”

“A collection? Of what?” David asks. “Didn’t realize you were a collector.”

“Oh, no, uh, the first week I got hit by some grease. It’s sort of like tradition I think at each new job. Gotta take a cut or a burn to really be initiated.” You don’t tell him about the nick you acquired about three days into working in the palace. Or the bruise you gained when you started in the restaurant prior.

“Oh,” he laughs. “Pardon me. Didn’t realize how deep that phrase would go.”

“No, no need to apologize.”

There’s more silence. The whole trip can’t go like this. It’ll drive you mad. But you’re not sure what to say to David. Where Joy was warm, keen at the details of things just beneath the surface, you realize that won’t be the same for David. He’s got his own kind of perception. But you don’t really know what to say to him. What kind of conversation did normal people have with their partner’s parents? What were the sorts of things that people asked?

“Can I-” you start and then start the words falling back down your throat. The courage feels like it might slip back down too but you force a breath. “Can I just say I don’t hold what happened at breakfast against you?”

David exhales with a chuckle. His body falls back into the driver seat, like he’d be curling around the wheel to save himself. He too must’ve been worried about what to do next, how to cut through the tension. “Thanks for that. I know I’m not always, uh, the most tactful.”

“I know I’m not always the most forgiving either.”

“Aye, that’s where you’re wrong I think. It hurts, as a parent, to see a child push their own parents away. Makes me fear what I would do if it were me. But it’s also not fair to assume that children--adult or not--have to be the ones to forgive to mend the relationship either. You’re allowed to hurt. I think anyone would be in your position. People can change and I hope that you’re able to see if your parents’ have truly changed or not. But it’s not fair of me to tell you how to process that either or what you should feel. You need that space to grieve.”

You don’t know if it’s truly grief. The concept of that feels like it passed when you left for school. Like the years you’d spent in the system were the appropriate time to grieve. Yet, the only thing you can recall about that time is more pain--the hours you’d spent with your case worker or keeping your head down in class though you’d heard the whispers. The truth of it all is that the town gossiped. You’d heard it, saw it in the way the other parents always looked at you a little bit longer than before. Like they wanted to say something, but didn’t have the words for it.

Maybe all you’d been down for the last decade really was just putting more and more distance between you and the pain without really ever feeling it. Maybe all along all you had was a simmering pot--heat too low for it to ever really meet a rolling boil, but could still bubble all the same. What was grief supposed to look like for something like this? How does one grieve something they’ve put so much time into trying to forget?

Now’s not the time for those kinds of ruminations. You know, even as you start to look for an exit to the track of conversation, that the damage is already done. The questions will find you right before you sleep to nag you again and again.

“So,” you start, “how long have you been golfing?”

“Oh, I’d reckon twenty odd years now. I’ll have you in the pros in no time,” David grins.

“Are you a betting man?” You’re not terrible at sports, but they’re not a natural inclination of yours.

“No,” David laughs. “Fortunately I’m not. But if I were I’d put your homemade biscuit recipe on the line.”

“Oh, don’t you worry.”

“Now what does that mean? I know Calum’s head over heels for you and twice on Sunday. But what is that I hear from you?”

Your cheeks are warm, a flustered laugh leaving your throat. It’s not that David’s wrong. It’s that it’d been so easy to admit. You don’t want to hold it back, not now. “I-I’m keeping all options open,” you return instead.

“All of them?”

You nod. “All of them.”

“Well,” David laughs. “I think I should become a betting man then.”

It shouldn’t shock you when you slip out of the passenger seat and meet David at the truck for the clubs. Calum and his parents were royalty. But from the front where the valet comes to take the car and park it, you’re immediately reminded that this isn’t your world. Calum, David, and Joy were accepted. They took you in with ease. But the patch at the knee of your workout pants--because the style had gone out of stock and wouldn't be returning-- and well worn tennis shoes give you away. When you walk in through the doors, a fountain greets you at the entrance and around you are tennis skirts, and polos.

The smiles that fall on you feel practiced--not quite forced. But it’s clear you are not normally here. There’s an assessment in each look that crosses your body. It shouldn’t matter. In all honesty, it wouldn’t matter once you and David got outside. You two would be two bodies out in the green sea of the course. But inside, inside you are the sore thumb. The visor you managed to unearth helps a little. No one seems to think that’s out of place as you walk alongside David. But as your sneakers squeak against the pristine marble floors--or what look like marble floors--you can feel every eye on you.

David carries on to the front desk. His member card is already in his hands. If not for the spike in your anxiety, you’d find it funny. Did the King really need identification? You only keep up with the conversation between David and the man, possibly around your age, who’s working the counter long enough to pass along your name. The high ceilings and gold light fixtures draw your attention away from the matter at hand. Behind you are stairs, what they lead to you don’t know. For a place littered with bodies, there’s very little noise--mostly the soft voices and the music overhead. This is a kind of peace you are sure is tightly enforced.

You turn back to David just in enough time to see him holding out the guest card to you. You take it and slip it into the pocket of your pants. “Thanks,” you whisper.

The man assisting David and you smiles when your gazes catch. The navy blue suit jacket buttoned tightly around his torso. A gold name plate resting against his left breast reads Leo. He too looks perfectly placed here into the club as well, clean shaven without an ounce of stubble on his chin. His smile too feels practiced, but you catch it, the briefest blink of surprise before he looks back to David. “Will your son be joining you two later?”

“No, not today. Just us two.”

“Certainly. Just the cart then?”

“Tha and can we get a spare count on balls as well?”

“Of course, Your Royal Majesty.” The screen he works on makes no noise just lights up under the glass display a ghoulish blue bouncing off the white. “You’ll be met right on the asphalt here in just two minutes,” Leo states, waving over to the door to his left--yours and David’s right.

David gives a nod and then looks over to you. “Ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you return.

David starts for the door and you find it automatic to lift a small but well intended thanks to Leo for his assistance.

He blinks, perhaps stunned, before he smiles, “It’s my pleasure.”

As you walk behind David, you watch your steps, wondering if somehow you’ll leave a stain behind.

“Alright,” David says, a clap echoing in the crisp air around you. There’s just a little bit of dew still on the ground. You can feel it on your skin through the sleeves of your shirt. “We’ll start with the basics--grip and stance.”

“Is swinging the intermediate course?” you tease.

“Something like that,” David laughs, “it’s definitely lesson two.”

The corrections are gentle, getting your thumbs into the right place, how much of a bend you want in your knees and how much is too little. It’s a little awkward at first. How much you feel like you’re being watched even though the closest group to you is easily 100 yards out. Perhaps, it doesn’t help that a kid and his father pass by. The child, no older than ten, makes a quip about how in another ten years he’ll be just as good as his dad, how all he needs is a little bit more practice. It’s jarring. That’s a kid who’s grown up on this turf you’ve just walked on. But David’s kind, tells you that you’re picking up the game faster than Calum did. A tease you’re sworn to secrecy on, but it doesn’t fully help with the slight ache you feel in your chest that reminds you, like the card in your pocket, you are just a guest.

The wind rushes, your hips driving your body into the twist, the borrowed club of Calum’s clacking against the golf ball. It doesn't go as far as you’d hoped. It’s about twenty yards shy from where David’s landed. Still the hit earns you an impressed whistle from David. “You’re looking like quite the natural on this. You sure you’ve not been practicing before now?”

You laugh, “No, not even the Wii version either.”

The mention of the gaming system makes David laugh from his belly as joins you at the T. “God, it’s been years since anyone’s mentioned that. We nearly lost a TV during a round of Wii sports once.”

“Calum?” you question. It doesn’t seem too terribly far-fetched to imagine him getting overzealous during a game.

“No, me. I wasn’t a big believer in that strap, but that day I should’ve been. Nearly bowled perfectly.”

You’d only played a handful of times on the system thanks to some friends of yours, but didn’t have one yourself. Your parents weren’t believers in that--they managed to get you to some cool trips as a kid, just sober enough to ensure that you still were excelling in school and not missing on things that wouldn’t keep up appearances. But there wasn’t much they did together with you--family trips, game nights. Certainly no trips to golf.

“Did you lose any pixels in the TV?” you ask.

“No, nothing like that. It tipped for a second but Joy caught it.”

“A swing and a miss,” you quip.

“I wish I had missed,” David laughs.

The wet feeling of the morning fades quickly by the time you’re six holes deep. Fall is cool and crisp, but the sun hits noon and you start to realize the long sleeves might’ve been overkill. You pull them up to your elbows as David prepares for his swing on hole seven.

“So, tell me,” David practices a swing a few inches off the ball. A small clump of grass goes up with it. “Do you think you’ll be on the line cooking ultimately? Where do you want to go from there? If anywhere?”

You don’t have a good answer for that. Don’t have anything for David that might be what he wants to hear. You certainly don’t want to get into politics. You’d rather not get close to it, though your relationship with Calum will ultimately be that undoing you’re sure. “Looking for a predecessor already? I thought the job was filled.”

“No, hardly,” David’s laughter is short as he steps up to his ball. “The position is very much filled.” He swings. You clear the clack, and the ball soars. You watch it as much as you can, losing it briefly in the thick light of the sun. It lands with a distinct thud teetering on the rough. “But, given your formal training, I’m curious to know if Forest is where you want to go forever. Doesn’t even have a Michelin.”

“Doesn’t need a Michelin to be good food, or good for you. Cooking’s where I want to be.” It’s true. It’s where you’d rather be. Unseen but still important. “Management’s not my most ideal future, but I imagine I could be good at it.”

“You seem good with people. But management’s less about good at people and more about being good at leadership. Janet’s talked up a great storm about you when you first started on. You’re dedicated. You can pick up slack. You can do the hard work. You’re a fast learner. All good skills for leadership, but there’s an amount of delegation involved too.”

You shouldn’t assume, but you’re not too good at doing things the way they should be done. “Will any job title be good enough?” you ask. “Manger, owner, CEO--could they mean the same thing as Your Royal Highness?”

“Well,” David turns to face you now, “Manager, owner, cook, CEO don’t mean the same thing. And they shouldn’t.”

And they shouldn’t. The grip around the iron tightens. What is that supposed to mean? You don’t speak, afraid of the tick in your own jaw.

Yet, David continues on, with a smile and a shrug. “We don’t do the same things. But no job is less important than someone else. Hell, I think you’ll be glad I’m not in the kitchen. Best I can do is put frozen food in the oven and maybe a slow cooker recipe here and there. What I mean to ask is are you happy where you are? Can you see yourself doing that forever? That’s all I think matters to me is that you’re happy too.”

You exhale, dropping your shoulders. He just wants you to be happy in what you do, like parents ought to want. The guilt flares, at the assumption you’d made on David’s line of question. He doesn’t have the grace of Joy, but it’s clear that he still cares. There’s no reason for him to be Joy. It’s a reality you’re sure that you’ll have to remind yourself of again. But David’s clarifying words are a relief, allowing the alarm to quiet in your brain.

“If food’s involved and I’m involved in its making, I’m happy,” you answer.

Food is a space you can control, a space that no one’s threatened because you wouldn’t dare let them. You know food--inside and out. You know how it will react. You know how long to let it simmer. You know food well, can smell what’s wrong and what’s right. It’s a safe haven when you need a refuge. A breeze comes by and you swear you can smell the pie Mrs. Davis used to bake. Along with it, Mrs. Shirley’s work comes with it. All those people before you--who cared in their own way, shared a love with you that you carry now.

“Then it’s enough,” David grins. “C’mon, I think you can beat my distance now. You’re getting more confident in that follow through. I can see it.”

You get your thumbs into position, testing the bend and push of your knees and hips. Clack--and the ball soars. You watch it, and watch it, and watch it. It hits, bounces, arches up again for another bounce, then rolls. It bobbles for a moment and then stops. Hardly a foot past David’s ball. But still beyond.

“There we go!” David cheers with a hearty pat on your back. You feel the thumb in your chest, nearly in time with the beating of your heart. He squeezes your shoulder. “I’m telling you--golfing might be your future. You’d make a hell of a golfer if you ever grow tired of that kitchen.”

His smile is wide, taking up nearly his whole face. In the thumping of your heart, where you can still feel the residual thump of the firm pat, you think something on David’s face looks like pride. And it feels good--to have the small victories with David. You walk with your spine a little bit straightener back to take your next swing.

David checks in on hole 9, offering to call it quits where you are before heading back in for a late lunch. And you take him up on it, promising to finish the back half at a different time. “It’s not like the holes are going anywhere and neither am I,” you tease.

“Now that’s the spirit. We’ll get you set up with your own clubs if you want. Or you can keep borrowing Calum’s,” David grins, arm slung around your shoulders.

A nod’s all you can manage. It feels too dismissive to say that you don’t want your own clubs; that though you did well, only three over par, having your own clubs feels like too much of a commitment. That you don’t know if you’re that integrated yet, or that important yet, to earn the right of your own set of clubs. And yet, you know it’s David’s excitement to have a marginally more committed partner to return to the course. You can’t crush it. Part of it is fun, a slow paced game in the otherwise track race of your life. Golf is that little bit of solitude.

You nod, hoisting the bag of clubs up onto the cart. “We’ll see.”

The drive back up to the club is longer than you anticipated, but it passes with easy laughs. Leo’s gone when you return to the desk. Another employee--the tag looks like it could make out Marie- takes the keys with the same practiced and measured smile on her face. Unlike Leo she gives no indication of shock or surprise when she spots you.

David walks you to the cafeteria. The middle is a mix of tables and chairs while the edges hold coffee and tea stations, easy to grab snacks and the buffet. The menu above lists the main menu, the black lettering stenciled perfectly so the loops and swirls are almost dizzying. “Oh, as a heads up the menu’s limited in overall options. But you can get as much as you want if you’d like. At least for lunch it’s a bit more free for all. They serve breakfast and dinner in a more sit down style,” David warns and then makes for the line right at the start of the buffet.

You follow behind, slowly. The table cloths are white, plates and cups sparkling in the afternoon night. It’s a place that nearly begs not to be touched, but you take up a plate. You load it up, collect the silverware and settle down opposite of David at the table. Though your hands are clean, thanks to the glove you’ve had on, the fear from earlier turns into desire. If you’re going to be here, hanging like the item for the latest display, you at the very least want to leave a mark.

The pasta salad doesn’t look bad, though it does look a little thin--not quite as hardy as you’d make it. But it’s good when you get through the first bite.

“Calum tells me that you’re doing a painting for the holiday auction,” David comments around his sip of water. “How’s that going?”

“Slow,” you answer. “But I think it needs to be right now.” Slow is truly an understatement. With the last of the shed completed, shelves stocked with your normal art supplies and the last of the wall art up, you’re able to give the painting your fully undivided attention. But the longer and longer you stare at the blank canvas, the more you feel it swallowing you up. It’s nerves. You’ve never done anything at this scale with the potential for hundreds of thousands of dollars on the line either.

“You don’t look so confident about that,” David returns.

“Nervous, mostly. I know what I’d like to do but something about it feels incomplete. Don’t know what yet. And I know in three weeks they want progress updates, so it feels a little bit like the walls are closing in.”

“Life sort of feels like that doesn’t it? Like you’re always chasing something and not quite realizing you’re exactly where you wanted to be. I do think you’re right. You’re exactly where you need to be. You’ll still have another few weeks after the progress updates too. But if you think of anything you need, give me or Joy a shout and we’ll be happy to help too.”

“A rat race,” you return, taking a bite of the roll. “A stale race at that.”

“Well, I hope soon you get out of it. No use in competing with everyone else.”

David’s right. There is no winning, but it still feels a little too easy for him to say. You nod at his comment. Perhaps there’s even more no reason to even compare your situation to his either. Comparison is a thief; it will stop not just at joy but peace as well. It will take everything it can sink its claws into. Comparison is that voice, the one that crawls from the base of your skull and sends a chill down your spine, and tells you everything will fall apart in an instant anyway.

So far things had only worked out. You were in a new job. Calum was still around, still doting on you in ways that you’d forgotten you needed. David was taking you in. Joy’s smiles at you are still deep and bright. Charlie and Teagan grew closer and closer to you. Things were working themselves out. And they’d continue. Things would continue to work out--even if it means that you subject yourself to the occasional golf trips with David and you sit with Joy just to bask in the warmth of someone who cares. And even if it means that you take Charlie and Teagan out more often for dinners, and birthdays, and just because they ask and just because you want to, you’ll do it happily.

It’s all actually going to work out because so far it has.

The drive back is faster than the drive there--as it always goes. But the radio cuts in through the pauses in your conversation with David. You learn how him and Joy met back in the late 80’s, how David swears Joy lit up the dance floor. He makes sure to tell you that Joy swears she did nothing of the sort, if you were ever to ask her about it. It’s so incredibly normal, how David had been out, rebelling in his youth when his paths crossed with Joy’s that fated night at the dance hall. They got lunch a few days later after David mustered up the courage to call her. She’d initially been unsure of pursuing him, telling him rather directly that she was not looking to be made to fit into a box.

“It was a choice then I had to make. Show her that she wouldn’t be made into a box she’d never be happy in or force her into that box,” David states. “So I let her go. I told her I’d love the chance to prove to her that my intentions are not malicious, but only if she wanted to take it there.”

“The Hood men are charmers, I see.”

David’s laughter leaves him softly. “No, it’s the other people in our lives that makes us look as good as we do. Joy is soft to my edge. You’re the edge to Calum’s soft. We’re only a small portion of the game at large.”

“It worked in the end for you. You’re with Joy now.”

“I am. And I am thankful for that. But it’s all about choices. You’ve got to choose when you give a little bit and when you remain steadfast.”

“Compromise and communication, that’s what I’m hearing.”

“And you’d be correct. Compromise and communications, skills that’ll carry you through life that’s for sure.”

A hum falls from you--acknowledgement that you’ve heard his statement. The truck slows as he nears the turn for the entrance. David types in his code before pulling all the way through the gates. In the distance you notice someone at the doors as you close the distance you realize it’s Calum’s outside. He’s got his keys in his hand, looking opposite of the truck for a second before looking in your direction. Calum grins, slowing his gait as David backs into the spot next to Calum’s truck. When the truck eases to a stop, Calum opens the passenger side door for you. “How’d it go?”

“They’re a natural,” David calls out with a shout.

“I’ve still got a lot to learn from the old pro,” you state. “But it was more fun than I anticipated.”

“Well sounds like Dad might’ve found himself a regular golfing partner.”

“Something like that. Looks like you’re headed out,” you tease, tapping the fob hanging from his fingers. You don’t wait for the response and head to the trunk to grab the golf clubs.

“Was craving something sweet,” Calum answers when you approach from the rear his bag of clubs on your back. “Do you wanna come? I’d like for you to join, but understand if you can’t.”

“Oh, your phone,” David calls out from the front of the truck. The car beeps again as the doors unlock.

Calum ducks inside and grabs your phone from the console. You pat down your pockets to check for your wallet, and feel it in your right pocket. “Here, I got it.” The front screen of the device gleams in the sunlight from Calum’s waiting hand.

“Thanks. I’d be happy to join if you can spare me five minutes to pee.”

“I can spare ten minutes, fifteen, doesn’t matter.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to Calum’s cheek.

David waits at the door, holding it slightly ajar for you. It’s not a far trek, thankfully, to get the clubs up into storage. You settle the bag down next to David’s, flipping off the light switch to the closet. “Thanks, David, for today. I appreciate getting to know you better.”

“Thanks for actually saying yes. I don’t imagine it was an easy thing to say yes too.”

“It’ll be easier next time you ask.” Because you get David now. Better than you did before. You can give him grace and hope that in return he gives you the same in equal parts. So far, the two of you are equal in that exchange.

David smiles, a little soft but no less genuine. It reminds you of the sun peaking out from white clouds. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Will you tell Joy I said hi? If I don’t run into her again before leaving today.”

“Absolutely I will.”

“Thanks.”

The two of you part ways. He carries himself deeper towards the elevators you think. You don’t stick around to find out definitively as you more towards the restrooms. The sink rushes, water pouring over your hands as you rinse away the soap when your phone rings. It vibrates in your pocket and you take the paper towel to dry your hands. “That better not be Calum,” you laugh mostly to yourself.

By the time your hands are dry, the phone stops ringing. Checking the phone, you notice the missed call--Diana. You had their cell phone numbers in case of emergencies. Though most of the communication was done through the house phone. The first thought is that something had happened--considering Diana or Melvin have never called from their cellphones. It shocks you a little that it wasn’t Melvin to reach out if it is involving Charlie and Teagan. But you can’t waste more seconds debating why Diana called and not Melvin. You take a deep inhale to stop the slight tremor of your hand. God, you hope that Charlie and Teagan are okay. Your thumb stills enough to tap on the call to redial.

The line rings only once before it connects. “Diana speaking,” she answers.

Her greeting stuns you. Could she have called you by mistake? Were you on the edge of a tizzy that didn’t need to happen?

“Hi Diana. I’m returning your call from just a minute ago or so.” That part should be obvious, but you state it anyway more of a lilt painting your words.

“Yes,” she hisses. The extra constants slur together for a moment but then she carries on, “I wanted to see if you’d like to come over tomorrow. Charlie and Teagan will be needing new winter coats before the weather breaks.”

Winter coats. A phone call for fucking winter coats. “Is there a reason why I need to be present for winter coats?”

“You-I-well, you did ask if they were all settled into school and the weather will be breaking soon.”

Winter is on the horizon. In another month and some change, November’s chill will grow colder and December will bring the first bouts of winter. The nights are already growing colder and colder. The coats make sense to get now if they’ve outgrown the ones from last year. And you do want them to settle into the school year nicely, but you ask Charlie and Teagan that. You make them the drivers of the conversation. But you know Charlie. He’ll talk and talk and go and go.

But you’re not going to argue that. There’s no need to bring them into this conversation further. You know Diana is already trying to prey on that relationship as it stands. “Are you and Melvin in financial binds? Is that what you need help with?”

“No, no, why would you think that?”

“Then why are you asking me over with the reason about winter coats?”

“Well, because they need coats.” Diana sips on something, the sound echoes even though she’s pulled the phone from your face just a little. The sound is distant but not quiet.

“You’re not--” The words are right there. You’re not making any sense. You better not be drinking. But you catch yourself. You hold that back. You don’t have proof. You don’t have fucking proof. You wish you did. You wish you could ask Teagan or Charlie, hell you’re considering confronting Melvin at this point.

“I’m working tomorrow,” you answer instead.

“You’re always fucking working,” she huffs. It’s clipped and bitter as it echoes through the receiver.

“You spring invitations at the last minute,” you snap.

“Diana!” the voice is further away. Melvin you assume.

Diana hisses into the receiver and it’s the last thing you catch before the dial tone swallows you up. You look back at the screen and the call’s ended. Where fear pumped under your skin, your veins are thrumming now with anger. Where the hell did her attitude come from?

“Baby!” Calum calls.

You can hear him getting closer, the keys clicking as he walks down the halls. You shouldn’t. But you tap her number again. You get sent to voicemail. “You’ve reached the voicemail box of Diana. I can’t answer your call right now. Please leave your name, number and a brief message and I will return your call.”

You better not be drinking. You better keep it together for Teagan and Charlie. You fucking better stay sober. You don’t say it. You hang up and try her number again.

“Baby!” Calum calls out again.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of Diana.”

You hang up. She likely wouldn’t listen to you even if she did pick up. She wouldn’t listen even if you left the voicemail.

“Baby!” Calum calls out again.

“He-” you inhale, hearing the shakes in your own voice. “Here,” you call out, voice clearer now. Is it too rash now to do something? Should you call Melvin and talk to him about it?

You can’t do nothing. But right now you might be much too close to it. You’re always fucking working. And as much as you hate that voice in the back of your skull, you can feel it rising again, a shit eating grin dripping from its tone, told you so.

“You get lost?” Calum laughs as he approaches.

You can hear him. But the rectangle of your phone fills your vision. The floors beneath your feet blur just a little. “I got a call from Diana,” you answer.

“Oh, shit. What happened?”

Nothing really. It was hardly a conversation you think in retrospect, not a logical conversation in the slightest. “I don’t know,” you return.

“Do you still want to go out for cookies first or do you want to talk about this?”

You can’t bury this. You can’t plant it next to all the other things you’d rather forget--because that’ll only harm Teagan and Charlie in the long run. But you know that you can’t even fathom how to explain it either. But you can feel it--the desire to run away, even if momentarily. You’ll have to come back to this. You’ll have to figure out how to talk to Diana and Melvin too.

“Cookies, first please,” you exhale, looking up to Calum. He looks a hair skeptical--probably a mixture of trying to assess if a phone call from Diana is normal or not. But you hold his gaze and he nods eventually.

“I’m here when you’re ready to talk.”

“Thank you,” you return, slipping your phone back into your pocket. It’s not forever. You know that. That’s what you tell yourself. You’re not choosing this distraction forever. It’s all about choices. It’s a selfish choice right now to go with Calum. But god, all you want for the moment is just an ounce of peace. You hope Teagan and Charlie, should they ever find out about this, can forgive you.

You hope you can forgive yourself too.

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