Rekindled (13 page)

I slam my hands down on the coffee table, sending all the pins and stickers crashing to the floor, and startling my parents. “I’m not getting rid of my baby,” I say, through gritted teeth.

“Callie, honey.” My mom enough ice in her voice to freeze over hell. “You can’t seriously expect to keep this baby. You’re just a teenager. Besides, think about what this would do to your father’s campaign if his teenage daughter is knocked up!”

“I don’t care. I’m not getting rid of my baby,” I repeat.

My mother’s face grows red. “Stop being so damn selfish and think about the repercussions of your actions. You honestly think you’re going to be able to raise a baby at your age? And what about college?”

“I’m sure there’s options for women who are in school and have children. I’ll work it out.”

“And how do you expect to pay for everything?” My mom says through a smile. “You don’t honestly expect us to still pay for your college education and your bastard child when you’re deliberately going against our wishes, do you?”

I suck in a sharp breath. “I don’t care, mother. I don’t care what you threaten me with. You can take away my trust fund, you can take away my college tuition money. I. Don’t. Care. I am having this baby, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

My mother clicks her tongue and a sneer forms on her lips. Smoothing out her skirt, she stands and looks me straight in the eye. “If you have this baby, you’d better be prepared to do it all on your own, because as soon as you walk out this door, you are no longer a part of this family, do you understand me?”

“Vicky…” My dad looks nervously between me and my mother.

“Fine.” I grab my purse and sling it over my shoulder. “I guess I have no family then.”

I can hear Dad calling after me as I storm through the house to the front door, but I ignore him as I race out of the house and run for my car. Picking up my cell phone, I start to dial Tate’s number, but stop, not wanting to burden him even further. Today marks the two-month anniversary of Rylee’s death, and I can’t put more stress on him when he’s already been through so much. I’ll have to find another time to tell him. Sighing, I scroll through my contacts and dial the only other person I can turn to. It rings three times before he picks up.

“Callie?” Zach says. “What’s wrong?”

Tate’s jaw is clenched tight and his knuckles are blanched from gripping the edge of the countertop so tight. I don’t know that telling him all of that at once was the best idea, but he had to know. The day I chose to be with Zach, I knew it hurt Tate, but I had no idea he was going to push me away for so many years. I made my choice based on what was best for my child, even if it meant breaking my own heart and his in the process. I kept telling myself that once the dust settled, he and I could talk things out, but he never gave me that chance, and the more time passed, the more my guilt curdled into anger.

“So now you know what happened and why I chose what I did,” I say, trying to remain calm.

“Callie, I…I’m…”

“Sorry.” I finish for him. “I know. You’ve said that.”

His eyebrows dip together and a pained expression crosses his face. “I know I can’t take back the years of hurt I caused you, years that I should have been there for you. But if you’ll let me, I’d like to make it up to you by being here for you now. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I definitely don’t deserve your friendship, at least not yet, but I swear, I will prove to you that I mean it when I say I am truly, deeply sorry for pushing you away. Please, Callie, let me try to be your friend again.”

I want to say no. I want to tell him to go to hell and to get the fuck out of my house. I want to tell him that I never want to see his face again. But I don’t want that. I miss hearing his laugh and seeing his smile. I miss the cheesy riddles we used to quiz each other with, and the way he’d hold my hand through a scary movie. I miss my friend.

He stands in front of me working his jaw back and forth, waiting for me to respond. I can see the worry in his eyes that I won’t accept his apology. But Tate’s always been my Achilles heel, and I can feel my resolve weakening. Sighing, I reach over and grab his hand giving it a quick squeeze.

“Okay. We can try to be friends again.”

His lips curl into a breathtaking smile and my heart hedges. “I have to work the next five days, but I’m having dinner at my dad’s place on Friday night if you’d like to join us? He’s been really hoping to catch up with you since you came back to town.”

I hesitate, not sure if that’s the best idea, but the smile on his face is hard to ignore. “Sure.”

We make plans for me to come by on Friday, and he helps me finish unloading my groceries before leaving. I stand at the front window, watching as he climbs into his truck and backs out of my driveway, leaving me to wonder what the hell I am doing.

“Dad, it’s Callie, not the Pope.”

“I know, I just want everything to be perfect,” He scrambles around the kitchen checking on the food, dips a spoon into the sauce, tastes it and smacks his lips noisily. “Needs more salt.”

“At least let me help you.” I grab the container of salt. “I don’t want you overexerting yourself…you don’t want to have another stroke.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m perfectly capable of cooking dinner.” He grabs the salt out of my hand and shoos me away from the stove. “Why don’t you go and get dressed? Leave an old man with his food.”

“I am dressed.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “
That’s
what you’re wearing to dinner tonight?” He points his spoon at me, letting red sauce drip all over our linoleum floor.

I look down at my jeans and grey Henley and shrug. “Yeah, what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “You kids really don’t understand what it means to have company over for dinner anymore. In my day, having company meant wearing a suit with a proper tie.”

“Yeah, and your generation once thought the world was flat,” I joke, as I grab a roll and take a large bite.

“Hey, I’ll have you know people happen to like that I’m old-school. I met Linda Ronstadt once and she told me I have class.” He yanks the roll away from my grasp. “And stop eating. You’ll spoil your appetite if you keep grazing. You’re not a damn cow.”

I laugh and grab a spoon, dipping it into the pasta sauce. Jules and I usually come by Friday evenings to have dinner with my dad, occasionally bringing Matt and his girlfriend, and while my dad always likes to do the cooking, tonight he’s gone way above and beyond. I suppose I can’t necessarily blame him when Callie was like a second daughter to him, and the night we saw her at
Red’s
was the first time in seven years that he’s seen her as well.

My dad excuses himself to go change, leaving me time to stack my dad’s VHS tapes on a dusty bookshelf, and turn over the couch cushions so the various stains can’t be seen. I can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed at the condition of my dad’s place. Our house is nothing like Callie’s. It’s a single-story cabin sitting on the edge of town that my great grandfather built years ago. Pictures of Rylee and me are framed and stashed all around the house, along with my dad’s collection of mallard duck figurines and various knick-knacks he’s picked up from yard sales throughout the years. The couch is about twenty years old and lined with faded blue corduroy, we have to use recycled magazines to keep our tables from wobbling, and the TV that sits in the living room is from the nineties so instead of being a sleek flat-screen, it’s bulky and half the buttons no longer work. Not to mention Dad’s probably the only person on the planet that still uses a VCR to watch movies. I once tried to buy my dad a new TV and DVD player, but he insisted I return it because he thought it clashed with everything else in the house. He wasn’t wrong, it definitely didn’t fit in with the rest of his things, and that’s a testament to how desperately my dad’s house needs a makeover.

The dining room table is covered with a white lace tablecloth with faded wine stains from over the years. My dad refuses to toss it because it’s the same one he used at his wedding. A set of tall brass candlestick holders sits at the center with a new set of candles in them, and a match book from the eighties my dad got at a pizzeria in Chicago, lies besides them. I grab a wine glass with a water mark and quickly use a napkin to wipe it away, placing it carefully next to the china that my dad has brought out from the cabinet.

I move to the bookshelf full of my dad’s record collection, something he’s been working on since he was a teenager, and pull out his favorite.
Dean Martin’s Greatest Hits
. I place the vinyl record on the track when my phone begins to ring. I smile when I see who it is.

“Hey babe. You heading over yet?”

“No, look, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it to dinner tonight.” Jules sounds tired.

“Everything okay?”

“Sort of. Kathy was supposed to show up for the afternoon shift, but she called off saying she’s got the flu, and my boss doesn’t want to have to close the clinic down early, so she asked if I could stay until nine. Look, have a good time tonight and tell Callie maybe she and I can go get our nails done sometime next week so I can get to know her better, okay?”

“Okay, well do you think—”

“Sorry, Tate, I gotta go. Love you.”

Before I can even say “bye”, the call is disconnected. I stare at the blank screen, feeling uneasy with the way the call was ended. I know Jules loves being a doctor, and she always says she’s happy being here in Idaho with me, but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. She’s a city girl who grew up in Manhattan. We met a little over a year ago when she came to McCall to help start up the new medical clinic. In a totally cliché moment, I accidentally spilled my beer all over her one night when Matt and I went out to a bar after work. I offered to buy her a new drink and pay for her dry cleaning, she countered with dinner the next night, and the rest is history. She never intended to live here permanently, and I know she still misses the city. I can see it in her eyes whenever she walks into a restaurant or a store and compares it to New York. While I agreed that someday I would be willing to move there with her, I can’t leave my dad here by himself.

The doorbell rings and before I can get to it, I hear my dad yelling from down the hallway. “I’ll get it! I’ll get it!” He scurries down the hallway and I rush to his side, to make sure he doesn’t fall flat on his face.

“Dad, slow down, you’re going to hurt yourself.” I notice that he has put on his best suit and even dabbed on some cologne.