by Amanda Tru
After his funeral, Calla had taken a semester and a summer off from school, during which time Becky had gone through her father’s savings in a matter of months. By the time it came time to pay her school bill, there was no money left. Calla tried to get a student loan, but apparently, she had tens of thousands of dollars of credit card debt, and the loan got declined.
That was when Calla discovered that Becky had used her name and social security number during her entire stint as step-mommy.
She’d never win. Another sob escaped and, with a wail, she let the tears fall. She ripped her glasses off her face and threw them on her desk. Anger made her ball her fists until her fingernails dug into her palms. She brought them up to her forehead violently, hitting herself so hard it nearly hurt. She pressed her fists hard into her head and battled the desire to break something, rip something, screech out loud.
“Calla?”
Startled, she whirled around in her chair, horrified to see Ian standing there. Immediately, she wiped her cheeks with both palms, wondering about the level of eye makeup leaving streaks along her cheeks. “Ian,” she hiccupped. “I didn’t hear you.”
A confused frown marred his face. “Are you okay? What happened?”
She cleared her throat and stood quickly, grabbing her bag and the key to the door. “It’s nothing. It’s…” He pulled her to him and his arms came around her. She hadn’t expected that, but without warning, she felt safer, freer, less like the world was closing in on her. “I’m sorry. I just fielded a phone call from my stepmother. She tends to have this kind of effect on me.”
He shifted back so he could frame her wet face with his hands. “Is there something I can do?”
A joke about loaning her fifty-thousand dollars froze on her tongue. Even in this overemotional state, she knew it wouldn’t have gone over well. Instead, she shook her head. “I think I just need to build a bigger shell where she’s concerned. Dad’s been dead for three years. It shouldn’t still hurt this bad.”
She could see he didn’t quite believe her but could tell when he decided not to push. He released her and stepped back far enough that she couldn’t feel his body heat anymore. “I came down to see if you’d like a ride home? The weather is just as nasty as this morning.”
Even though her knee-jerk answer would be to thank him and turn him down, she really wanted a ride home. “Thanks,” she said, feeling calmer. “I would really like that. I appreciate you thinking about me.”
They walked to the door together, and she pulled the double doors closed, locking them and setting the alarm. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” she asked.
“My family will all be at my grandmother’s.” He pressed the down button on the elevator. “You?”
“Sami invited me to dinner at her parents’. I’m making pies and veggies.” They stepped into the empty elevator car, and Ian pressed the appropriate parking garage button. “Speaking of cooking, I’m looking forward to lunch tomorrow. I hope you like chili.”
“That sounds wonderful, especially in this weather.” She followed half a step behind him as they walked to his car, trying desperately to shake the emotional overload assaulting her right now from Becky’s phone call.
He remotely unlocked the door to his car so that, by the time they reached it, he could open her door for her.
As she settled into the seat and fastened her seatbelt, she wondered how to act with him. Part of her felt like she’d known him her whole life and should feel completely at ease. The other part of her knew they’d barely scratched the surface of what they could learn about each other and perhaps the almost kiss this morning was a little preemptive. Her mind went back and forth with all of the do’s and don’ts and what’s, and all of it swirled with the conversation she’d just had with Becky.
Ian opened the back door and set his backpack on the floorboard, then slid into the driver’s seat. As he started the car, he rubbed his hands together. “Can’t believe how fast the temperature dropped since this morning.”
The safe conversation about weather gave her a little more time to shed all the negative emotions and find some balance again. “It should warm up again by next week. That’s definitely one nice thing about living in the south – you only have to take tastes of fall and winter then everything goes back to right again.”
He laughed. “Have you ever lived anywhere other than Atlanta?”
“No. Born and raised in the A-T-L. But, my dad came from Wisconsin. I spent many a white Christmas on the lake with my grandfather before he died. I don’t think I’d enjoy living up there.”
“I’ve always spent Christmas in Haiti, so I don’t know about anything but mosquito nets and bags of tepid water.”
“Bags? Not bottles?”
“Yeah. They come in bags, and you buy them in a big bag.” He maneuvered his way out of the garage and turned in the direction of her apartment. For the next twenty minutes, they enjoyed easy conversation, remembering childhood Christmases and sharing stories. She told him about ice fishing, and he told her about bringing new soccer balls to a village. All too soon, he pulled into a spot near the front door and put the car in park, but did not turn off the engine.
“I’m sorry your stepmother hurt you so much,” he said, shifting so he could partially face her. “If you need to talk about anything, let me know.” He surprised her by reaching out and taking her hand. “No one should cause such an emotional reaction. Just know that you’re not alone.”
Her breath hitched, and she fought another surprising wave of emotion. “Thanks,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I appreciate your concern, and I’m sorry that you saw me in such a state.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Sorry? What does that mean?”
Her laugh sounded a little rough, despite its sincerity. “It means that right now, I still hope I look my best when you see me. I want my lipstick on and my hair straight. I changed clothes three times before church yesterday and twice before work this morning.” She opened the door and grinned at him. “Ugly crying at my desk at six-fifteen on a Monday night does not constitute my best, and I’m truly sorry that happened.”
He closed his eyes and gave a brief shake of his head. “Hey, Calla? For the record, I don’t even understand what you just said.”
“That’s okay, Ian. You’re a guy. There’s no reason you would understand.” She slid out of the car and leaned down to face him. “Thanks for the ride. I appreciate it more than you know.”
Pulling her legs under her, Calla settled more comfortably on the couch with her notebook computer in her lap. The last pie for tomorrow’s Thanksgiving dinner had just come out of the oven, and the fragrance of cinnamon and nutmeg mixed with Granny Smith apples wafted through the room, filling her with a feeling of comfort and happiness.
Since she didn’t have to go into the office tomorrow, she could work as far into the night as she wanted. She had earbuds in her ears and typed as fast as her fingers could go, transcribing the video that played. She’d picked this one because as an instructor doing a voice-over for a presentation, he spoke clearly and concisely, and when he said words she didn’t understand, most of the time they appeared on the screen. She barely had to pause.
An hour into the ninety-minute video when her cell phone chirped. Pausing the video, she picked it up and read the message from Sami.
Sister’s water broke. Heading up to charlotte with my parents. Sorry to cancel thanksgiving! Talk soon.
A smile crossed her face. She didn’t think she’d ever met any sister more excited about a coming baby and wished she could go with her to Charlotte just to experience Sami meeting the baby for the first time.
Resuming her transcribing, she pressed play and started typing, then paused again. On an impulse, she picked up her phone and shot a quick text to Ian.
Thanksgiving plans canceled. Want to come by for pie tomorrow evening? Hate to see my all my work go to waste.
They’d enjoyed lunch together on Tuesday, but she hadn’
t seen him today. He had warned her of his full and busy schedule all day Wednesday. In fact, she hadn’t even heard from him since the end of lunch today.
By the time she finished transcribing the video, formatted the captioning, and submitted it for billing, another two hours had gone by, and she still hadn’t heard from him. Purposefully not letting that bother her, she went ahead and got ready for bed. She felt her energy draining from a long day at work and figured she could get up really early tomorrow in lieu of staying up late tonight.
When her alarm woke her at four on Thanksgiving morning, she saw a text from Ian time-stamped at two in the morning.
Pick you up at three. Not too dressy.
A silly grin covered her face, and she held her phone to her chest as if she held a love letter. Did he truly plan to take her to his family Thanksgiving? Since no one could hear her, she went ahead and let the gleeful laugh out before texting him back.
I have pies and some veggies, too. Don’t forget.
Ten minutes later, she settled comfortably into the corner of her couch, a cup of coffee steaming at her elbow, the silly grin still on her face. As she accessed the site where she worked as a transcriber, she pulled up the list of available jobs. Seeing an upcoming episode of her favorite television show, she claimed it. While the video loaded in the interface, she put both of her hands on her cheeks and felt the smile. The sound of the opening credits pulled her out of her happy glow, and she paused the video to take a sip of coffee before getting to work.
A few minutes into transcribing, she got a new text.
Pick you and the pies up at three. Bread too? Hope so. See you then.
Ian entered the large house using his key. On the table that sat between the bottom steps of the double staircase sat a colossal vase of fall flowers lit by the ornate crystal chandelier. He walked across the gleaming tile, passed the leftmost staircase and through the door to his grandmother’s sitting room.
He could see a low fire in the fireplace. That’s where he found her, standing next to the marble mantle, looking at a picture of his parents. She had a very distant and wistful look on her face, and he cleared his throat before walking all the way over to her. As soon as she saw him, her eyes cleared and she smiled. He reached her and kissed both of her cheeks, breathing in the scent of roses that her lotions and sprays always smelled like.
“Grandmother,” he greeted, “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Samuel,” Annabelle Jones replied, patting the side of his arm, “you are early.” She called him Ian until the day his father, her middle son, died. Then she began calling him Samuel, after his father.
“No, ma’am. I just stopped by to let you know I’m bringing a guest today.”
“A guest?” Annabelle raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “And will this guest be a lady or a gentleman?”
He smiled, knowing she had immediately started praying that he planned to bring a guest of the romantic female persuasion, and not just a friend who found himself without a table this Thanksgiving. “A lady. Miss Calla Vaughn. I apologize for the last-minute invite, but she had her plans canceled late yesterday and has no family.”
“No apologies necessary. You know my table is always open.” She pursed her lips and looked him up and down. “You’ve never brought a young lady to our table before. I’d remember.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “You’d remember, yes, ma’am.” As he slipped his hands into his pockets, he thought back to the last five days, to the vibrant and fun woman with eyes as dark as the richest chocolates. “I’ve had one dinner, two lunches, and a coffee with her, grandmother. No wedding bells yet, please. I’ve only invited her because she found herself unexpectedly with nowhere else to go.”
He cleared his throat and stopped himself from fidgeting. He knew he’d just spoken what amounted to a very small fib. Okay, a lie. He invited her because the text he read from her last night filled him with hopeful anticipation. He invited her because he couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing her all day long. He invited her because he wanted to spend the day with her. “I like her, though. I do. She’s really something. I hope you think so, too.”
“Another first. Be still my heart.” She walked over to a large arrangement of burgundy roses and picked a dying leaf off of a stem. “I won’t make a big deal of it. Don’t fret. Your old grandma-ma won’t embarrass you today.”
“You, dear lady, would have to try really hard to embarrass me in any way.” He let a breath escape that he didn’t realize he’d held. “I will warn you, though, you won’t know her family. She’s not exactly –”
The waving of her hand cut him off. “You assume too much about me. Always have. I disapprove of one girlfriend back in high school…”
When he realized that she didn’t intend to finish the sentence, he did it for her. “The one you embarrassed to the point of tears? After that, she wouldn’t even look at me.”
Annabelle sat on her flowered settee and patted the cushion next to her. “You obviously don’t have a clue what happened. That girl, I don’t remember her name –”
“Melissa Posner.” He pictured the athletic blonde who led the cheerleading squad. “Missy.”
“Okay, Missy.” She cleared her throat and straightened the gold watch on her wrist. “I walked in on her talking to the maid Bea in such a tone that I couldn’t believe a teenager was speaking. I was appalled. So, I tested her, and she failed.” Her hazel eyes met his, and he could see no regret in them. “I know that was the last time you brought someone home. But, it had nothing to do with my snobbery and everything to do with not wanting you to end up with a woman like her.”
He tried to remember the incident, the exact words that his grandmother had spoken, anything at all, but so much time had passed, and he couldn’t grab all of the details from his very hazy memory. “I’ve always resisted bringing anyone else home because I assumed you wouldn’t approve, that’s true. I wish you’d said something to me before.”
“There was no need before.” She patted his hand. “Now, if you have someone you feel would survive my scrutiny, however mistaken that thought is, this must be someone incredibly special. Because, I imagine if she weren’t, you would have simply made plans with her after coming here or something of the sort. Bringing her here, with your uncles and me, now, tells me that she is someone I need to pay attention to.”
Ian closed his eyes then demanded, “What about Al, Grandma?”
His grandmother froze. She turned slowly and met his eyes. “Samuel, that is between your sister and me. I understand you may feel protective of your sister and your best friend, but you do not know the details, and I will not gossip. So, I would appreciate your trust in this matter, and I will thank you if you never bring that subject up with me again in the future.”
Ian tasted copper on his tongue. He swallowed and said. “All right, Grandma. But it doesn’t make me feel better about bringing my friend over for Thanksgiving dinner.”
She crossed her arms, then said, “Then perhaps you should tell me about her, Samuel.”
His mind drifted to Calla and pictured her hitting the filing cabinet drawer with her hip. A silly smile crossed his face at the image. “She loves Jesus. And she’s really fun to be around. I think you’ll like her.” He looked at his watch. “I have to go. She is bringing food, by the way.”
She frowned. “Food?” She said the word as if it felt foreign to her tongue. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Trained chef, grandmother. Trust me. You’ll be happy.”
“What kind of food?”
“Pies.” He smiled and winked. “And some kind of vegetable.”
“I have a caterer, Samuel. Our Thanksgiving dinner table is not some country tent meeting potluck.” Again, she said the word potluck as if pronouncing a foreign phrase attached to an equally foreign concept.
He loved his grandmother. She’d sell her family jewelry if it meant helping someone in need. She could also don the upper-crust sn
ob mantle whenever she felt the need. “I understand. But, like I said, trained chef. You asked me to trust you? Trust me. You’ll be happy. And,” he said in a slightly warning tone, “you’ll be thankful because I’m saying please.”
The sigh she heaved gave the impression that she just conceded a hard-fought battle. “Very well. Go into the kitchen and get the appropriate dishes for your lady friend. My table will be set with matching dinnerware, even if it’s put together hodgepodge.”
“Hardly fair, grandmother,” Ian said with a smile as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Calla stared at the reflection of her third wardrobe change in the mirror and smoothed down the sides of her dark green jacket. She wore a suede skirt the color of rich caramel, dark brown boots, and a scarf that pulled all the colors together. As she examined her outfit, she worried that she had overdressed. He did say not too dressy in his text, right? Was this too dressy? What if everyone there wore blue jeans and football jerseys?
Before she could change outfits yet again, her doorbell rang. This outfit would have to do, she thought, as she rushed through her apartment and opened the door. She smiled when she saw Ian in a dark blue button-down shirt and a pair of khaki pants. Perfect. She hadn’t overdressed.
“Hi there,” she greeted with a grin, stepping forward to hug him. “I’m ready. I just need to grab the food.”
He brushed his lips over her cheek as he hugged her back, then stepped fully into the apartment. She gestured at the serving dish in his hand. “What’s that?”
He cleared his throat. “My grandmother is sort of set in her ways. She doesn’t like a mismatched table. She sent me with a serving dish for your vegetables.” He held it out. “I feel like I should preface that with an apology.”
