“I was demonstrating a chemical reaction,” I corrected. “The fire was an unintended side effect. And for the record, she was very impressed. We dated for three whole weeks after that, which is practically marriage in fourteen-year-old years.”
“Until she dumped you for the boy with the skateboard,” Gram reminded me.
“The douche,” I muttered, wrinkling my nose. “In my defense, I couldn’t skateboard because of my delicate ankles.”
“You couldn’t skateboard because you were terrified of falling and looking uncool,” Gram corrected.
“Semantics.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Norbert!” Gram called. “Bring the swimming photo!”
Pure horror filled my chest. “Gram, no.”
“Gram, yes,” she replied with an innocent smile that wouldn’t have fooled a toddler.
Norbert appeared too quickly, carrying a framed photograph that I’d been trying to “accidentally” break for years.
“Traitor,” I muttered to him as he passed by. He gave a small shrug. “Hid the photo my ass,” I growled.
“Thank you, Norbert.” Gram accepted the photo. “Now, Ms. Marcel, this is my personal favorite. Callan, age six, decided he was a merman and needed to practice for his ocean life.”
She handed the photo to Anica, whose eyes widened. There I was, age six, in the massive claw-foot bathtub, wearing nothing but a homemade “merman tail” fashioned from what appeared to be green garbage bags and aluminum foil. My hair was slicked back, my chest puffed out, and I was holding a plastic fork as a “trident.”
“Aw, look at the little merman. So cute,” Anica said with her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
“The fork really sells it,” I deadpanned. “Nothing says ‘fear me, underwater creatures’ like plastic cutlery. Though I maintain it was an avant-garde interpretation of Aquaman that was simply ahead of its time. If I’d been born a decade later, I could’ve been an influencer with that kind of creative vision.”
That broke her restraint, and she laughed outright. “I don’t know what’s more impressive, the creative use of garbage bags or the fierce expression.”
“I was very committed to my undersea kingdom,” I admitted, smiling despite the mortification. There was something aboutAnica’s laughter that made the embarrassment almost worth it. “I ruled with an iron fork.”
“Dinner is served, madam,” Norbert announced from the doorway, saving me from further merman-related humiliation.
“Saved by the butler,” I said with perhaps too much enthusiasm. “Shall we?”
Gram rose with Anica’s help. “I have so many more photos to show after dinner,” she assured Anica, patting her hand. “Including his brief but passionate heavy metal phase. The eyeliner was... creative.”
“I look forward to it,” Anica replied, her gaze meeting mine with a mixture of amusement and absolutely unrestrained glee. “Though I’m not sure how I’ll maintain professional composure after seeing Callan in eyeliner.”
“Bold of you to assume you had professional composure to begin with,” I murmured as we walked to the dining room. “I’d like to point out that you’ve been laughing at me for a solid twenty minutes.”
“It’s not at you. It’s at six-year-old you. Completely different.”
“The distinction is noted but not appreciated,” I replied, pulling out her chair. “Though six-year-old me would be thrilled to know he’s making beautiful women laugh, even if it is at his shameless merman cosplay.”
A slight blush colored her cheeks as she sat down. “I’m sure six-year-old you had other priorities. Like perfecting your fork-wielding technique.”
“It’s all about the wrist action,” I demonstrated with a dinner fork.
Dinner proceeded with more embarrassing stories, including the time I tried to bake a cake for Gram’s birthday and confused salt for sugar (“It was the thought that counted, even if the execution was criminal”), my disastrous first attempt at drivingher Bentley (“The rosebushes were never the same”), and my brief stint in a teenage garage band (“We were called Quantum Theory, for god’s sake, how was that not a red flag?”).
Throughout it all, I watched Anica. She was different here, away from the office. More relaxed, less guarded. She laughed freely, asked questions, and seemed genuinely interested in the stories of my misspent youth. I liked it more than I should have.
“So,” Gram said as Norbert cleared the dinner plates, “Callan tells me you’re helping him find a bride.”
And just like that, the comfortable atmosphere shifted.
“I’m planning his wedding,” Anica corrected. “The bride selection is... collaborative.”
