Dad puts his reading glasses on his head and takes a bite of his stew. “Might as well. Gav has the connections.”
A slick feeling coils in my stomach. Here it is, the way Dad expects me to step in and finish the project for him.
“Children’s books and memoirs are nothing alike,” I say, dipping my bread in the stew. “I’m not sure how much help my connections would be.”
“So you’re not willing to try?” Mum asks, her eyes pulling sorrowfully like a sad dog.
“I didn’t say that.”
“It seems to me the least you could do istryto help your father.”
“Of course I would?—”
“After all he’s done for you over the years,” Mum continues, “it seems the smallest thing for you to write one wee email, Gav.”
I dip the rest of my bread and shove it in my mouth. There’s no book to email my agent about, and Mum’s shoving guilt down my throat like this soggy slice of sourdough. Granny has gone silent, and Grandad’s focus remains on his dinner. The mood in the room has turned on a sixpence.
Once I’ve had a few moments to process and repress the feelings pestering me like bird beaks, I smile at my parents. “Of course I’ll help. Let me know when your book is finished, Dad.”
Mum smiles. “There’s my Gavin.”
Aye, the one who folds like a greeting card at the slightest provocation. Same old Gavin.
I should probably feel more ashamed since we have a guest at our table, but I choose to be numb instead. It’s impossible to feel hurt when you feel nothing at all.
“Tell us about school, Callie,” Granny says. “It must be fascinating. Gavin mentioned you’re trying to become a psychologist.”
“Yes, at UCLA.”
“What a rewarding career.”
The energy in the room is tense, but Callie speaks as though she can’t tell. “I hope to still feel that way when I’m finished.”
Granny laughs.
I scoop another chunk of beef and chew, feeling the weight of attention on my neck. When I glance up, Callie is looking at me. Her expression is carefully mild, not concerned in the least. Did she learn how to do that in one of her classes? A course for beginners: How to Lull Emotionally Fragile People Into a Sense of Safety 101.
I can’t take any more. I already have friends checking on me consistently; I don’t need my house guest worried I’m going to have an emotional breakdown just because my parents clearly have issues.
“Right then. Anyone for pudding?” I gather the empty bowls around me and push away from the table. “Banoffee pie’s on.”
“Sign me up,” Grandad says, patting his stomach.
Callie jumps up, gathering plates and bowls and carrying them to the sink. Mum and Granny notice, and I see them whisper to each other. Their wee scheming minds are already setting us up, I can tell.
“Or maybe we should call it,” I say. “Best be heading out soon. Weather’s not getting any friendlier.”
“We’ll go soon,” Granny says. “Quick bite of pie, then we’ll be out of your hair.”
“We promise,” Mum says, her wide smile back in place like nothing ever happened.
Why do I feel like I shouldn’t take either of them at their word?
CHAPTER TEN
CALLIE
Gavin has beenon edge since dinner. I helped him serve his caramel banana pie with hot cups of tea, devoured my slice, and still his family hasn’t moved from their seats at the table.
