“You were photographed leaving the McCoy ranch at dawn!”
“Was it a flattering photo? Because I specifically asked Mrs. Delaney to get my good side.”
I can feel her dad’s blood pressure rising from here.
“This is serious! You’re humiliating our family!”
“Dad, our family’s reputation survived the great zucchini incident of 2019 when you tried to pay your taxes in vegetables. I think we’ll survive me existing near McCoys.”
“You weren’t just ‘existing near’ them?—”
“You’re right. I was aggressively existing near them. With extreme prejudice. And possibly jazz hands.”
“Callie!”
“What do you want me to say? That I took a wrongturn? That I was sleepwalking? That I was investigating a potential goat emergency?”
“I want you to tell me the truth!”
“The truth is that you’re being ridiculous, and Mrs. Delaney needs a hobby that doesn’t involve surveillance photography. Maybe she could take up knitting. Or competitive eating. Or literally anything that doesn’t involve stalking your daughter.”
“She’s looking out for you?—”
“She’s looking out for her Facebook engagement rates, Dad. Have you seen her page? It’s like TMZ had a baby with the Cedar Ridge phone tree.”
There’s a pause, and I can see Mr. Thompson deflate. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter but somehow more serious.
“You’ll lose everything chasing those boys.”
“I’m not chasing anyone!” Callie’s voice goes up an octave. “They’re not Pokemon, Dad. I’m not trying to catch ’em all.”
Despite the situation, I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“Then what are you doing?” he demands.
“Living my life? Making my own choices? Being a functional adult who can decide where to drive her own truck?”
“With them?”
“With whoever I want! This is America, Dad. Land of the free, home of the brave, and constitutionally protected right to make questionable decisions at all hours of the day and night.”
“This isn’t funny?—”
“It’s a little funny. Come on, you’re literally shaking a newspaper at me like it’s 1952. Next, you’ll be challenging them to a duel at high noon.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Pistols or swords? Because I feel like Jesse would absolutely show up to a sword fight. He’s extra like that.”
“CALLIE MARIE THOMPSON!”
“HANK EUGENE THOMPSON!” she shouts back, matching his tone perfectly.
There’s a stunned silence, then Callie continues in a calmer voice.
“Look, Dad, I get it. You’ve spent thirty years nurturing this feud like it’s your prized orchid. But I’m twenty-eight years old. I may live with you but I pay my bills. I manage my life. And I’m done letting a three-decade-old mayo incident dictate who I can and can’t talk to.”
“It wasn’t just mayo?—”
