“Is that who you called the day I brought you home?”
She nods. “Stacey and I have been friends since school. There’s technically a group of us, but there’s only so many times you can decline an invite because of a child before they just stop asking.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I don’t lose sleep over it. Stacey stayed with me so I know she’s a real friend. The others… maybe when they have kids of their own, they’ll understand.”
“I can’t imagine how hard it is to raise a child. Being responsible for a whole other human sounds terrifying.”
Calliope sips her drink and I’m momentarily distracted by how her red lips caress the edge of the glass. “It’s scary, but it’s a good scary. Do you not want kids?”
“Oh, I do.” I nod hastily and smile when I finally catch the lost cherry. “I really do. But the transition scares me, I think. One day, kids would be amazing, but…” After popping the cherry in my mouth, I chew slowly while Calliope waits patiently. “I think I fear turning into my own parents.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
I shrug but am forced to pause as a server appears and sets my blackened halibut down in front of me. The smell immediately hits me in the gut and my mouth waters. Calliope thanks the server for her chicken Milanese and after they leave, we dig in.
“What I mean is… my parents weren’t exactly warm. When my father passed, I was young and had to take on a lot of his responsibilities. And my mom softened with age, especially when she got sick. But I look back at how they raised me and I worry that I’ll end up doing the same even if I don’t mean to. Does that make sense?”
Calliope nods around a mouthful of chicken. “It does.” She swallows. “I have the same fear. I won’t lie and say it’s easy because it’s not. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Nothing in my life is more important or more precious than my son. But living with my mom is… tough. I see how she wants to do things and how she reacts when I actively avoid what she used to do to me. It creates… tension.”
“Have you lived with her for long?”
Calliope shakes her head. “I have my own place down by the bay, but when my dad passed, I knew Mom would crumble, soI’m renting my place out just to cover the mortgage and stuff. As soon as the renter pays me, it basically goes directly to the bank. I wanted to support Mom and I guess… also myself.”
“Is it working?” The fish melts like butter in my mouth as I watch Calliope eat slowly.
“I don’t know. Nick is happy and some days, that’s all I care about.”
“What about you, though?”
She glances up at me, and the intensity of her blue eyes causes my breath to catch in my throat. “What about me?”
“Who takes care of you?”
Calliope glances back at her meal and picks up her drink. After drinking slowly for a few seconds, she smacks her lips together and smiles. “No one. But I also take care of myself, so it’s fine.”
“That sounds hard.”
She laughs softly. “You’re one to talk.”
“I am?”
“Mmhmm. I don’t buy your story about coming out here so that your staff could spend New Year’s with their families. Not that I think you’re a dick, but it sounds to me like you ran away. You did the opposite of me.”
“I did?”
“Yes! I ran toward my pain and returned to Mom’s house to surround myself in Dad’s memories. You lost your mom, went through a breakup that neededlawyers,and what’s the nextthing you do? You fly across the entire country to escape your pain. Tell me I’m wrong.”
I wish I could, but she’s struck me right to the core with truth I try to avoid. Laughing softly, I drain my glass in one gulp. “What can I say? You’ve got me figured out.”
Her eyes narrow slightly and warmth floods her gaze as she watches me. “Not all of you.”
“Good. A man needs some mystery.”
Our conversation turns to softer topics as we share a dessert of vanilla bean crème brûlée. I learned about her favorite movie, a romance flick that she loves because the ending comforts her. Her favorite color is orange but only because it’s Nick’s favorite color, and as soon as he declared his love for it, it became hers. I tell her about my old dog I used to have and how running just isn’t the same without him, and we delve into childhood stories over coffee, bringing the night to a warm, satisfying end.
“So,” I say as I lead her out of the bistro while she adjusts her shawl over her shoulders to protect from the cold, “have you figured out any more about me?”
