I move through the busyness of the kitchen to the dining table where Callum stands next to his mother. That’s when I see the chair she sits in—handles, armrests, and wheels.
I hold out a hand to the woman, and she presses her palm to mine. “Fran—or as Zev likes to call her, Franny.”
“Again, when are you talking to Zev?” Callum asks, a whine in his tone.
“We chat. That’s all you need to know.”
“Well, she prefers Fran. Just Fran.”
I’m not sure what possesses me—because he’s mostly right, and I don’t hate the man coming to my defense. “It’s okay,” I say, looping my hand through the crook of Callum’s elbow. “You can call me Franny if you want.”
She gives Callum one blaring I-told-you-so stare before turning back to me.
“I’ve never really liked my name in any form,” I say with a laugh.
Callum’s brows knit. “You have a beautiful name. Don’t say that.”
My pulse quickens with his sincerity. Could he actually mean that? I swallow, my mind reeling and my brain asking questions without speaking any actual words.
Callum likes my name.
“What do you do, Fran?” Kristina asks.
A shaky exhale leaves my lips, and I find my voice. “I’m a student. And a waitress for the time being.”
“What are you studying?”
“I’m taking general classes right now. It’s my second year. I don’t have a declared major yet.” I know I’m behind, but I’m just so grateful to be in college at all that I can’t worry about that. Besides, Kristina doesn’t look concerned, just curious. “I’m still figuring that out.”
“Callum, you set the table,” Callum’s mother says. “Fran and I are going to visit.”
“Sure.” Callum eyes me like he’s worried for me. But I like Kristina. I don’t mind visiting.
“Do you cook?” she asks me.
“Yes, I can help—” I go to stand, but Kristina lays a hand over top of mine.
“Just getting to know you. I’m asking about your hobbies.”
My body is a nerve fest. I’m sweaty, semi on edge. And yet, I like where I am. I have no desire to leave either. “I don’t dislike cooking. But I wouldn’t say it’s a hobby. I like movies.”
“I could use a little help over here,” Callum says. “Do you mind, Mom? Fran, could you?—”
“You can handle a table setting, Cal. Let the girl sit and talk.” Kristina nods at me to continue. “You like movies. Callum may have mentioned that.”
“Yes, I love them. At least the happy ones. I’m not into horror films or thrillers. I like a happy ending.”
Kristina smiles. “I’m the same. There’s enough sadness in real life. Which is your favorite?”
“That’s a good question.”
Callum lays a plate in front of me, then one just above the salad chopping station his mother has all but abandoned.
“I have a lot of favorites. And for different reasons. It’s sort of like picking a favorite child.”
“Give it a try,” she says, folding her hands together on the table. “The kids all think Tiff is my favorite.”
“Because I am,” Tiffany says as her siblings groan around us.
