I shake my head. “I don’t want kids. I would have no idea how to be a good parent.”
She pulls the cork out of the bottle but pauses, her brown eyes curious. “Your parents suck, huh?”
I shrug but for some reason, for the first time in a very, very long time, I don’t stop there. Maybe it’s because I know her childhood history is similar to mine since she and her sisters were orphaned at a young age or maybe it’s because running into that Mac kid this morning has made me think about it a lot more today, but I tell Callie something I haven’t told anyone since I was eighteen. “They didn’t get a chance to suck. They died.”
She puts the wine bottle down on the counter with a thud. Her eyes are even wider now. “Both of them?”
I nod. “Car accident.”
“Holy shit. Recently?”
“Before I made the league. I don’t really talk about it.” The dreaded prickly feeling of humiliation starts to set in. I shift in my seat and stand up. “Wineglasses?”
She points to a cupboard next to the fridge so I walk over and open it.
“I’m going to tell you what you’ve heard a million times: I’m so sorry you went through that,” she says and I glance at her over my shoulder. Her eyes aren’t filled with sympathy but more with understanding. “My mom died before I was even a teenager and I still get condolences when people find out. I try not to bring it up because of that. It’s hard.”
I shake my head. “You guys avoided foster care though, right?” I take two wineglasses down, put them on the peninsula and reach for the wine.
“Thankfully,” she says quietly, which is uncharacteristic for her. “Our dad’s mom took us in but as soon as Jessie turned sixteen, Grandma Lily moved to Florida for nine months of the year, leaving us on our own in Maine, and we had to lie to just about everyone so they didn’t put us in foster care.”
“That’s horrible,” I tell her but still, part of me considers her lucky because she had Jessie and Rose and a house to live in, which is much more than I got once I left the foster care system. “You know things are changing now. There’s a lot of private facilities for orphaned or abandoned kids. There’s this one right here in Brooklyn that lets them live independently as long as they’re in some kind of schooling and helps teach them life basics like budgeting and cooking and nutrition. They offer the classes to kids who don’t live there too. And they have lawyers and stuff who help them for free.”
She looks genuinely excited. “Oh my God, I wish there was a place like that in Silver Bay when we were growing up. I almost burned the house down like five times trying to cook that first year Grandma Lily left us.”
I laugh and hand her a glass of wine, taking my own.
“You should tell Rose about this place,” Callie informs me. “She’s got a teaching degree and she wants to tutor kids. And of course that type of place would mean a lot to her because of our past.”
I nod and make a mental note. “Cheers,” I say to Callie and clink my glass against hers before taking a sip. She takes one too but instantly makes a face.
She spits the wine back into the glass. “It tastes disgusting.”
I cock my head. “Really. I like it.”
“How can you like it? It’s like vinegar!” She sniffs her glass and I watch the color drain from her face. I’m about to ask her if she’s okay but she abruptly puts the glass down on the counter and charges from the room.
Fuck! Where is Devin when you need him? This is husband territory. I set my glass down beside hers. Pause. Pick it back up and gulp down more wine. Nope. Definitely not vinegar. I put it down again and trace her steps. She went out into the main hallway and at first I’m not sure where she went from there but then I hear her groan from behind a door under the stairs. I knock on it tentatively. “Callie? Are you okay? Should I call Devin?”
I hear a toilet flush and a moment later she opens the door. She’s leaning over the sink, the faucet is on and she’s scooping water into her mouth with her hand and then spitting it back out. The bathroom is tiny, with no windows so I stay firmly in the hallway.
“Don’t call Devin,” she croaks. “He’ll be home shortly anyway. I can’t believe this flu is coming back. I think I really have to give in and get to the doctor.”
“Callie…” I feel like I’m intruding by saying this but it seems so obvious to me. “Are you sure it’s the flu?”
“You think it’s something worse?” she questions, panicked. “Like salmonella? Or Ebola?”
“No.” I laugh as she steps out of the bathroom closing the light and then the door. “Any chance you’re pregnant?”
She freezes. “What? No. I mean. Maybe. But no. I would know. Right?”
“Umm…I think these symptoms might be your body’s way of telling you,” I reply and I’m more than a little stunned that she seems so confused.
“We’re not trying,” she confesses. “I mean…we’re not using anything but we’re not trying. You know what I mean?”
“No. Honestly, I don’t really have a clue.” The idea of being lackadaisical about birth control is terrifying to me. “But you should probably take a test.”
“I did a couple months ago when I was late, and it came out negative,” she replies.
