Page 14 of Pitcher Us
“Partly.” It’s not a lie. Every time I spoke with my parents, my breaking point grew closer. Surprisingly, they weren’t necessarily the straw that broke the camel's back.
Finally releasing his hug, Adam puts his hands on my shoulders and levels his face with mine. “Never answer his phone call again, Callie. Never speak to that man. Never talk to either of them.”
“But they’re our parents, Adam…”
“Biologically, sure. Parents who give two shits about their kids? No.” He shakes my shoulders gently as tears fall down my cheeks. “But I care about you, and I’m telling you, cut them out.”
I know he’s right. Not talking to my parents over these past few months has led to a lot less emotional turmoil. I don’t feel like shit every morning when I wake up anymore, but I’m still holding out for a moment when they might actually be willing to hear me out. Sometimes I just want to shake my father and scream, “Please, just listen for five minutes!”
“Promise me, Cals.”
I nod slowly. “I promise.”
“Good.” Releasing my shoulders, he sighs again. “I came over here to talk to you about what you were doing for Thanksgiving on Thursday. Now I know what you won’t be doing.”
“Yeah.” Wiping the tears from my cheeks I try to shake off this awful feeling of self-doubt. Before my dad’s call, I hadn’t made a final decision on if I was going home for the holidays this year. This season was always a big deal in the Reyer household. It’s a time to wine and dine the rich and politically powerful.
“What do you usually do?”
Adam shrugs before turning to the stove, clicking it off and moving my boiling pot to the side. “It was always different. Usually just ordered take out, went over to Jett’s a time ortwo. Do you want me to call him? I’m sure Wyla is planning something.”
As much as I would love to see her and cry with her over wine, I know I can’t. “No, this is their first holiday season as a family. I don’t want to take that away from them.”
I’d kill for a real Thanksgiving meal and with Wyla being a southerner, her comfort food is unmatched. Maybe she’d send me some recipes.
“What if we just had it here? I can try to cook. It might be the saddest sibling Thanksgiving ever, but…” I kind of lose my train of thought at that. Why does this idea sound so sad? Two kids who are no longer welcome at their parents’ house.
Adam chuckles, looking at the ramen on the cooktop. “You cooking? Can it be something other than ramen?”
I can’t help but laugh. “I promise no ramen.”
“Alright, sounds good, Cals. Sad Sibling Thanksgiving it is. Text me some stuff to bring. The easy shit, though.”
“Yeah, yeah. I won’t push you out of your comfort zone of meat and potatoes.” I kick my leg out, tapping him on the shin.
Adam shakes his head. “Sounds good. Now come on, let me take you for an actual lunch.”
“Meat and potatoes?”
“How about actual ramen?”
Chapter 8
Will
How can one person make so much noise? It’s Thanksgiving morning and it sounds like Callie’s remodeling her kitchen. Are our walls really that fucking thin or I am just more apt to her chaos? Like a damn dog whistle, only I am sensitive to the sounds coming from the redhead in the apartment next to me.
Another crash comes through the walls, and I can’t decide if I want to chuckle or bang on the wall to tell her to keep it down.
Maybe I should go over and check on her? Another loud clunk noise comes through. I mean, really, how can you make this much noise?
That thought is quickly interrupted because I hear a loud “fuck” come through the walls. Heading to my door I step out into the hallway just as the smell of smoke hits me. I’m at her door in a single step.
“Callie,” I semi-yell while banging on her door.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” is all I hear back. Twisting her knob, I find she’s left her door unlocked.
“Callie! What the hell?” Smoke fills her apartment as she frantically looks at her stove.
