Page 18 of Pitcher Us
“What?” he asks, snapping me out of my stare.
Shit, I blink out my daze. “Nothing. I…um… So, your mom’s? What do you guys do for Thanksgiving?”
Rounding the island to the opposite side, Will shrugs. “Nothing too crazy. It’s typically me, my mom, and sisters. We don’t have a lot of extended family up here. Most of my extended family lives down in Florida.”
“Really? And you don’t travel down there for the holidays?”
“Eh, my mom isn’t really into the idea of big family functions. We went down a few times growing up, but honestly, I like it better just the four of us not cramming into a way-too-small beach house where my grandparents insist on keeping the A/C set to seventy-five.”
“Oh, yup. I can see that.” I half laugh because that does sound a bit like torture, but then again, it seems more normal than any holiday I’ve ever had.
Picking up on my mood shift, Will speaks softly. “So, your parents…”
I look at him as he trails off. I’m not sure if he doesn’t know what to say or is waiting for me to finish the sentence but I don’t really know how to.
“We might not have spent much time together, Callie, but I’ve been Adam’s teammate for five years. It might not seem like it, but I pay attention. I know he doesn’t speak to them anymore. I just wasn’t sure if that extended to you too.”
Swallow your tears, Callie. You’ve been entirely too emotional around this man today alone.
“It didn’t always…it does now. But it’s fine.” I look around my kitchen at the small meal on my island. “I know it might seem like the saddest Thanksgiving meal ever, but it will be the first one I get to enjoy in sweats and not cocktail attire making small talk with snooty rich people.”Or get the small unnecessary touches from the sleazy husbands.
“Your dad’s in finance, right?”
“Yup,” I say, popping the p. “I hate even saying it, but the Reyer’s are old money rich. My great-great grandfather started the company and each generation’s grown it since. Frankly, his story wasn’t exactly rags to riches. It seems a silver spoon was shoved in his mouth too.”
When Will doesn’t say anything, I can’t help the word vomit. I haven’t talked about my family in so long and as I’m staring at this food, I just get angrier.
“At about this time, I’d probably have heard at least three ‘Calliope, sit still,’ probably six ‘Calliope, smile more,’ and ten ‘Calliope, why don’t you let me talk?’ I have a fucking master’s degree from Yale but can’t be trusted to have a conversation with the women of the DAR or the slimy husbands who look me up and down before speaking.”
I angrily reach for the rag on the counter, wiping my hands, still on a fucking roll. “Then after the dad’s got a good look, my mother would have dragged me around introducing me to all their equally touchy sons who only like to talk about themselves. So, yeah, this meal might be sad, but at least it’s not that.”
Sighing I throw my rag on the counter feeling like I got this elephant off my chest. I look up and Will’s staring at me with an emotionless look on his face. Oh my goodness, I’ve completely lost it. Why did I just word vomit on him?
Forget being a hot mess, I’ve been a dumpster fire around him today and now he’s just staring at me.
“I’m sorry, I got carried away.”
“Don’t,” he snaps.
Rolling my shoulders back, I’m a little stunned at his tone. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t apologize. The words ‘I’m sorry’ should never come out of your mouth to excuse someone else’s actions.”
My mouth opens but no words come out. I hadn’t really thought of it that way. Apologizing almost feels like second nature to me. I trauma dumped on him—thankfully excluding the issue with my ex—and just gave him way more than he asked for.
“While we’re at it”—Will walks toward me—“don’t apologize for men’s actions, the unwelcomed ones, in particular. Don’t sayyou're sorry for voicing your opinions or not smiling when you don’t feel like it. And don’t you ever let anyone talk for you.”
He’s angry…but not at me. Will’s angryforme. Angrywithme, actually. Well, there’s that need to hug him again.
“You know what they say about habits.”
Will’s hand lifts, hovering for a moment as if he wants to touch me but stops before he brings it behind his neck.
Holy fuck. He was going to touch me but stopped because I was talking about men’s unwelcome advances.
I hadn't intended it to be a new boundary that also applied tohim. Will has never made me feel uncomfortable in a way that has me questioning my safety, but he was listening so intently to what I was rambling on about that it affected him.
Fuck it, I’m hugging him anyway.
