Page 54 of Raise The Bar
Chapter 30
Callum
“Iknow it’s hotter here than in fancy-town, but there are better ways to cool down.”
My grandmother has once again caught me standing in front of her refrigerator unable to decide what I want to eat.
“I’m just trying to decide if I want lemon cheesecake or more hashbrown casserole,” I lie. I don’t know why I’m standing here again. I’m not hungry and haven’t been since I got here.
“That’s easy,” Grams says, moving me out of the way with her hip. “You want both.” She grabs the casserole dish first and brings it to the counter. I watch her grab a plate and add a generous portion of casserole to it before popping it into the microwave.
“If you keep feeding me like this, I’m going to have to buy new clothes for the trip home.” I feel like all I’ve done since I got here is eat. There was lunch waiting for me when I arrived at my grandparents from the airport. A huge array of sandwiches that Grams insisted I eat several of. Then several of my aunts and uncles arrived for a barbeque last night. Afterwards, we sat in folding chairs around a fire pit drinking beer and telling stories.
I’m staying with my mom in her condo, but when we arrived at my grandparents’ this morning they were ready for us with bacon and flapjacks. I’ve eaten everything that’s been put in front of me for the last twenty-four hours and haven’t tasted a goddamn thing.
I still haven’t reached out to Maggie and I hate myself for it. I’ve tried. I don’t know how many times I typed out a message only to delete it and put my phone away.
My initial plan was to text her when my plane landed. I was going to tell her that I didn’t want to wake her so early and that I’d arrived safely. But as I made my way to the car service line up outside the airport, I couldn’t hit send. It felt like too small a message after everything that happened between us. Over the rest of the day, I’d thought of other messages to send. I was going to ask her how her day went, but that felt like I was pretending the previous night never happened. I thought of telling her that I was thinking of her, but that would only lead to more questions, ones that I don’t have the answers to yet.
So I didn’t reach out at all and neither did she and I feel awful.
The piping hot plate is placed in front of me at the table and I do what I’ve been doing since I got here: attempt to push down the misery inside of me by piling more of my grandmother’s cooking on top of it.
“Thank you, Grams.” I smile at her, my mouth full of food.
“It’s always better reheated,” she says, sitting down across from me with a glass of sweet tea. “In my humble opinion, anyway.” I almost choke on a piece of potato. My grandmother has a lot of opinions and none of them are humble.
“Agreed,” I cough, taking a sip of water. This is the first time I’ve been alone with her since I arrived yesterday. “Are you looking forward to your party?”
“Oh, you know me. I’m not much for being the center of attention. Having you come home is the best part.”
A different kind of guilt than what I’ve already been feeling hits me. I don’t visit as often as I should. Yes, I come home a few times a year, but considering my resources and the fact it’s only a three hour flight, I should be here much more often.
“I’m happy to be here.” I place my hand on her arm and give it a gentle squeeze. I mean it. It’s comforting to be around people who will love and support me no matter how much I fuck up other areas of my life. “I plan to eat enough that I can hibernate through the Boston winter.”
“Is that why you’ve grown the beard? You’re cold down there? I will knit you a scarf, foolish boy.”
“Tempting offer.” I rub my hand over my chin like I’m considering it. “But I kind of like it. It makes me look older.”
She hoots at that. “You’ve got plenty of years ahead of you to look older. Enjoy your youth while it lasts.”
By the time I’ve finished my casserole, she’s placed a large slice of lemon cheesecake in front of me. It was one of my favorites from childhood, but now it turns to ash the moment it hits my tongue. I eat every crumb, though, as I sit here and chat with Grams. She tells me about the quilt she’s making with other women from her church and I try to pay attention, but my mind keeps wandering.
What is Maggie up to on her day off? Probably making more soap. She’s got a big order coming up and I’m sure she’ll want to get started right away. Or maybe she’s helping her sister prepare for the wedding which is only a week from today. The wedding I’m supposed to take her to. After the way I’ve acted, will she even want me to?
God, I wish I knew what to say to her to fix the mess I’ve created. Will we be able to go back to things the way they were before? Like we did after she kissed me last month? Hit the reset button and agree to just be friends.
Is that what she wants? Is that what I want?
My mother arrives from picking up a guest book for the party tonight. My grandmother tells her that it’s silly, she will remember everyone she wants to, thank you very much. I thank her for feeding me again and bring her in for a hug, noticing how much smaller she feels than this time last year. More frail.
“Where to?” Mom asks when we get in the car. “Busch Gardens?”
“Hard pass,” I laugh, buckling my seatbelt as she reverses out of the driveway. “I’ve eaten so much since I’ve gotten here, I will definitely throw up on a roller coaster.”
We eventually decide to head downtown to walk around. I haven’t visited in August for a few years and I’d almost forgotten just how hot it can be in the city. The gentle breeze is the only thing keeping the heat bearable. Mom wears a comically large sun hat that looks ridiculous but offers an impressive amount of shade. We browse the little tourist trap shops and try to stay hydrated.
“I’m bringing a friend to the party tonight,” she tells me while lifting a candle to her nose and smelling it. I was looking at the soaps the shop was selling, thinking how they’re charging almost twice what Maggie asks for hers.
