Page 24 of The Wild Card
“Yep,” she says, pride ringing through her voice. Color rises in her cheeks. “I mean, I had some help with financing. But even more than that, it was huge having Tank Graham believe in me enough to lease the space. I just opened.”
For a moment, I’m struck with almost paralyzing envy.
I’m not sure of Kalli’s age, but she barely looks older than I am and she’s running her own business. Not a barista—the business owner.
While I’m over here just grasping at job straws and lying to hopefully secure shaky future plans. My current ship is steered by a desire to escape my dad’s control and not by a desire to be an actress.
I mean, if I’m picturing myself five years in the future, I wouldn’t be acting. Or influencing. I’m not sure what Iwouldbe doing, but I’d love to be like Kalli: to find my thing and really go for it.
Even if she had help and support, it takes a certain amount of drive and confidence in yourself to do this.
Me? I’m currently fueled more by fumes of fight or flight.
“The name, Calliope Coffee, comes from my first name, which is Kalliope with a K,” she says quickly. Probably because I haven’t responded. “But I wasn’t about to spell coffee with a K because I hate when businesses misspell names to be cute, so there you go. Sorry, I’m babbling.”
“No, you’re not. I agree about misspelling names. And this place is amazing,” I tell Kalli, forcing down any envious feelings. “You did a great job with my latte, by the way. Delicious. And maybe you should just embrace the foam guns. Make them your signature. Hearts are so basic.”
Kalli laughs again, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’ll take that into consideration. Great to meet you, Molly.”
A few customers trickle in, and she heads back behind the counter. I make quick work of the breakfast croissant, which is pure bliss. Another Texas truth: the food here is just better. Whether we’re talking actual restaurants, food trucks, or even a coffee shop sandwich.
My phone buzzes, and I hesitate when I see my mom’s face on the screen. I was hoping to hear from Brightmark before I talked to her again. Not like I expected them to let me know right after lunch.
But I hoped.
Without a solid update, I still have to pretend I’m coming home in a few days and not extending my quick visit to see Chase into something more long-term. Possibly permanent.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, forcing a cheerfulness I don’t feel into my voice.
“Not your mom,” my dad says.
My stomach plummets. It’s really sad when a parent can inspire almost instantaneous nausea.
I squeeze my eyes closed before sucking in a deep breath. I should have considered the patriarchal phone ambush. Thisisn’t the first time he’s done this, knowing I’m much more likely to answer when Mom calls.
The sound of his voice used to hit my bloodstream and immediately produce a Pavlovian response to obey. A desire to be the dutiful daughter and to fall in line rather than make waves.
But ever since I started realizing how unhealthy our dynamic is, my normal knee-jerk reaction to acquiesce is joined by an even stronger, though still fledgling, desire to say no. To stand up for myself. To establish boundaries and fortify them with steel walls.
So far, my walls are more like rice paper and my attempts to stand up for myself look more like running away.
“Hey, Daddy.” I wince, wishing I’d stuck to Dad. Daddy makes me sound like a little girl. Not a woman asserting a healthy independence.
“I wanted to talk to you about your interview.”
Instantly, my lower back starts sweating. How did he find out? Chase doesn’t even know yet—unless Harper told him after lunch. Even if my brother knows now, he barely talks to Dad.
Is my phone bugged?
I hold it away from my ear and scrutinize the screen, then the back side. As if I’d be able to spot spyware by looking at it.
“Interview?” I ask, returning the phone to my ear and attempting to sound confused.
Dad huffs. “Yes—with Matt Baker.”
“Ohhh … right. Yes.” I’m relieved—but only slightly. He’s not talking about Brightmark, but one of several interviews he set up for me back home. I can’t even remember what kind of business it is or for what position. Dad has an endless list of contacts and has been trying to shove me into a job with a friend or colleague since I graduated in December.
“See? This is why running off to Texas without telling us was a bad idea. You’re so distracted that you’re not thinking about your future. This is a critical time in your life.”
