Page 51 of Surrender
I’ve been noticing her presence at more and more of my drop-offs with Sophia. Callum formally introduced me to Callie and told me they are quite serious. She looks like everything Margaret Coleridge hates. Regardless, here Callie stands, clasping Callum’s hand and waving to Sophia like she’s some high school camp counsellor.
Sophia squeals from the backseat when she sees Margaret’s bloodhound, Rex, trotting up to her car door. “Stop the car, Mum! Rexy neeeeeeds meee!” she sings and shakes her Welly boots anxiously.
“I’m stopping, I’m stopping,” I say with a smile.
As soon as the vehicle stops, she unbuckles herself and opens the door, nearly falling on top of Rex in her excitement. The old hound sniffs and licks her face like it’s been years since he’s seen her instead of seven days. Sophia giggles happily and begins running toward the grass with him. He bounces alongside her, nipping at the bottom of her purple coat—a much more subdued option overtop of a practical pair of jeans and a long sleeve black shirt. Paired with her Wellies, I think Sophia is dressed perfectly for the country.
I turn my attention to Margaret, Callum, and Callie, who now stand beside me.
“You’re quite late,” Margaret states, tossing the tail of her beige cloak over her shoulder. “We thought you might have died. Would have been nice if you’d phoned.”
My face crumples. “It would have been difficult to call if I was dead.”
Callum shoots his steely blue eyes at me in silent warning. “Maybe you can start ringing me when you’re on your way so Mother doesn’t have to worry unnecessarily.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure, Cal. I’d love to call.”
“This is a court ordered agreement,” Margaret states, the wrinkles around her eyes stacking on top of each other as she narrows them at me. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you.”
“No, I’m fully aware,” I reply with a small huff and glance annoyingly at Callie, whose big doe eyes are blinking like she doesn’t speak our language. “And we were late because Sophia said you weren’t happy with her appearance last time she visited.”
Margaret tightens her shawl and keeps her expression flat. “She wears too much pink. It’s not proper.”
“She’s seven. How is pink not proper for a seven-year-old?”
“She can wear pink when she’s with you. When she comes to the country, she should be dressed more practically.”
“Well, she doesn’t understand what you mean by proper. In the future, maybe you can bring it to me if you’re not happy with something and not expect a seven-year-old to understand what proper attire is for the country. Styling is kind of what I do for a living, you know.”
Margaret’s lips thin as she drags her gaze down my body. I’m wearing a simple pair of jeans, boots, and a graphic T-shirt that says, “I’m a Mom, but a Cool Mom.” I tighten my trench coat around me so she can’t read the fine print below that says, “Now Pass the Wine.”
“She looks fine today, so dress her more like that in the future,” Callum states, smoothing a strip of his hair that breaks loose from the gel in the wind. “We’ll see you next week.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes at his dismissal. “Before I go, I wanted to talk to you about Thursday.”
Callum frowns. “This Thursday? It’s my week, Sloan.”
Licking my lips, I do my best to keep my cool. “I understand, but this Thursday is Thanksgiving. I figured since you guys don’t celebrate the holiday, maybe I can have Sophia over for dinner. Just for a couple of hours, then I’ll bring her right back.”
Callum looks at me like I’m speaking another language, but it’s Callie’s voice that replies, “But we’re British.”
I cut my eyes at her, blinking slowly. “I’m aware.”
“We don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.” She looks to Callum for help, and he simply nods his head in agreement.
I can hardly believe the exchange. Exhaling heavily, I glance over at my ex-husband. “Callum, surely you didn’t forget that I’m American.”
“No,” he scoffs. “You make that really difficult.”
“Well, I would really love to celebrate Thanksgiving with Sophia. It’s very big in America and it’s one of my favourite holidays. I’m sorry I didn’t think to include it in our custody agreement—”
Margaret cuts me off mid-sentence. “We’ll discuss it and let you know.”
My gaze turns to her. She looks like an angry headmistress who’s trying to determine what sort of corporal punishment to inflict on me. She can’t possibly be inserting herself into this decision. It’s not even a day she would see Sophia anyway.
Callum looks timidly over at his mother, clearly unsure where her mind is at as well. I didn’t think this would be an issue. I’m not asking for a whole day. Just a couple of hours. Surely they can’t say no.
Margaret looks at Cal and gives him a subtle shake of the head. He nods back in response. Cal is so weak. So submissive. I could literally tie up Gareth with rope and he would never look a fraction as spineless as Callum Coleridge does underneath the withering stare of his mother.
