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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 22 days

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Sweet Dreams--Part 11

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted.

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

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Melvin, reads the contact name. The 11 digits that follow stare back at you from the contact record of your phone. There’s never once been a text thread. His name wouldn’t come out on your phone outside of the contact in a search. But you had your distraction. You had your time to wallow and time to let pity make a fool of you. You can’t stay there. You refuse to stay there. So you tap the phone icon. It rings and rings. It might be a bad time, you realize now, as there’s no guarantee that Melvin will answer at ten in the morning. But that doesn’t matter much now.

Melvin answers the phone breathlessly. Your name tumbling from his lips in a rush. There’s concern in your name that paints his voice as he asks, “Is everything okay?”

“I’m calling to ask you that, actually,” you answer. The words nearly don’t leave your throat. He’d always been the easier of the two to interact with. He cared--you saw that with Teagan and Charlie. He seemed genuinely interested in your life when you spoke of it. But you didn’t think the care or the concern he had for your siblings would make him worry about you. Maybe now you’re even afraid of what that means.

“What-what are you referring to? Did something happen?”

You can’t get off track here. You’re calling about Diana. You’re calling to fact check the conversation from last week and to make sure they’re not drinking again. “Do Charlie and Teagan have new winter coats?”

“Uh, yes, they do. Diana and I--we got them nearly a week ago. There’s no guarantee now either that they don’t have another growth spurt, but we’re hopeful these coats will last the season and into the next.”

The more you talk with Melvin the more you realize Charlie got the gift of talking from him. At least Diana hadn’t been lying about the coats. But the bitter bite of her words rings back against your ears. “Diana called me last week,” you start. It’s the safest way to start.

The line crackles and you hear the sigh from Melvin. Something shuts--you hear the creak of hinges in the background. “I was worried when I saw the two ignored calls from you on her phone that something might’ve happened.”

“Is she drinking? Are you?”

“I’m not, no. God, no,” Melvin returns. His offense is palpable. He sounds as if the thought disgusts him.

“And what about Diana?”

A pause. Moments are passing by, the clock in your room ticking loudly as you listen to Melvin breathe. He better say no. He better answer with the same disgust. But the longer the two of you stay in silence, the more dread leadens in your gut. “I’m trying to get her some extra support,” he answers slowly. Like he might even be unsure of the words himself.

Not an outright denial but not an outright confession either. “Could it be vodka this time that gets her to her senses?” It’s a vile question to ask. But it falls and behind it comes more vitriol. That old wound, exposed again to the elements. “Could she go zero for three with her kids?”

“Enough,” Melvin commands. It falls clipped but tired. “We didn’t do right by you and we know that. We live with it every single day. We failed you in ways no child should’ve ever been failed by a parent. But it is not easy to watch from the sidelines now. And I don’t want to make it your responsibility to let us back in after what we’ve done, but please, do not mock us. The closer you get to Charlie and Teagan, the more hope grows in your mother. And the more you shut her down, the more she crumbles. It’s not your fault. She’s got to get better, face the consequences of her actions like we all must do. But she is human.”

“A terrible condition to be human, I’ve heard.” Your chest aches. It certainly still feels like your responsibility; it still certainly feels like that wound will never close up right. You still wish to every god that you could’ve had what Charlie and Teagan had. Wish you could move the stone of anger off your chest when it comes to Diana and Melvin. But you cried for them. You begged for them and it wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t enough.

“Just, please give her grace. I’ll get her help. I will.”

“Grace is Charlie and Teagan. You can give her grace.”

“And what about you? Is there satisfaction in wrath?”

“Wrath is rather hollow.” You don’t know what you have anymore. There is something between contempt and regret filling you. Yet, you are tired of both of them. You’re tired of the wheel you feel stuck on. You’ve got to let it go. It’ll kill you if you don’t.

“We hurt you. I know that. It was easy at first to keep our distance. It gets harder now—sometimes. She just needs some extra help.”

“Then you get her help. But I don’t like knowing she’s on a spiral in the same house as Charlie and Teagan. They don’t deserve that pain. I will do whatever possible so they are not subjected to the same thing I was.”

“As you should,” Melvin agrees. “As you should. I’ve been worried about disrupting Charlie and Teagan’s routine too much. I don’t think the kids are catching on.”

You have to tread lightly. You can’t tell him that Teagan’s caught on, as unknowingly as she is about what she's stumbled upon. But you can warn him. “Children are more perceptive than you give them credit for. You can hope. But that’s not the same as the reality.”

“Was it Teagan? What did she hear?”

“I hope Diana’s kept up with bedtime stories.”

“Fuck,” Melvin whispers. You’d never be able not to answer his question. He’d hear what you’re saying between the lines. “I can’t lose them too.” It’s soft as Melvin says it, thick with emotions you can’t see, but can hear. A true terror shakes his voice.

Here you think is where you might reassure Melvin. That he won’t lose them. But you can’t promise that. You’d possibly be the hand that orchestrates it. You remain silent.

Melvin fills in the gap of silence in a flurry of panicked words. “There’s a birthday party this weekend and then a field trip next week. Please give me some time. You have every right to save them from the fate that fell you. But they’re just kids. They’ll only see what they lost out on. Give-give me just a little bit more time. If things are getting out of hand, let’s arrange something then. Okay? Just give me a few more weeks to get through to Diana.”

You only remember what you lost out on too. The dances you never attended, the nights spent hoping that your parents' breath didn’t reek in the morning. Praying you had just a little bit more attention so you could ask them about field trips, tell them about the things you were learning about in school. All you wanted was a crumb of attention, more than just the plate of food at dinner. You wished you could’ve told them about the crushes, the dreams you had--that maybe one day you’d been a veterinarian as all children hope to become. Maybe even then you could’ve told them how much you wanted to paint too.

You don’t know what’s more important, to save Charlie and Teagan from a potential fate or let them live their lives as children knowing what looms for them if Melvin is not successful. But they are just kids. They might hate you either way--if you pull them now, if you save them later. They’re just children. You don’t expect them to understand it all right now.

“You’ve got until of November.” October’s nearing its end in another week and a half. “But if I get wind of anything that even smells like Diana’s losing her grip, I’m taking them.”

“That’s only--”

“I know. And Christmas will be right behind that. But I’d rather they hate me for ruining Christmas than letting their lives be at further risk.” Doing good might mean at times having to be the villain. A spark never knows it’s going to start a wildfire, but you’re wiser than that ember. You know the damage that could be done. You know the damage you will do as well.

“End of November,” Melvin agrees. “I’ll, uh, we’ll have to come up with a contingency plan. I don’t know where you’re living these days. But I don’t want to pull them out of school.”

“We’ll figure something out,” you agree. Your hours at work will allow you to drop them off in the morning. But you’ll need help in picking them up in the afternoon. You wonder if Calum would be okay to do it. Though you don’t want to interrupt or commandeer his schedule either, you’ll still ask him. It’ll take a village to help now. You’ll need to figure out where they’ll stay. You have no qualms with them taking over your bedroom in the place you’re staying. But it couldn’t be a long standing agreement. You’d need to move and give them their own bedroom at the very least. You don’t have a lot saved, but you could afford a two bedroom apartment on your own now. The first few months would be tight, but it’d be doable now.

“Thank you,” Melvin nearly whispers. “I see how much you care for them.” The weight rounds your shoulders at his words. Is this what it means to be recognized—quiet and weighty recognition that feels like relief and lead?

Beyond a sense of duty, you only want for them what you didn’t get. Teagan and Charlie are getting everything you wanted. Watching out for them is everything you needed. They’re children who do not deserve to be punished for what was between your parents and you.

“It’s what they deserve,” you return. Melvin let’s you go and you blink up at the ceiling, swirling in your vision. You want them to be safe. You need it. But you still feel the whisper of Melvin’s gratitude. How it feels like thick humidity on your skin in the middle of summer. Your skin is hot and the tears caress your cheeks as they descend to your chin. As stupid as the thought feels,, you hope Melvin can find it in himself to be proud of you no matter what you wind up having to do.

_____________________

It’s bright--the windows to the right bring in streaks of sunlight and though Calum sometimes wishes he’d opted for a slightly lighter brown, there’s few clouds today which makes the shed feel lighter. The clear skies make the deepening chill tolerable. Your slippers rest on the floor right under the easel you sit in front of. Your socked feet tapping lightly against the metal bar on the stool you perch up on. The stroke of your brush scratches against the canvas--a deep red cutting through the top left corner.

Calum’s sure that even with your apron on the sleeves to his black and white striped long sleeved shirt will be stained forever. Not that he minds. He’d prefer to carry that little piece of you in the threads. He’ll be able to say that it’s your work if anyone asks about the stain. He’s supposed to be doing preliminary comments on this briefing. It’ll become part of the address he gives at the charity event in December, but given the magnetitude of the event it’s best to get started on these things earlier rather than later. Yet, he has no interest in the words on the document in front of him. He’d rather watch you as you gather more paint onto your brush. You stroke once, twice, and then reach for something else in the glass jar which holds other brushes and tools.

From this angle, Calum watches the twist of your lips, fingers fluttering over the jar. Debating, he concludes--you’re debating which tool to go for next. The bottom right part of the canvas is still blank. He traces the faint line you’ve etched into the white fibers. You’ve told him that you plan to include pages from several print media types--books, pamphlets, and missing posters-- layered and attached to the canvas. You don’t want to add those yet until all the painting is done and can cry before you glue them up there to keep bleeding minimal.

A knock sounds from the door and Calum turns to see his mum at the door, thanks to the addition of the glass cutouts in the door frame. He waves her in and she only opens the door just far enough for her head to poke through. “I don’t want to interrupt,” she starts. “Just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi, Mum. You’re not interrupting. They’ve got headphones in and I’m not really doing anything much myself,” Calum laughs.

She laughs, sliding in through the crack. “So only one of you is being productive. But that’s alright. Rest, too, is important.”

“Something like that.”

His mother nods and shuffles softly over to you. You turn at the touch on your shoulder, slipping your headphones down off your ears. “Hi, Joy,” you laugh.

The embrace is tight, even Calum can see how tightly his mother winds you into the one armed embrace. “The painting looks good, sweetheart. It’s coming together nicely,” Joy comments.

“Thanks, I’m trying over here.”

“You’re succeeding. How was the feedback from the check-in?”

“They’re excited. They did ask to see what printed materials I’m using for the piece and said they were a little outdated. But they replied with some other books and materials that are more updated and relevant to their mission I could use. It was constructive at the end of it,” you explain.

“And those pages are going here, yeah?” Joy asks, pointing to the blank corner.

“Yeah, they are,” you nod.

“Okay, okay. I’m excited to see where it goes. I hope you’re proud of the work you’ve put in.”

“I think I am. For right now. I’m sure once I start painting in the gold details it’s going to kick my ass again,” you laugh.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so. It looks good.”

“Thanks, Joy. And I finished off the last of those beets.”

“Oh, good, good. I was wondering. Did you roast them again?”

You nod. “Easiest way for me to get through them. But they were really good. Better than store bought.”

Joy’s laugh is loud, taking a firmer grip on your shoulder and tugging you into her. “You wouldn’t be attempting to butter me up, would you?”

“I’d never attempt such a thing. I always succeed.”

The shed falls into a round of laughter, even a round of small snickers from Calum as he unabashedly watches the two of you. Joy never falters, squeezing one more time at your shoulders. “Succeed, you do, I’ll admit. Don’t tell Calum though.”

“I won’t,” you promise.

“Hmm, well, I guess I’ll leave you to work. Need anything?”

“No,” you return with a small shake of your head. “I’ve got everything.”

“Good.” Joy presses a kiss to your forehead and then steps away.

Calum watches the way you linger, still pushed forward into where her embrace once was, like you might chase behind her. But you don’t. You lean back and put the headphones back on. But there was a pause. Long enough for Calum to see it. And he knows--or at the very least figures--what that pause means. How much you get from the small interactions with his mother. He’d be glad if you did steal his mother, as you called it, if it means that you were getting the pieces of what you’d missed.

And it’s only a moment--the briefest of pauses. The headphones are settled back on and pick up your paints again. Joy slides into the bench next to Calum and nods in your direction.

“Everything okay?”

“With them?” Calum clarifies, pulling the top of his laptop down as he sits up a bit straighter.

“Yeah. With them. You’ve been a little tight lipped lately. If it’s not something you can share I get it. Just want to make sure of course.”

Calum looks back over to you. Your foot’s tapping again, the brush ever so gently scratching over the canvas again. You’d been tight lighted about it too to some degree. The only thing Calum has is that you asked if need be, could he help pick up Charlie and Teagan from school. He agreed that he could. Considering that sessions were closing in another two weeks for the holidays until January, his free time was considerably much larger than usual. And even if you needed help once sessions resumed, he’d always be able to take a recess whenever Charlie and Teagan were almost done with school to get them.

He’s not sure what’s caused you to ask this--if you’re planning something for Charlie and Teagan, but the alternative is much more sinister. Calum turns back to his mother and she’s only watching. Her fingers are wrapping around his and he exhales. “We’re okay. But something might be happening with Charlie and Teagan. I don’t know.”

“What makes you think that?”

“They asked if I could pick them up from school in the afternoons.”

Understanding crosses her face, brows rising before she looks your way. “Parents drinking again?”

Calum shrugs at the question, but tightens his hold around his mother’s hand. He felt more comfortable telling his mother more about your situation than his dad. She was a bit more careful with what information she was given. “If anyone, it’s probably Diana. But they haven’t said anything to me. Not yet anyways.”

“Will their current living situations support Charlie and Teagan?”

“Temporarily, I’m sure. But not long term, I don’t think.”

Joy hums and it’s a sound that Calum knows well. Her wheels are turning. “Well, we shouldn’t assume. But if they need help relocating, we can help. If not here, then wherever they feel most comfortable being of course.”

“We will. We will,” Calum agrees.

The conversation between you two had been short--that you needed a plan in place should you need it. Only as he rethinks through the conversations, does he think it was confirmation. I just need to have a plan, sooner rather than later. He should’ve pressed more about it, he thinks. But he does trust you. If there’s anything he needed to know, you’d tell him. But that doesn’t mean Calum can easily swallow down his desire to help. Yet, trust is the only way any of this will work. Choosing you means choosing trust.

“How’s the garden going?” Calum asks.

“It’s all mostly harvested. But good.”

“Any new recipes you think you’ll try?”

Joy laughs, patting at Calum’s hand. “Oh, no, not this time around. Gave it to the staff mostly. But if you are interested, I could always use a second pair of hands for the spring planting. We can put something together.”

Calum knows that dance--dangerous as it is. He laughs. “Do you need some help right now?”

“Oh, no, no, I came out here just to say hi to the two of you. Feels like I haven’t talked to my boy properly in a few weeks.”

Calum waves her in, arms opening for a hug. “Love you, Mum,” he whispers into the embrace.

“Love you too.”

Calum remains until she lets go first and when she does, he slides back into this original spot. “It's been rather boring lately if I’m honest.”

“Hmm, nothing from the boys either?”

Calum shakes his head at the question. “Nothing that I’ve heard. Well, there is Michael’s birthday next month”

“Yes, yes, his mother was talking to me today about that. She said he’s just doing dinner?”

“That’s what he said he’d prefer. Ashton, Luke, and I are still working out the details and getting a table reserved.”

“Do you know who I talked to recently?” Joy asks. She grins as she speaks, a little bop to her head as well. It’s good news then.

“Who did you talk to recently, Mum?” Calum laughs.

“Do you remember Ms. Brenda, Joshua’s mum?”

Calum nods. He still keeps in contact with Joshua from time to time. It’s not nearly as frequent as Luke, Michael, or Ashton. But Joshua and Calum were thick as thieves as kids on the time. “I remember Ms. Brenda.”

“She told me Joshua is proposing at Christmas.”

Calum whistles. Joshua had told him that he was dating seriously and they were moving in. That was only a few months ago, maybe almost a year, but not more than that. “Wow. God, we are really growing up, huh?”

“Oh, god, you can say that again,” Joy laughs. “When’s the last time you talked to Joshua anyway?”

Calum had texted Joshua a few weeks ago, mostly to say he hoped Joshua was doing well and Joshua replied with his usual, hanging in there by my toes, but hanging. As they’d gotten older Joshua moved away from football. In high school, he’d gotten a little gig to help out at home. But he didn’t talk about it much and since, Joshua mentioned he’s swapped from trade work to an office job. But the conversations were filled more with jokes and laughter than catching up on their lives.

Calum shrugs a little. “A few weeks ago. He said he was doing alright, but not this alright to be proposing. Has Ms. Brenda given up her banana bread recipe?”

“No,” Joy laughs. “But I’m going to get it from her eventually.”

“One of these days,” Calum teases. “If I get any more updates from the boys, I’ll be sure to share. As long as you share too.”

Joy holds up her hands, one at her chest. “Swear it,” she grins.

“The holidays are coming up soon too. I’m sure they’ll have some juicy stories then. ”

“Never fails,” Joy hums. “Anything you want? While we’re on the topic of the holidays.”

The question does make Calum ponder. There’s nothing that he wants that he thinks could be given by his parents. His gaze falls back to you. The sun cascades down around you, propped in the almost perfect center of the room. It's a small floor plan to begin with--the shelves help give storage without sacrificing the too much square footage. But finding a good place to put the easel for you really only had a few places to go--along one of the walls that was taken up by the bench and table or go into the center. But it’s nice to have your work at the center. What Calum really wants is time with you, time where you don’t have to worry about anything, where nothing is hanging over your head.

“Something that I could get would be ideal,” Joy laughs.

Calum snorts. There’s no embarrassment about being caught. “Can I take a rain check on that question then?”

“Absolutely, son. Absolutely. But besides the stuff with their parents, you two are okay, right?”

Calum regards his mother. The grays are prominent and continue to grow more so as the years pass in her hair. She shares a nearly identical cut to Calum’s though her sides are cut nearly as close as his. Calum had teased his mother when she first cut it that she was copying him. Joy never denied it. Just hugged Calum in tight and laughed. It’s going to destroy him when he can’t get one of those hugs--bone crushing and warm. Calum wonders if he’ll ever be able to recover from such a loss like that--death or not. He doesn’t know how you do it. How you’ve survived this long, but you do. He’s glad that for the time being the both of you can get soul warming hugs from his mother.

Because she’s real and present and looking back at him with the same concern she used to direct his way when he’d talk about a bad day at school. But instead of feeling like a child, instead of feeling small, he finds himself proud that he looks back into his mother’s face and knows that he’s got nothing to hide, that he can put it out on the table and she will always be there for him. He’s a little scared, how much he feels and how much of him is so willing to take the risk to get hurt again.

“We’re okay,” Calum answers. “I told them about Nora though.”

Joy whistles, brows rising at the news. “How’d that go?”

“Better than expected.” He’d prepared for the day he told you about Nora. How it might send you into a panic or even worse might cause an argument given how some that hurt still lingers, how he still mourns what could’ve been while discovering how much of the desire isn’t broken or gone with you. But thankfully it didn’t. For all that could’ve happened, nothing bad did.

“How do you feel about that? Now that it’s out there?” Joy asks, reaching for his hand again.

Calum shrugs, gazing back up as a shadow passes. A few birds flying overhead, he assumes. “It feels like I’m hiding less things now. Like I can be human with them more. But it’s hard. I-” His throat jumps. Fear he can place as it thumps in his veins. “I love them. But the last time I loved someone like this…” The words are catching. He wants to get them out but the emotion seizes his throat.

“It ended poorly. I know, I know,” she whispers in return. Both her hands wrap around Calum’s left hand.

“Yeah. But it’s so strange. To know that this all falling apart is still a possibility but not caring as much. All I find myself focused on is what I can still experience. Like even if it does have to end, and I don’t. I really don’t want that. But if it has too, I don’t want regrets on the table.”

“Well, that sounds like something to me. Like you know what you want,” Joy returns. “Sounds like you know what’s worth taking the risks for, which in turn, means you don’t have regret.”

Calum notices the hand retreating now from his space. A bottle of water rests onto the table, on the coasters you insisted on having for the shed. “It’s a good thing I don’t have plans on leaving. I’m right here, love,” you whisper against his cheek before pressing a kiss to the stubble he knows he needs to shave.

Calum takes his free hand and tugs you back when you go to step away. Your legs hit the edge of the bench with a stop thump. There’s red and gold paint on the end of the sleeves decorating the threads. Your fingers are stained too, but that doesn’t make Calum hesitate as he threads his fingers through yours. “You’re supposed to be painting.”

“I took a hydration break,” you laugh. He spies now the second bottle of water in your hand that’s now being lowered to the table. With your second hand free, you reach into the pocket of your apron and unearth a clean rag and drape it over his shoulder. “For any snot.”

Calum laughs, head dropping into your stomach. “If we’re keeping score about who’s cried the most, I think you’ve got me beat.”

“I’m a water hose, sue me.” You press a kiss to the top of Calum’s head though.

The paint is tacky against Calum’s fingers. His skin will be stained red and gold too, but it doesn’t matter. He drags his thumb over yours, a soothing action back and forth. You are there. You are just within reach. “I won’t,” Calum answers. Your hum is reassurance coupled with the squeeze of your hand.

Calum takes a deep inhale, attempting to commit to memory the way you smell in his clothes. The smell of paint powering over everything and yet, there is something so deeply you at the root of it--fresh like how clean linen smells. He tries to only take a minute or two, knowing that you’ll probably draw back first to head back to your painting. But you stay in the embrace.

“You two hungry by chance?” Joy asks. “I’ll go fix us something.”

Calum nearly tells her that she doesn’t have to go. But she’s giving his one hand one last squeeze as she slips out from behind the table. Joy gives your shoulder a squeeze and then slips out the door; it shuts softly behind her. You stand, towering over Calum. But he pulls you even closer into him, hands winding around your waist.

“You’re going to have paint all over your face,” you laugh.

“I don’t care.”

“Is everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah. Just…I love you, that’s all.”

“I love you too.” The return is even and quick. You ease him out of his embrace and Calum looks back up at you. “Is now an appropriate time to make an inappropriate joke about why I’m not leaving you?”

“No,” Calum laughs. “Now is not the time for an inappropriate joke, but thank you for asking.”

The cap on the water releases with ease and you pour a little bit of your bottle onto the rag. The touch is tender as you swipe it over Calum’s cheek and forehead. “You’ll let me know when I can, right?”

“Yeah, of course. The world needs all your inappropriate jokes.” Your work is steady on his cheek, one hand holding ever so gently against his chin. “Sorry to interrupt your hydration break.”

“Not an interruption at all,” you laugh. “How’s the speech coming along?”

Calum gingerly tugs at the rag in your hand. “You see how that laptop is closed?” You nod. “That’s how well it’s going. I don’t even need to worry.”

“Or are you too distracted?”

“Some might say those are the same.”

“Yeah, all people named Calum Hood,” you snort, before taking a sip from your bottle. Your gaze is steady. But Calum can see it, the question brewing behind your eyes. “Would I be correct in assuming that I’m the first person since Nora?”

There it is. Calum doesn’t even need to ask what you heard. “You are.” He’s sure it’s more obvious than needed but at least you asked.

“I know I can’t promise not to break your heart. But I’d like to politely ask for the space to prove to you I’m not her.”

Calum knows you’re not her. It’s not even a comparison of people, just a comparison of situations. He’s right where he was before. And it’s all different than it was before. Less tense, more space to converse and to be. But he’s scared. He doesn’t want to fall on his face again, doesn’t want the person he cares about most taken away from him. “Since when do you have a polite bone in your body?”

“Since my sarcastic timing isn’t always well loved. And I know that’s rich coming from me, considering everything I’ve done and yet to tell you. However, still, I wanted you to know that I want this relationship with you.”

Calum knows that on an intellectual level. But it’s nice to hear the words again. “Thank you.” It feels too small a phrase for what he means. Because what he means to say is that you are right--you and Nora are two different people. These are two different relationships. But the fear has a strong hold. What he means to say is the sound of you saying that you want him makes his stomach knot, makes his toes curl, makes Calum feel like a kid again in the most innocent of ways. What he means to say is that he never wants to forget that, but he knows he’s human. So he will forget, but please always remind him.

The kiss to his forehead is wet, no doubt to the water on your lips, but gentle. “I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear.”

If he could have you say it all the time, he would. But Calum revels in the whisper of your voice even as you slip away. He knows you’re in a bit of a time crunch. The paint will need plenty of time to dry so you’re trying to get through this with enough time to spare. He lets you go, promising him to himself that he’s going to spend the entirety of the night having you say it again and again how much you want him.

“Baby,” he calls out, just before the headphones cover up your ears.

“Yes, my love?” you ask, turning on the stool.

“I’m glad it’s you.”

“You’re glad it’s me?”

Calum nods. “Yeah, I’m glad it’s you.” He’s not sure if you understand, if you’ll get what he’s saying. But he is glad it’s you. Someone that got to know him from the ground up, someone that he got to know out of pure interest. He’s glad you’re who you are and that the two of you have this. Truly, what other ways can he say it? He’s just really glad it’s you.

You smile, headphones covering your ears, but you’re still facing him. “I’m glad it’s you too.”

______________________________

The heat from the oven grazes your arms as you slip the tray onto the rack. The orange pumpkins dyed into the white dough smile back at you--gaps between their carved teeth. You hope it’s not too much--that you’re coming over with a basket of things for what might be a pretty small holiday. But you are curious--has Mevlin made progress with Diana? Charlie makes no mention of noticing anything strange. Teagan hasn’t tipped you off that more things are happening out of the ordinary. It looks as though things might be on the up and up. Yet, you know looks can and will be deceiving. Its hardly been a week but the anxiety is gnawing on your innards—a feast for it and starvation for you.

With ease you wind the white timer for 10 minutes and set it down onto the counter. The ticking seconds are background noise for you cutting persistently through the crackle of plastic as you tear open the package of black tissue paper. The orange plastic pumpkin mirror the cookies--blackness around their gaped teeth, a hollow but practiced smile. You line the bottom of the buckets with a couple sheets and then start to toss in the socks, and stickers. They get a book to color in each, a fresh pack of coloring pencils, and Halloween pins for jackets or backpacks. Charlie gets one in the shape of a ghost and you slip a bat theme pin packet in for Teagan.

The candy waits in big bags--an unfortunate reality that you’d waited a little too long to get the smaller bags for the occasion but Calum promises to help when you get back to divvy up the remaining lollipops, chocolate, and other sweets into bags for people on staff and their children too considering he’d gotten a hefty amount of the remaining bags as well when he accompanied you on your errand run for the baskets. Teagan likes the sweeter stuff and Charlie’s a big fan of chocolate. So you slide a bag of the respective kind of candy in front of each one of the brackets for them.

“Oh my god, a ghost,” Declan laughs, sliding in next to you at the kitchen island.

“Boo,” you smile in return.

“You know that you and the Prince are both adults? I didn’t suspect the two of you to be into Halloween this hard.”

“These are for my siblings,” you return.

Declan pauses, hands having stretched out towards the back of Snickers, Reeses, Almond Joys and other chocolates. “Oh. Well, that makes a lot more sense. Need help?”

You know you don’t. There’s only the candy left aside of their bags of cookies that you’ll be putting together after they cook and cool. “If you’re truly that bored, sure,” you offer.

It’s an easy out, a way for Declan to slide into the bench at the table and take a load off before he works. Dinner will most likely be starting soon and you’re hoping that your timing hasn’t interrupted Declan’s work. He started to take weekend dinner shifts most often. “I’ve got time. Just vouch for me if Janet chews out my ass.”

“I hope I’m not in the way. The cookies only have like another 8 minutes or so and I will always vouch for you if Janet comes.”

“You’re not in the way,” Declan answers, but takes the bag into his grasp and pulls it open.

You slide him a few more sheets of black tissue paper. “I was trying to time between shifts,” you offer.

“You timed it well. How much candy am I giving your dear old sibling? Whole bag? Half?”

“No more than half? They’ll be going trick-or-treating this weekend too.”

Declan laughs, reaching into the bag for a handful. “Oh, your parents are going to hate you for all this extra sugar.”

“Perhaps that’s the point.” Perhaps, you’re adding fuel to a forest fire. But you’ll add it. You shimmy a few extra packets of the nerds into the bucket.

“Are they still super young? Your siblings, I mean.” Declan tips the bucket in your direction a little for you to get a better view. “Too much or too little?”

You peer onto the bucket. It’s not empty, but it does look a little sparse. “Tiny bit more if you don’t mind. And they’re still in elementary school. Nine and seven.”

“And you’ve never talked about them before because?”

You didn’t know about them before. You were terrified of what it meant. There’s a small part of you that feels vindicated. You knew something would happen with your parents involved. You knew that if you got too close you’d wind up in a mess. But god, there’s a larger part hoped you’d been wrong.

“It’s complicated,” you answer. “My parents and I aren’t close. But I am trying to be there for my siblings at the very least. They’re important to me.”

“Well, I--should it matter in the slightest-- think you’re killing it. This enough?”

You take a peek into the bucket. There’s enough candy that you know Melvin will be dealing with wrappers and sugar highs for at least a week. You nod. “Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime.”

“How-how are things with you?”you ask. There’s a bit of hesitation. The timer ticks around you and with the baskets full, including the extra bits of tissue paper tucked in, there’s still something that lingers. Something that you don’t want to fall flat with Declan--like you know how friends do.

Declan shrugs. “They’re going.”

The shrills interrupts what you think might’ve been on his tongue. Declan turns, kitchen towel already fall off his waist as he tugs on it. “Just going?”

“These extra shifts are a little bit killer, but they’re helping pay off the work I had to get done to my car, so it’s all evened out.”

“What happened to your car?”

“Brakes needed to be replaced, and new tires.”

You hiss at the answer, watching Declan slide the tray onto the aisle. The cookies are a golden color now around the edges--perfectly cooked. “At the same time?”

He nods. “Same time. I could’ve done the brakes myself but they were closing in on being dangerously thin. I was already going to have to go in for the tires so I just tacked on the brakes and figured I’d work out the money later. Was not the smartest financial decision, but it was either taking two days off from work or just one. I need my remaining PTO for the holidays.”

“Your sister’s graduation right?” He’d mentioned it once to you before but hadn’t really talked about it since.

Declan nods. “Yeah.” It comes slow. And you’re not sure what’s causing his hesitation but he laughs with a shake of his head. “I shouldn’t be shocked you remember that.”

“Yet you are, you jerk.”

“Credit where credit is due. My apologies.”

“What is your sister studying?”

“Data Analytics. She’s got a job lined up too once she graduates.”

A feat you know given the current landscape. A whistle leaves you. “A whiz, I see.”

“Just don’t let her hear that.”

“Promise,” you laugh.

“Her plan is to move out in another two years time, I think,” Declan offers. “Of course it all depends on how the market stabilizes."

“Do you know if she is looking for roommates? Could help her a little bit but it comes with its own risks of course.”

Declan shrugs. “I’d offer for her to move in with me. I know our parents are going to be a little overbearing, but it’s not cool to move in with your older brother and his roommate. But I did at least tell her that if she’s interested in my complex, to let me know. I’m only a ten minute drive from our parent’s place so she’d still be close enough to them too.”

“Sounds like that’ll be nice if it works out.”

“Time will only tell in the end. Things still going good at the new job? You sure you don’t want to come back to us?”

It’s a tease and you can tell by the way he bats his lashes. But even just the offer makes your heart leap. You think you’d take this job back in a heartbeat if you could. But Forest has its perks. There was a reason why you had to leave. “It’s good. It’s a lot more hectic than here on average. But pays the bill. Health insurance is a small step down but not that I needed more than yearly check ups for anything.”

“Good health is a fountain of wealth in the end,” Declan returns. “I’m glad it’s going well. I think Val said she tried to pop in but didn’t see you.”

“I’m back of house right now. Until I get licensed to bartend. When that happens I’ll be on the front a bit more.”

He nods, a hum falling from his throat. “Sounds like the place is still stretched thin though.”

More than a handful of times you’ve heard runners complain about how many shifts they’ve been asked to cover. The kitchen staff is pretty solid. It’d come up as you worked more than the person you took over for left because of needing to move back home for family needs. But Turner seemed to still be struggling to retain servers. You were sure that she’d train you up by now but perhaps the concerns you voiced about your relationship with Calum were keeping her from getting you onto that boat. Though, once you got on the bar you’d undoubtedly have to learn tables too.

“It is,” you agree after a meaty pause. “But it’s not so much that I think I’m getting screwed over. I guess. I know my time will come once I move to the bar.”

“Does it make you nervous at all? To move to the floor? Given your relationship, I mean.”

“Makes Calum more nervous than me. But seeing what I have of the bartenders right now, I’d run food and take care of those right at the bar. Right now, it’s like a bridge that I can’t see enough to worry about if I'll have to cross it or not.”

You slide over to the cookies, testing the temperature with your finger. They feel cool enough and you gingerly wiggle them loose from the sheet. Declan slides you two plastic bags. “I guess in some ways it’s like not trying to stress yourself out twice about things,” Declan states.

“Yeah,” you nod. You seal up the last four cookies for Charlie. Two more remain on a piece of paper towel. Declan takes the sheet and moves it to the sink. “Oh, I can wash it.”

With a pointed stare, Declan turns on the water and squeezes a bit of dish soap onto the sheet. “What was that? I can’t hear you over the water,” he shouts.

You’re not sure what you expected but when he’s done, you toss him one of the remaining cookies, hoping he doesn’t drop it but hoping just a little that it tumbles. Declan catches it with ease. “For all your hard work,” you return.

He snorts. “Thanks.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Oh, anytime as long as I get fed cookies at the end of it.”

The door to the kitchen opens, you catch the movement from your peripheral and look up from Declain. Calum peeks his head through the door. “Ready, baby?”

“Yeah, I just finished up.” You offer Declan the second cookie as well. He waves it off.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll see you around.”

“I’m not going to eat it,” you laugh and Declan huffs before plucking the sugar cookie from your fingers.

“You owe me,” he calls out around his bite. “I need advice on what to get my sister for her graduation present.”

“Call me. I’ll help. But you can’t go wrong with money.”

“Aye, yeah, I thought about that. But I want to do something more personal. As the oldest, I can do better than that.”

The bags of candy rattle in your grasp as you slip the shopping bag they’re in on your wrist. The two baskets are wrapped securely into the curve of your fingers from the plastic handles. You get Declan’s concerns. The pride in his voice makes you realize perhaps you’re less alone than you felt with Charlie and Teagan’s situation.

You nod at Declan. “We’ll cook up something. Be thinking about what she likes or what she needs. Text me whatever you think of and then we’ll grab coffee or something to solidify a plan.”

“Thank you,” Declan grins. “You’re a life saver.”

“Don’t I know it,” you laugh over your shoulder. Calum steps in closer, his fingers brushing over your wrist as he takes the Target bag with the leftover candy.

“Shut up. No one told you to brag about it.”

Calum holds the door open for you. “Sorry I couldn’t help with the baskets. But it looks like you still had some help around.”

“Don’t worry. I know you had other obligations. Declan sort of forcefully helped out. In a way.”

“Declan has a sister?” Calum questions. “Didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, he does. She graduates university in December.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I didn’t realize Declan was old enough for a sister graduating uni.”

“He’s 27. So not that much older.”

The lights on Calum’s truck light up briefly and you two slip inside. You’re not sure what you’re about to head into. Though you hope it’s good news, there’s dread in the bottom of your stomach. Calum doesn’t know. You only asked if he could help pick up Charlie and Teagan from school. But he doesn’t know.

“When’s your next day off again, baby?” Calum asks. You were off today--having spent most of that time doing laundry and cleaning out your car. But then came by after were done so that both you and Calum could go over to your parent’s place--at Charlie’s request that Calum come.

“Uh, next Tuesday, I think,” you return. “I have to look at the schedule again.” You take a picture of it when it gets posted. You can only imagine what haunts you in the photo album of your phone should you ever go back through it more thoroughly.

“When you do, can you let me know? Next month we’ll need to schedule a fitting for outfits to the auction and banquet. It’ll be pretty straight forward for me. But I know they’ll want to do your measurements, talk about what you’re comfortable wearing and show you some pieces. It’s….going to be a lot. But it won’t take the whole day.”

That part you hadn’t considered. Though you were still working on the painting religiously in the evenings, the banquet was being pushed further and further down on your list of concerns. Having to actually go was a dream, or perhaps you held onto some delusion that you wouldn’t have to go. Though you definitely did. “I’ll let you know,”you return.

“I’ll be there, the entire time,” Calum promises, a hand on your knee. “It’s really not bad. If you want, we can sit down together and look at stuff to help you prepare. Brands, maybe colors, silhouettes and such.”

“That would be nice.”

“Of course, baby. I’d be happy to.”

The first part of the journey is smooth, the tires gliding down the road. Calum seems to find a sense of content with his hand on your knee, a gentle gliding up to the middle of your thigh and then a slide back down. Rhythmic in a way that you’re partially sure it’s not conscious. It feels unbothered, unworried in a way that only the subconscious is capable of doing. And the longer his palm slides along your denim cladded knee, the longer you think about the mess Calum could be walking into. He might already suspect, but it is still your responsibility to be transparent, to tell him what’s going on in your life even if it’s hard, even if it’s tiring.

“I want to say thanks,” you start, capturing Calum’s free hand for a moment to give it a squeeze. “For agreeing to help me with my siblings. I do know I need to explain what’s going on right now. It’s just hard—I guess it’s also shame. But Teagan noticed that Diana missed tucking her in a few nights back in August or so. And things just sorted to feel off with how pushy she started to get. Melvin confirmed a couple weeks ago that she’s drinking again.”

Calum hisses, his hand squeezing against your knee. “I am so sorry, baby. That’s so awful.”

“Melvin asked for some time to get her more help. He’s worried about disrupting too much of Charlie and Teagan’s schedule. I gave him until the end of next month to make progress with her. But if she’s not better, I’m taking them in for a little bit.”

“Outside of pickup from school, what other help do you need? I-there’s-whatever you need, I want to help.”

You know Calum’s being careful. You can hear how much might be behind those words. “We might need a room at the palace if that’s okay. I don’t know how suitable my room is long term. Until my lease is finished and I find a two bedroom apartment.”

“We have space. That’s not a problem.”

Your cheeks are warm. He says it so easily like he doesn’t have to think. And some in ways he probably doesn’t have to. But the deep pressure of his hold tells you that he means it deeply. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m really sorry that this is happening. To them. To you all over again in a way. All three of you deserve so much better. But I think you’re doing what you might’ve wished someone did for you. And that in and of itself is incredibly powerful.”

The tears burn. You watch the way the highway signs wave in their wake. It’s not exactly what you’d want, though maybe in your younger years you did wish someone to save it before it started. And you can be that light. You can be the hero that your siblings need, even if they’ve never wanted for one. “I just hope they don’t hate me.”

“I can sympathize with that fear, baby. They’re kids right now. They maybe won’t get it immediately. But when they get older, you can explain more. And maybe you and Melvin find a way to frame it so it doesn’t seem so bad right now and they don’t take it so hard. And I hope they don’t hate you either. I can’t say they won’t. But Charlie and Teagan seem like kids that would at the very least listen.”

You hope. You’d beg of the universe that Charlie and Teagan at the very least listen to you, understand that you don’t want to make any changes to their lives unless it’s to improve it. But they are just kids. Temporary displeasure for more stable and permanent change seems like a fair price to pay, but you know they’ll take years to see it that way.

“I hope,” you return softly, sniffling back the snot that threatens to slip down your cupid's bow. “I hope.”

Calum motions to the glove box. “Tissues if you need them. But I’m here. Mum is too. So is Dad. You’ve got people in your corner. I’ll talk to security and we can get Charlie and Teagan set up so they’re safe and they have a nice place to hang out. We’ll create a plan so that they’re always on time to school and picked up and for any after school activities they’re in as well. All hope is not lost.”

Hope is not lost. Just beaten and maybe a little battered. “You sure you still want to be with me?” you tease, taking out the small pouch of tissues from the glovebox.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. But I am going to make sure Charlie and I have the best jack-o-latern on the block, so be prepared for that.”

“Not if Teagan and I have the best one.”

“Oh, game on, baby. I hope your mouth is not writing checks you can’t cash.”

“All my checks are good.”

Calum gives a disapproving hum but risks a glance in your direction. “We’ll see about that. We’ll see. Is it this exit or the next one?”

“Next one,” you answer. “Once you got off, I’ll help more.”

“Next one. Got it. Thanks.”

“No, thank you.”

The front of the house is dark when you arrive. There’s no lights bleeding through the curtains. There’s no flutter or wide swinging of the door as you and Calum ascend the stairs. You’re not sure what this means and from what you can see there is at least one car in the driveway at the very least. There were two--a car for Dian and Melvin each. But you’re not sure who drives what. It feels a little pointless to knock on the door, but you do so anyway. It sits unanswered for a minute or two.

Calum’s hand rests gingerly in the dip of your lower back. “Want to try the door bell?”

It feels silly to think you haven’t had to use the doorbell in months. But you wait a moment more and then reach for it. The toll rings out, so much so that even you hear it from behind the closed door. The seconds pass and you don’t hear anything. Melvin had told you to come at this time. You worried nothing had happened in the meantime but a few seconds later you catch a faint call, “Coming, coming!”

Melvin smiles as he opens the door. There’s light but from deeper in the house, from the kitchen you think. The front of the house is dark. “Uh, we’re in the backyard,” he notes, pushing his glasses back up on his face.

You nod and step inside. “Okay.”

“That’s cute,” he comments, pointing down to the buckets in your hand. “For Charlie and Teagan?”

“Uh, yeah. There’s a lot of sugar as a warning.”

“To be expected,” he laughs. “Just head straight back. I’ve got to run upstairs and I’ll be right back down in a minute.”

Calum slides in around you, giving Melvin a passing greeting before taking a couple steps further ahead of you. You watch Melvin though, as he ascends the stairs one hand on the railing. He moves quietly though you distinctly remember the sixth step always having a little bit of a squeak to it. So far, there’s no Diana. Not that you can see but you know you’re staring too much when you notice just how Melvin skips over the second noisiest step too.

“Ready?” Calum questions.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you return and then catch up. “It’s just this way.” You lead Calum deeper into the house, past the living room and kitchen to the sliding glass doors. Charlie and Teagan sit at the wooden bench in the backyard, two pumpkins resting already on the table on top of newspaper. The big kitchen trashcan sits outside--ready and lined with the black garbage bag.

The two turn at the sound of the door sliding in the grooving, faces immediately brightening up when they spot you and Calum. Teagan slides out and rushes up the porch steps. “Hi!” she laughs colliding into your lower body.

“Hi,” you laugh in return.

Charlie follows up behind his own cheer leaving his throat. You wrap him up in a hug as well. But as you do, you pause. He’s hitting the middle of your stomach now, and creeping towards your chest maybe. Just a few weeks ago he was maybe just starting to hit your waist. But now you feel it in your bones. In the next couple of years, you’ll be looking him directly in his eye. It would break your heart for it to be sooner, but the longer you take in the extra inches, you think it might be sooner.

“You’re getting so tall,” you marvel.

Charlie laughs. “Yeah, I guess so. The basketball coach asked me if I’d considered joining the sport last week.”

“No more baseball?” Calum questions, slinging his arm around Charlie’s shoulders.

“Never giving up on that. But I might consider basketball too. If they don’t share the same season schedule.”

You know you shouldn't be shocked. It’s supposed to happen. They’re supposed to grow up. But as Charlie collects his basket full of goodies and carries on back to the table, you find yourself still in awe of how much he’s grown. They won’t be little forever--a terrifying thought to have. But they still laugh, digging into the baskets for their first pick of candy.

“We’re supposed to wait,” Charlie notes, warning Teagan of some previous agreement. You think you hear somewhere in there where his voice cracks too. Maybe it’s just in your thoughts. There’s no way he could be headed towards puberty young. You didn’t.

She huffs, but places the box of Nerds back onto the table. “You could let me slide.”

“No, Dad said to wait, so we wait.”

“Where is Dad anyway?” Teagan questions. Her gaze falls behind you back towards the house but when she doesn’t seem to garner enough for an answer she looks back to you. “You going to help me destroy Charlie and Calum from over there?”

The shock glued your feet. You hadn’t made it from the bottom of the steps of the porch but you soldier on and settle onto the bench next to her. “No, sorry. Any ideas on what you want to do with this here pumpkin?” you ask with a slap to the side. It’s a dull thud, but the gourd is still firm under the weight of your hand.

She nods, reaching for a stack of papers. “I drew up some ideas at lunch. Which one do you think is best?”

As you begin shuffling through Teagan’s ideas, you can catch the murmur of Calum and Charlie discussing too. For a brief moment, you lock in again on Charlie’s voice. There’s nothing there, not another crack. It’s enough that you think you could convince yourself that you imagined the earlier sound. But you know it’s a fruitless wish. So you zero back in on the four sketches--one has furrowed brows and though the brows aren’t quite even in the drawing, you do like the added touch. You slide it out towards her. “I like this one.”

“That was my first choice. But I liked this one too a lot.” She reaches for the drawing with the word, Boo written in a speech bubble out from the pumpkin’s mouth.

You look back up to her pumpkin. Charlie’s chosen pumpkin is shorter and wider, which you think would fit the words a bit more. But Teagan’s pumpkin is much taller and a tad bit narrower. The word would inevitably wrap around the side. “I think given the pumpkin you’re working with this one is the best bet,” you return, holding the picture in your hand up a little bit more. “The pumpkin’s a bit too narrow for the word. But if you really want it, we can try to make it work.”

Teagan holds the design up to the pumpkin, eyes flickering up and down from the picture to the pumpkin, around the edges of it. “I think you’re right.”

“Save that one for next year, if you want. Then we can make sure you get the right size pumpkin for it.”

“There’s also the tiny pumpkins we’re going to paint too today,” Teagan begins, “so I’m sure I can use that design on one of them.” She points to the side of the table you’re at but there’s nothing a top of the table so you look down and spot a collection of six mini pumpkins waiting.

“Oh, yeah, that works too.”

The four of you wait for another minute or two, but you can see how antsy Teagan and Charlie are getting. They fidget near their boxes of candy and near the tools assembled on the table for carving. Melvin made it sound like it would only take a minute or two. It settles into your gut that Diana’s the reason for the hold up. And behind that lead is bile at the realization that Melvin may not be getting to her. If your lungs could collapse at a thought, this would be their undoing.

Charlie looks back to the house. “I’m going to go look for Dad,” he states.

It flashes before your eyes--how he might discover Diana drunk, Melvin doing his best to coax her from the glass, or worse, an argument. His world would crumble in an instant. You know that it might be the wind to bring the house of cards down and it might make whatever you do in the future make more sense, but you call out his name instead. He doesn’t need to be dropped into reality just yet.

“We can get started, if you want. I think Calum and I count as adult supervision,” you tease. “Even if just barely on Calum’s part.”

“Excuse me?” Calum laughs. “I have been well into adulthood for quite some time now. Not nearly as old as you, but it still counts.”

Charlie laughs at the exchange. “No, but like, we always do it with Dad,” he counters. He’s not moved closer back to the bench, hovering in the few feet between the bench and the deck steps.

“You can blame me,” you counter, nodding for Charlie to come back. “C’mon. Teagan’s got ass to kick--yours specifically.”

“Oh no, now that’s unfair,” he retorts, inching back towards the table, back towards safety. “And you owe money to the jar.”

“Add it to my tab,” you grin, sliding him an apron.

“Game on,” he grins. Devious as it is, you count this as a win. You know the trouble won’t get smoother, won’t get easier, but Charlie doesn’t need the veil torn down just yet.

As you help Teagan into her apron, you notice her own concern, the flickering of her gaze back up to the house. God, what you wouldn’t have done to save her the first time, when she snuck down to that kitchen and caught those few seconds of the cabinets slamming.

“Do you want to scoop or cut?” you ask, trying to pull her back. You can save her now, even if it’s only for pumpkin carving. “After we get the outline done, of course.”

“I’ll take a stab at the cutting.”

You snort at the pun, but nod. “If it’s too tough, just let me know and I’ll take over.”

She nods and takes the sharpie with ease to begin outlining the brows, eyes, and mouth of her jack-o-latern. She works with little hesitation until she has to make the brow on the right with the one on the left. Charlie and Calum laugh from their side of the table as Charlie works to get the knife through the thick rine.

“Please watch your fingers, yeah?” Calum states as Charlie works.

Teagan slips out from the bench and takes a couple steps back. You watch her and she tilts her head just a little. “I can’t get the brows straight for the life of me,” she laughs.

You lean over to get a more straight one look. The right brow is just a little lower than the left. “It’s now an aesthetic choice. Adds to the character,” you offer.

She snorts. “We can call it that.”

As she returns back to her spot, you hear the slide of the glass doors. Melvin slips through but pauses with the door not fully closed behind him. You see it, the flash of fear and disappointment over his face. It makes you wonder if he ever consider that even this particular path of action would have its own cost? The hand of the universe is always perfectly balanced--for every x that is solved, there is a z.

The two of you lock gazes, as you stand to help Teagan with getting the gourd open, and you know that Melvin’s truly not prepared. Neither are you. The two of you are wading in the same sea. Neither one of you has a buoy, neither one of you have a life vest for what’s coming or what’s already here. The difference between you and Melvin are merely only the reasons that brought you into this stormy sea. You already know the cost of every choice. You already know that every action you take or don’t take will come with its own weighty consequence. You know the cost of keeping Charlie from going inside is that when the truth does come out, it will destroy him tenfold. You know when you take them in, when you do what you must do, there will be anger and resentment. As much as it scares you, you know you’re going to do it--regardless. You don’t know how to navigate those feelings. You don’t know how to live with the fear of what you know must be done. But you will still do it.

Does some part of this feel like deja vu for Melvin? Not that you envy his position. He is at the crossroads of his own impossible trolley problem. If Melvin wanted to save his wife, save the mother of his children, Charlie and Teagan would become the sacrifice. If Melvin wanted to save his two youngest children from the same fate that fell upon you, his wife would become the sacrifice. You watch the crushing reality swallow him whole. You’ve never seen true horror on someone’s face until now. Until Melvin watches as you work the knife through the flesh of the pumpkin and the foundation of a tradition cracks.

You could and would do whatever necessary to protect them. You wish you could tell him, say to him that this is the moment of sink or swim. This is the very second to decide if he’s going to let Diana’s own choices destroy what he’d worked so hard to build. But you’ve the rest of the rind to get through. There’s Teagan waiting eagerly to your right with the spoon to scoop out the innards of the pumpkin. So you look back down to the work you’re doing, sliding the knife through the tough outer flesh and resign yourself come the end of November, even if you have to sink, Charlie and Teagan will still swim.

You can only hope Melvin’s accepted that fate too.

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 8 days

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Sweet Dreams--Part 12

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted.

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

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The snap of the camera sounds well after the flash of the light. Then behind it, what sounds like a thousand more shutters erupt. The flashes blink like the silver dots Calum used to call angels when he was a child in his vision. As he approaches the podium, Calum thinks less about the blinking lights. The lights don’t slow him down like they used to. They don’t hurt as much as they used to. This is all well practiced throughout the years. He smiles, lifting a hand in acknowledgement at the crowd that’s gathered. Since the vote, Calum’s been keeping an eye on the way the funds have been helping those in need, continually surveying those that took place in his initial conversations and polls. Things seem to be going well. But at the conclusion of this year, there still are four seats that will need to be filled.

It’s unconventional for Calum to even bring this discussion to the floor for the public. The truth of the matter is, he knows he can’t serve a community and people that he knows very little about. He doesn’t know their concerns. He doesn’t know what specific things are plaguing the majority. He’s sure there’s even more pressing things for select groups--everyone has their own prioritization but still Calum’s not on the pulse like he wants to be. So, he’s here now to re-introduce the surveys and forms available to the public. He wants them to know he is listening. Though it is tedious work to review those surveys on a quarterly basis, Calum’s happy to have a team willing to do the nitty gritty work--him included.

“Thank you for joining me here today. I know we’re closing in on the holidays soon and food and family are most likely at the forefront of everyone’s minds, but still it means a lot that you’ve still shown up here today,” Calum starts, working at the button of his suit jacket. “I’m also happy to see some pretty familiar faces too.”

And it’s true, as Calum peers out at the swarm of reporters, there are a few faces he’s learned to anticipate to see. A few laughs rise from the crowd and Calum takes a moment to glance down at his notes. It’s not a full on written speech, but it is a pretty tightly packed list of talking points.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time today, folks. It is a Friday afternoon after all and I’m not a cruel man. We’re at the tail end of the year and after a particularly tight win in ensuring that additional funds are processed for those in need, it is still very much my intent to keep on the pulse of public concerns. I may be a man a little removed from the day to day struggles of the average person. I am a man aware that the reality of my day to day is vastly different from others. This, most likely, won’t be news to some. But I am hoping that by taking just a few minutes here today, I am able to encourage people to participate actively in their politics and re-introduce them to a tool to express their voice directly.

“As it has been for the twenty years or so, on our parliament’s website there is a section which allows the public to write into us about concerns they have--whether it be about your specific counties roads, or library, or school--you have the space to let us know what is and what is not working for you. Now, to address concerns, I am sure people will have: yes, this was originally buried and hard to navigate to from the home page. There is a lot of news that we do try to share with you all and information we know you need to access more easily. Yet, I do not want this to be a continued excuse that frustrates people to the point where they believe that their feedback is not valued.

“It is, in fact, the opposite. It is important that I know exactly what challenges are being faced day in and day out for my people. I am here to serve you. Given this goal to become more increasingly aware, I’ve worked with our designers to create the “Talk to Us” button.”

Calum waves now to the screen behind him, which in the reflection in some of the glasses from those in the front row, he can see the slide is now showing. The home page--a stale blue--lights up behind him. “The home bar will now, at the conclusion of this press conference, include a direct link to the form, entitled, “Talk to Us”. When you click on this link, you’ll be asked to inform us of location specific details, if necessary, as well as being able to write directly and freely to your government on the actions you see that we need to take or directions you’d like us to head.”

A small murmur starts from the crowd, but it remains low and dies down soon too. Calum knows that soon a new slide should be appearing that showcases an example of the form itself so he continues on, slow and clearly as he speaks, “We will be launching in the new year the opportunity for you to respond to surveys we have created as well once you click on this link. These surveys will be no more than 10 questions at a time and participation is voluntary. The contents of these surveys will be a combination of concerns we have as your government and concerns brought up by you individually. Consider it a feedback loop. The more you tell us about issues, and the more you participate in those voluntary surveys, the better we can serve you. Concerns brought up through the Talk to Us function will be reviewed on a quarterly basis. We hope to hear from you soon.”

“Any questions?” Calum prompts, taking in the faces and notes being scribbled down. A couple hands are being raised after a few seconds. “Yes,” Calum notes, seeing a man in a sky blue button up start to raise his hand.

He introduces himself and his associated press. “Considering that this function has existed on the website long before now, do you have any thoughts on why previous administrations haven’t taken to making this more accessible until now?”

A question Calum anticipated and he hates the way it pits administrations against each other. “I can’t speak for why previous ones haven’t considered reorganizations of the public website. But as we gain more literacy about user experience and design, it has become clearer than ever that the front page of any website is the most important in getting people to what they need as quickly as possible. We are working with some SEO strategies as well to help ensure that this link does show up in the first two pages of search engine results as well. There’s an entirely new field in politics revolving around online presences and social media. Our drive now is also tied to the direct evolution of this technology in the last few years as well.”

It’s a lot of hot air, even Calum knows that, but he has to say it this way. Has to make sure he’s careful of those that have come before him. Something so simple as adding a link seems obvious now but may not have been obvious before.

Calum moves on to the next person--a woman, in a pink almost orange top, who gives her name and associated press as well. “Is there any plan to move these functions to an app perhaps in the future?”

“Not currently at this time, no,” Calum answers. “But the page itself will allow users that need it to use speech to text, screen readers, dark mode backgrounds and ensure to adhere to accessibility guidelines as well.”

Another man raises his hand, a white and black striped shirt. Calum signals to him for him to ask his question. After his name and press, the man continues on, “Are there concerns about backlash? People feeling like their concerns aren’t being addressed fast enough or feeling like there’s a ranking system when it comes to concerns.”

“Our team has assessed as thoroughly as we can the best way to sustain the use of this forum and survey platform. We won’t be able to get to every concern sent in and we will have to look at volume as it relates to each individual item raised. But we hope that by establishing the quarterly review timeline, we can be transparent enough to the public about why things may seem to be moving much slower than they anticipated. I have a team established, me included, who will be continually reviewing what is coming in and how efficient are current practices as well.”

“So, you’re really not afraid of the dirty work,” the man teases. The room bubbles with a soft bout of laughter.

Calum laughs as well. “No, I’m not afraid of the dirty work. It is valuable work to do as I’ve come to learn.” Calum is a little afraid he might be spreading himself a bit thin by taking this one, but should he need to take a step back, he already has people he can pull in to help the team as well. Right now, there’s a lot of the paid interns doing the footwork, but Calum hopes this plan creates a big enough need that he can hire some of them on as full time staffer positions in the next two years.

Calum, keeping an eye on the time, makes mention that he can only take two more questions to ensure he sticks to his early promise of not sucking up their entire afternoon. So he moves on to another lady in purple. She stands with a smile. “It appears that your special friend seems to be making an impression on you. My particular question--”

“I’m sorry, what?” Calum interrupts. “Who’s making an impression on me?”

Her face falls for a moment, but she recovers with an awkwardly thick laugh. “I think it’s quite obvious.”

Calum’s brows furrow. Part of him wonders if this person is referring to you. But this hardly seems like the place for it. Perhaps there’s something else he’s missing. “Well, color me surprised, because I am genuinely unable to follow your logic and statement. Could you clarify what you mean?”

The woman laughs again, but she begins to fidget with the cap of her pen. Maybe Calum’s not wrong about his initial assessment. But the seconds tick on and he’s not sure if he’s going to gloss over it or let her sit in her discomfort. She finally speaks but her voice shakes, “I just-I mean it’s obvious between your speech before the vote and the photos now that have repeatedly surfaced.”

More now than ever Calum’s positive what she’s been trying to hint at--you. There’s hardly been news of the two of you lately, seeing as you worked, painted, and fussed over your siblings, Calum and you hadn’t been out in the public much over the last few weeks. Maybe there were pictures of your late night run for cookies at Calum’s insistence last week. But that hardly feels worthy of being brought up in a political press conference.

“I’m sorry. Can you remind me of your name again?” Calum asks. “I think I missed it initially.”

“Pamela,” she offers though she does have to repeat it given how softly she says it the first time. Like how Calum imagines a child reacts to getting in trouble--sheepish and embarrassed.

“And your press?”

“Times--Politics division.”

“Thank you, Pamela. I think given the particular reason for this conference this is not the place to divulge into personal affairs--mine, yours, or anyone else’s. Now, I do believe that Times sees you as talented and nuanced at political coverage, lest you wouldn’t be in the room responsible for covering their story about our meeting. I know this news is relatively small and for someone like you it may not take you more than an hour to write, edit, and publish. So let’s ensure that we continue to show Times your brilliance at politics. That sound good?”

She nods, fervently so that the strands she’d tucked behind her ear fall out again. “Ye-yes, Your Highness. I’m sorry.”

Part of him wants to say no worries. But he is a bit annoyed by such a comment she attempted to make, the things she might’ve been trying to insinuate. It could be harmless and it could’ve been so much more sinister. Calum merely nods. “Apology accepted. Now, what’s your question?”

“Thank-thank you. My question is, uh, in regards to the longevity of this new launch, can we expect this to be a long term investment in your tenor when you transition to take over for your father?”

Calum nods at the question. “As long as I remain at the helm, I do intend to continue to promote and invest in transparency on how the public can and should influence their government. The ‘Talk to Us’ is essentially launch zero, if you will. It’s, again, a function that’s been integrated into the site for years now. But I hope that these initial changes to its location help open the door for much more political discourse between the public and parliament.”

Her descent back to her seat is not graceful by any means. Pamela dives back to her seat and Calum feels a small pang of guilt in his gut. “Thank you again for your time,” Calum turns to address the entire room. “I fear we’re out of time for today. But I do greatly appreciate you spending your Friday afternoon with me. I hope you all have a great weekend.”

Calum steps away from the podium and sees Pamela still buried in her pad. Perhaps, she hadn’t meant harm, but the more Calum let slide, the more people would feel brave with their off handed comments, or worse probes into his personal life. This is a world he’d learned to navigate thanks to the years he’d been raised in. You deserve any and all amounts of privacy that can be scraped together.

His phone is returned to him when Calum returns to the wings. “Great work out there,” Miranda comments before she turns back to her iPad.

Calum watches her squint, releasing a sigh before he reaches up to her hair and takes the pair of red glasses down. She’d finally caved in getting the prescription but still refused at times on wearing them. “You might even be able to tell me I did a better job if you could see it.”

“Well my hair’s made the lenses greasy,” she huffs.

Calum offers his spare handkerchief tucked away into the inner pocket of the suit jacket. “Keep it for the sake of your eyeballs please.”

Miranda hums at the offer, which Calum knows will most likely be her only response to it. “I’ll keep an eye out for the response about Pamela’s probe. Should we ask Times to not put her back on the rotation?”

This question sounds genuine and when Calum turns the corner, he risks a glance over to Miranda. Nothing follows the question--no quip, no retort. For a moment, Calum’s positive it’s a trick question but the silence lingers and weighs for longer than usual. “Uh, she asked a good question in the end.”

“Yes, she did. But from what we’ve discussed, we are in the ‘loose lips, sink ships’ position. And this is your relationship, so speak now before I make the call.”

“Don’t box her out,” Calum returns. “Doing so might send too strong of a message and we’re not really in a position to bring down the hammers.”

Miranda nods. “Could make us look desperate and unfair too. You handled it exceptionally well though today, so I am very proud of that. Next week, the fitting is scheduled as a heads up for the charity event. This does mean, I have to ask, will you and your partner be walking the carpet together? We wouldn’t want to use this event for any sort of announcement, but if the two of you are comfortable with the idea, then we’ll need to just review the etiquette for the event with them.”

Now that’s the kind of question expected from Miranda. Direct, no nonsense, objective focused and lasered in. “I’ll talk to them. They’ll be on display with their painting though and my volunteer time.”

“It’s whatever the two of you decide. I’m just saying should you two walk the carpet together, we make no announcements. You walk, you talk to a couple reporters that are outside but you don’t say anything about the relationship. Even if asked.”

Calum nods, tucking his folder up under his arm after pressing the call button for the elevator. Miranda’s right. The charity event would not be the right place for him to say anything. And he’d be a hypocrite now after handling Pamela to try and steal the stage for such an important event. The two of you could walk it separately in blocks close to each other--he goes first for a minute or so and then you follow. But the two of you would inevitably wind up locked arm in arm as the night progressed. But to walk the carpet together and explicitly not answer any questions would be more awkward in the end. Though, it would matter at the end of it what you preferred.

“How much should I bet that you need a final decision by the time we meet for the fitting?” Calum asks, letting Mirand into the elevator first.

Miranda snorts at the question. “I wouldn’t bet anything you couldn’t afford.”

You’re supposed to be going back home tonight after your shift. Though it feels like a good portion of your belongings have drifted into the palace, you spend a decent portion of your time at your own place too. Where you live is technically closer to your job and easier on your car for sure. Calum takes a look at the time. It’s pushing just a couple minutes past four pm. The dinner rush would undoubtedly be starting in the next hour or so and Calum knows he can’t squeeze any extra time out of his day.

But he spies a text from you, from ten minutes ago, and wonders if he could snag you still once he gets back to his office. The preview of the text stares back up at Calum, Have I ever told you just how…. It piques his interest and he swipes to start input his passcode. “You’ll have an answer Monday,” Calum returns to Miranda.

“Sounds good.”

Have I ever told you just how hot it is to watch you in that suit dealing with the press? Because if not, I really should tell you how hot it is to watch you in that suit dealing with the press.

Another text comes through just as Calum starts to type.

In all seriousness, thanks for handling that particular comment like you did. I know sooner or later things will come out in the open, probably the charity event undoubtedly, but it means a lot for you to still keep this close to the vest still. And you are hot too, which helps. Love you.

The doors open again and Miranda gestures in Calum’s periphery. He looks up to see her holding out his handkerchief. “Thanks.”

“Didn’t I tell you to keep it so that you have no excuses for not wearing your glasses?” Calum laughs.

Miranda’s body half way between the doors keeps them from shutting but she eyes him, lips curled up in an unamused smile. “I think it’s a little inappropriate.”

“And I think you should be able to see.”

“Take it,” she orders, waving the cloth at him to take it. “I have a lens cloth in my office.”

Calum edges closer to the opening of the machine. She refuses to meet his gaze and it makes the suspicion increase tenfold. “Show me. Because if you’re lying.”

“Oh, fine,” Miranda huffs. “I lost it. The same fucking day I got the damn glasses and I lost the cloth.”

“Then keep it,” he laughs. “I’ve got too many of them anyway.”

“Thanks,” she mutters and then starts down towards her office.

“You’re welcome,” Calum calls out watching the doors slide closed.

His attention turns back to your text even with the tuft of laughter he releases at Miranda’s stubbornness. I hope I wasn’t too harsh on her. But thank you, baby. I’ll keep that in mind for later. He adds a winking emoji before continuing on, Is it bad yet for you guys? Love you more. He asks even though he’s sure he won’t get a response until either your next break or until you leave for the night. But he sends it anyway and swipes through his other missed messages.

There’s one from Luke in the groupchat, We’ve got Forest reserved at 5:00 PM the Saturday before Michael’s birthday. The restaurant does close earlier than most at 8 just as a heads up.

Calum hadn’t been fully aware that Forest was even an option for the dinner. He’d tossed out a few options, one was a sushi place that Michael loved for late lunch or a really early dinner and the other was a French inspired cuisine. But it wouldn’t shock Calum if he’d lost track of the names. It does make Calum wonder if it would be feasible to ask you to join. Would it be too awkward for you?

There’s a few more texts in the chat so Calum scrolls down. Ashton asks about the other options they’d discussed and Luke replied that they’d been booked for the time for the time or wouldn’t let reservations be made this far in advance. Forest has a three week window for reservations which allows them to get to the slot now. Given how rapidly schedules shift, Calum knows it’s better to take this now rather than wait too much longer.

Luke, how many did you confirm for? Calum asks.

They can only support a group of 12 max. So I went with that. I can keep checking other places too in the meantime.

Calum settles into his office chair, popping a few more buttons at his dress shirt. A text from Michael comes through. Forest is cool with me. My parents and I are doing things on my actual birthday. We should be good at 12. There’s you three, me, our plus ones and then a couple dudes I worked with previously I’d want to do dinner with. We can say 9 for a bigger group at some local bars and then call it a night by midnight if that’s cool?

Sounds good to me, Luke replies.

Cool with me, Calum answers and Ashton replies with the same sentiment of an affirmative.

Calum wipes to take him back to his text message threads and taps on your name. Michael’s birthday dinner is going to be 5PM on the 17th. It’s at Forest. Do you know if you’ll be working?

The answer feels like a no. You wouldn’t know because he doubts the schedules made that far out in advance. But Calum prays. He hopes maybe by the cosmos divine art you can see the text message here soon. A watch pot never boils and his eyes glued to the screen won’t make you respond faster. So Calum turns back to his office computer, saves some work for the templates, and data collection. It is a Friday and there’s very little work that he’ll be able to get done or want to get done at this moment.

The elevator settles and the doors open up to the residency hall. Calum, if he ever had a tie on, would absolutely be tugging it off his neck as he walks towards his bedroom door. Instead, he only has the buttons he works at on his shirt. There’s still no text from you. He knows the dinner rush has gone up in its major swing. But when his phone buzzes, and Calum checks it to be sure if it’s not you, he contemplates if he’s going to agree to the schedule he made of working out in the evenings. He knows he should. There’s been a lot of time spent indoors, cooped up by his computer and various documents. It’ll be good for him, even if it’ll hurt just a little, so Calum pulls himself free from the dress pants, shirt, and shoes. He dawns himself into the basketball shorts, his workout sneakers and a t-shirt. He even takes the stairs back down.

The air is crisp outside; it hits his lungs sharply and Calum’s grateful for it. The grass crunches just a little under his feet as he settles the free weights down. Calum starts with stretches, trying to loosen the left hip that likes to get a bit stiff on him. It’s an old injury, probably from one of the few times Calum pushed himself a little too hard in games. He hardly feels it when he’s on top of his physical therapy regime. But he falls off every few weeks when things get busy and the stiffness makes itself known more and more. Calum knows he should coordinate another appointment with his physical therapist about it. Maybe during the holiday break he’ll snag an appointment.

His headphones play a thrash of guitars, the high tssing of the symbols on the drum kit come filtering through. Calum pulls the dumbbell up, the tightening of his bicep letting him know he’s doing the exercise right. As much as it can feel like a drag, as much as the weights do get heavier as the sets go on, Calum finds the small sliver of peace. When he’s got no thoughts but keeping track of his reps. The motions are up and down, the brace of his core, the inhale and exhale. Calum focuses on the press, the pushing of the ground away from his body as he goes through a round of pushups.

Twenty-nine, thirty.

His music lowers for a moment, a chime louder than his music. Calum keeps pushing up, taking himself back down, and then pushing back up. Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six. Another chime cuts through.

Forty.

His knees brush the ground first as he releases his plank and digs out his phone. I wish I’d seen this sooner, reads your reply. Turner just asked me if I was okay with working that day because of a large party and I said yes.

Calum pants, the sweat running down the lines of his face. Though it’s cold outside, the jumping jacks, the exertion of his exercises have made him sweat. Calum can’t lie, part of him is tempted to ask if you could switch out the hours, but he knows. You’re not just working to kill time in the day. You’re working to survive. You’re working to take care of yourself and potentially as it looms your siblings too.

Calum wipes at his brow before working over the screen to reply. Well, the invitation for you to join for drinks after will still stand if you’re up for it.

Sounds good. I’ll make sure Michael’s well taken care of though. Promise. To make up for missing out on the festivities, could you find out his favorite sweet treat?

Calum nods without thinking. I will. Let me know when you get home, yeah?

Of course. Also, to answer your earlier question: it’s busy as fuck. I’m literally in the freezer right now trying to compose myself just for a second.

Calum snorts at the mental image--you in your uniform tucked into the walk-in freezer. But he also knows what it means, just how busy things have gotten. A piece of guilt rises up in his throat, like bile it burns. He’d never meant to make things worse. He never meant to put you in such positions. But nothing changes what’s happened. The only thing now is forward. The only thing now is what could be made of what’s happening in the present.

Tell the tomatoes to be kind to you, Calum replies.

“Don’t tell me I need to call the nurse with the way you’re breathing.”

Calum looks up to his father, who grins down at him. Calum laughs at the quip, as patchy as it comes. “No, no need to call the nurse.”

“Dinner’s ready, you know. Pretty sure it’s some fancy pasta I’ll never be able to pronounce."

With how thick the early evening is around them, how dark it is for only how early it feels, Calum is not shocked that it is dinner time. He nods, wiping at his dripping brow again. “I need to clean up but I’ll be there in a minute.”

His dad lingers and the words are pressing at the back of Calum’s teeth, if everything is okay, but his dad beats him to the punch. David grunts as he lowers himself into the grass next to Calum. “You’ll help me up, right?”

“Yeah, Pops, I will. What’s up? I thought dinner was ready with some fancy pasta you can’t pronounce.”

“It is, it is. But I was, well, I know there’s been a lot of conversation that’s sort of up in the air about when me and your mother are going to take a step back from the game. And I know it’s something you’re thinking about. You did real well in your press conference today. I do think that sometimes the best solutions are the most simple ones. I just wanted to see when the two of us could really sit down and talk about what that transition will look like and when we’re both comfortable with it. And, and I’m not asking we do it right now. But soon, in the new year, we look at our schedules and find a good day for it.”

It’d been an ever approaching deadline--something that would happen and would happen sooner rather than later. But it still felt far away in praxis. Transitioning of power was a thing that was approaching but it hadn’t hit the horizon. Now, though, as Calum watches his father, he thinks perhaps he’d been counting on at least a couple more years, something closer to thirty than not but nothing ever happens like anyone wants for it too.

Calum nods though at his father’s request. “Yeah, we can find a time for that.”

“Good, good,” David returns, patting at Calum’s knee. “And things are okay? Anything you need to talk about?”

“Things are okay.” They’re far from perfect, but they’re not bad. Yet, Calum doesn’t voice that. The balance in the universe was not to make things perfect by his definition.

“That doesn’t sound too convincing. You alright?”

“It’s--it’s just life, Dad. You know? Every up has a down.”

“What kind of downs are we talking?”

From the night, Calum catches the scratch of the crickets tuning up for the night time songs. The darkness is closing in rapidly and ruthlessly. As much as Calum did want to voice his concerns, he also knows his father is going to be a solution oriented person. The second a problem crops up, his father wants to find a solution for it. Calum’s not really looking for solutions right now. “It’s anthills,” Calum answers. Because they are, they are small concerns in the grand scheme of everything. “But I can handle them. I know I can.”

“Well, if you need reinforcements, I got your back.”

“Will do, Dad. Thanks.”

“And, and if you need to just vent, I’m here for that too.”

It’s anthills. And they were small, but still mighty. “Guess, it’s just sort of scary to know I’ll actually be taking over, you know? It was real, but was always sort of in the distance.”

“It is scary,” David agrees. “It’s very scary. But just because you’d be taking over doesn’t mean I’m not there to help. Consider me a consultant.”

“What’s your retainer fee?” Calum jokes, watching the grin bloom on his father’s face.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. But it’s okay if it’s scary. You’re human doing something new for the very first time. It’s going to be scary. And the next time you do something for the first time, that’ll be scary too. But the more you do the things, the less scary it gets you know. It’s like when you learned to drive. You were terrified to get behind that wheel. But look at you now. A driving whizz. It’ll take you some time, but I’ll still be there for you. Promise, son.”

It’s reassuring, certainly. Calum won’t be doing it all alone, but it’ll be his face and his name that’s riding on everything that comes after the transition. That’s the part that terrifies him. Yet, Calum can’t control what hasn’t happened yet. To worry about what hasn’t happened wouldn’t only serve to paralyze Calum in the long run. But the fear bubbles, like a pot left on simmer, Calum can feel it in his gut. It’s going to be a strange time. “Thanks, Pops,” Calum offers softly.

“You’re welcome. Now, help me up, yeah?”

Calum laughs as he works himself up. “No one told you sit down on the grass.”

“Oh, hush.”

It’s with a few grunts, but Calum helps his dad up. “You good?” Calum asks and gets a nod in response. “I’m going to get these weights inside and at least wash my hands and face before joining you and Mum.”

“See you inside.”

Calum’s left with a pat on his back, but as the night chirps around him, he hopes that he’s not really alone in all of this. The weights are a little heavier than they were before but Calum gets them up with no issue. He ducks into one of the bathrooms on the first floor, washing his hands before splashing water over his face. He watches the water drip down his chin. He wants to tell you--how scared he is, how much he doesn’t want to do this, but knows he’s got no other choice. But will it seem trivial?

Yet somehow right behind the doubt, he hears your voice, telling him that it doesn’t matter if it’s small, all that matters is that he’s scared. And that it’ll be okay. It’ll be okay, Calum chants to himself down the hallway and back into the kitchen. It’ll all be okay. Because it has to be okay. Because it’s been six years of Calum in Cabinet and it’s all worked out so far. So it’ll keep working out in the end.

“Oh, you stink,” Joy laughs, as Calum slides into the bench across the table.

“I washed my hands and face at the very least,” he grins-- a rule ingrained into him from his childhood.

She shakes her head, sliding the plate closer his way. “At least there was that.”

The warm water is a welcomed reprieve, after dinner and clambering his way back upstairs, Calum can feel himself craving bed. It’s early, he knows. But the fear from transition is heavy on his bones. It’s not even late enough for you to be off work so he can’t call as you drive back to your apartment. And he wants to stay awake long enough for that, for the hum of your drive and the soft lull of your voice.

But in the stillness, Calum holds to the quiet voice in the back of his head. What will it all mean when he takes over? All the while you asked him what he wanted to do, what really made him happy, and all the while Calum answered that he would always do his duty, he would serve. And he’d be proud to serve; he is. But his father has already been the crutch. Calum’s never been on his own doing this. Does he actually want to do it? Or is this just the natural reaction of fear?

It all feels like being underwater. When he falls into his mattress, Calum feels the whoosh of air like a head ducking under the surface of water. There is a world above him--the duty he’s always followed, the path that always felt like loomed before him no matter what twists and turns he took in his life. But he is in the water, arms scoping water at his sides to keep him afloat and his movements feel slow and sluggish. Is this really all that he’s wanted? Could it all be just the things Calum’s told himself to believe so it makes it feel less like force and more like choice?

The ticking of the clock is long, but at some point his ears goes numb to the sound, focused instead of keeping up with the race of his thoughts. He chases them round and round as they go.

The ringing of his phone pulls him back up and out of the rush and thump of his internal dialogue. Calum fumbles for a moment to get the phone off the charger, but when he finally gets a firm grip, he answers the call.

“Hi, love,” you answer--certain and confident that it’s even Calum who’s answered.

“Hi, baby,” he returns, falling back down into the mattress again.

“What is it? Something on your mind?”

“How’d you know?” he laughs. To him, he sounds all the same. But the immediacy in your question makes him wonder if he’s really as good as he thinks at keeping things under wraps with you.

“Just a feeling,” you return.

“I think my number’s been called. Dad wants to talk in the new year about transitioning out of power.”

You hum. In the background, Calum hears the beeps of cars, the rush of the wind as you walk, probably to your car. “It was always coming. But I sense something more.”

“It’s scary. Didn’t think it would be so soon. Don’t know if it’s fear or genuine how much I’m worried about taking over.”

“Fear of what?” you question. “Fear just because it’s new or something else?”

Calum pulls his phone from his hear, tapping to switch the conversation to speakerphone. It’s buying him time. Because if he says it out loud, it feels like he’s making it true. But he’s not going to hide from you. He won’t let himself do that. “Fear that I don’t know what I really want.”

“We’re all afraid of that.” Your voice echoes against the four walls of his room, fills the space in such a way that he could hardly imagine that you’re just in the bathroom.

“You seemed pretty confident about cooking.”

“It’s a means to an end. Something that I can use anywhere to make ends meet. I like cooking, at the end of the day it helps me not feel so bad about life. But I don’t know if I was put on this planet just to cook or not.”

“I guess that’s the question, huh. Have I been put on this planet just to work in politics?”

“Well,” you start, a pause echoes with the thud of your car door. “Have you? Have you been put on this planet just to work in politics?”

He wants to say no. But if he’s honest, this has always been the end of the line for him. Taking over as King was his finish line. That was the stamp on his youth, to mail it off and close down the chapter. Calum’s always thought that this is in fact the end. It’s a means to an end. But even if Calum wants to agree that he hasn’t been put on this earth just to wind up as King, he doesn't know what else is there?

“But what am I if not meant to be King?”

“Well, you’re Calum. Who trained for a summer in Brazil for football, who plays the guitar, writes some songs. You’re Calum who loved his dog for every second he walked the earth. You’re Calum who baked his mother a birthday cake and it actually held together. You’re Calum, who manages to find just the right words when they’re needed, who loves deeply and selectively. And you’ll be so much more too. But the truth of the matter, you will never find that answer in a day, in just one conversation. It’ll take years. You’ll be a King, and work in politics, and be so much more. This is not an either-or situation, maybe. I know I asked previously about it. And I apologize if that made it seem like you had to choose. Perhaps, you don’t have to choose.”

Perhaps, you don’t have to choose. “Yeah,” Calum agrees, gaze focusing in on his ceiling. He does actually miss those stars now that he thinks about it. He wonders where he could find the stencils again. Would it be stupid to paint them back? “Maybe you’re right.”

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