Crashing into Love by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Twelve

Callie

I hustle back toward mom, my heart pounding, sending reverberations through me, each one sharper and more jagged than the last. I try to focus on getting to mom, on her alone, because the second I let my mind stray everything will start to spin out of control.

My fists are clenched tightly, fingernails jabbing into my palms, my breath coming far too fast.

“Callie,” Conrad calls, jogging after me, causing several people to glance over at us in curiosity.

I turn away from them all, striding over to a trellis and standing beneath it, staring up at the vines. Tangled like the anxiety inside me, wrapping around every part of me and tightening, squeezing until I can’t think anymore.

I can’t process anything except for the sight of those panties on the door handle – that woman’s panties – and the way Conrad and that woman were holding hands.

“I’m an idiot,” I murmur, folding my arms.

“Callie…”

He moves to touch me and I slink away, almost snapping at him. The only thing that keeps me somewhat contained is the sound of the crowd behind me. After Conrad darted away, that seemed to break the spell on everyone contained within the assembly zone, and now people are mill around, talking, as the building manager tries to figure everything out.

Still, I don’t want to make a scene.

“I’m an idiot,” I repeat, with more fury in my voice this time. “I let myself believe you felt the same for me. I let myself believe all that stuff you said, about how close we are, about how we’re meant to be together. I let myself believe you, Conrad, and now you’ve… you’ve…”

“It’s not what you think,” he says, walking around in front of me and staring down firmly. “It’s not even close to what you think. Just let me—”

Something buzzes from his pocket and his face drops. His eyes grow cold and a grim tightness moves across his features, his jaw, his temples thrumming like he’s about to let out a howl.

“What’s this?” I whisper.

“My pager.” He laughs in disbelief, reaching into his pocket and taking it out. “And of course I have to go in. Of course, right this fucking second, I have to go in. I’m sorry, Callie. But please.”

“Conrad—”

He darts his hands forward and grabs onto mine, squeezing them tightly, staring at me so his sharp blues burn into me. “Just wait here until I get back. Don’t make me beg you. This isn’t what you think at all, but I don’t have time to explain it right now.”

“They were panties on your door, weren’t they?” I say.

“Yes.”

“Hers?”

He glances toward the exit, probably thinking about his car and the hospital. He has his keys on him, in his suit jacket pocket. He has his pager, everything he needs to disappear for the next few hours. A nasty part of me whispers this is a trick, he faked the pager call.

But I heard it.

I need to try and calm myself down if that’s even freaking possible.

“Yes. But I can’t explain it all now. On my mother, Callie, I swear you’re the only woman I want. Wait for me.”

His voice gruff and demanding toward the end, a note of command nestled within the plea.

I laugh bitterly, turning away from him. “Where the heck am I going to go, huh? Fine. I’ll wait for you. It’ll give you plenty of time to think of a good lie.”

I want to whip back the last statement as soon as I throw it out there. It sounds so mean, so cruel as it leaves my lips. But I bite down.

I can’t let myself seem weak right now, and I don’t even think I could say anything else with the tears threatening to surge up my throat, making anything else impossible to handle.

Conrad leans forward and crushes me into a hug. I tell myself I have no choice as he squeezes me against his body, tightening his grip, but the truth is I welcome the embrace. I sink into him, laying my cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat against my ear.

“I really have to go,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “You’ll be here when I get back. Then we’ll talk.”

He says it with complete certainty that I won’t leave him. And then he tucks something inside the pocket of my shorts, lets me go, and stalks quickly away, leaving me to wonder if he’s heading to the hospital or chasing after her.

I try to remember his words, his promise that this isn’t how it seems, but I can’t stop thinking about the sight of him and that woman – that thin, tall, pretty freaking woman.

She is everything I’m not, with her radiant blonde hair and her gym-honed body, like something from a billboard, exactly the sort of woman I’d imagined Conrad to be with when this all started. I can’t push the image away, so instead, I brush the hair from my face and march over to mom.

“Is everything okay?” she murmurs, almost sounding like the old Janet, the woman she was before dad’s car accident.

I sniffle, forcing back a sob of frustration. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

She reaches over and squeezes onto my shoulder. “You can be honest, Callie. It’s what moms are here for.”

I look at her, into her eyes, seeing that she’s in one of her good moods. Or one of her less self-destructive moods. Maybe it’s all the action of the evening, coming here, meeting Conrad, the fire alarm – forcing her to exist outside of herself, to engage with the world rather than sleep and sink into memories.

But this has happened before, these flashes of lucidity, and it always ends the same. I can’t risk burdening her with too much too fast.

Reaching up, I lay my hand on hers, trying for a smile. “It’s going to be fine. Conrad has to go to the hospital, but we’ve got the apartment to ourselves until he gets back. Maybe tomorrow we could have a movie morning or something?”

She nods, again giving me that sense that the old mom might be returning. But I can’t allow myself to entertain those thoughts too seriously because when she reverts to her catatonic state the disappointment will swell up inside of me as it’s done countless times before.

I think about what Conrad said, the way he was going to arrange for grief counseling for her. She needs it badly, needs to have a professional pick apart all the confusion in her mind and make some sense of it. She needs somebody to tell her – make her believe – that she’s going to be okay even if dad isn’t here anymore.

And no matter how hard I try, I can never seem to do it.

Conrad said he’d help, fine, but what about that blonde haired woman with her fit body and her shiny smile and her features that are everything I’m not?

“Callie?”

I blink, realizing I’ve drifted away into my thoughts.

“Sorry? What did you say?”

Mom frowns. “I said a movie morning sounds nice. But first, we need to get some sleep. This has been a long, long day.”

I nod, agreement fueling the movement. I started the day late, having slept in from a late shift the night before, and then it was nonstop deliveries until I rammed my car into Conrad’s. And now I’m here, standing in the courtyard of an apartment building that would seem like a dream if I couldn’t feel the ground beneath my feet.

Reaching into my pocket, I take out the item Conrad tucked away before he left. It’s his key for the apartment, meaning we’ll be able to get back into the building.

It’s like he really freaking wants me to stay.

* * *

The next morning – after a night where sleep came and went in fitful bursts – I wander into the open plan kitchen area to find mom standing at the stovetop, moving a wooden spoon methodically around a pan.

I pause for a moment, staring in disbelief, as though she’s going to go poof and disappear in a cloud of smoke. I can’t remember the last time I saw her cooking, and it makes me wonder if I’m still asleep.

“Mom?” I move over to the counter, resting my forearms against it as though to get a better look at her. “Are you okay?”

“Scrambled eggs, right?” Her voice is strained, her eyes wide and sleepless. But she’s trying. It’s been a while since she’s tried, a few months at least. “They’re your favorite? And I know you like them rubbery.”

It’s an old joke of ours and I laugh, laugh because mom is trying to be better, more present, and that’s no small thing. I try not to let myself think about the last time this happened, when she spent a whole week whisking around the apartment, fixing things, tidying up, cooking… only to crumble one day and return to bed, refusing to speak for several days.

No, no, I won’t allow myself to poison this goodness with negativity.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say. “And yeah, the more rubbery the better.”

She nods and gestures to the phone, resting on the corner of the counter. The red light blinking. “There’s a message for you on the machine.”

“For me?”

“Yeah. It’s Conrad.”

I swallow, nodding, even as part of me wants to turn and sprint back to the bedroom so I don’t have to hear his voice.

All night I’ve been picturing him and that woman – the panties wrapped around the door.

Reaching over, I press the play button.

“Hey, Callie.” His voice is loud, but even so, I can hear mayhem behind him, people rushing around. “I’m going to be here until at least this evening. It’s a real shit show. Wait for me until I get back, okay? And then I’ll explain everything. I have to go. Bye.”

I drop my head into my hands, my thought whirring, leaping around from the kiss, to the feel of his hands and his tongue against my body, to his possessive words, and finally to that sight, etched into my memory, branded.

The way they clasped onto each other. The way he snatched his hands away.

Please, Conrad, please have a good reason.

I don’t want to have to leave him.