All I Ever Wanted (31 page)

“Mmm,” she said.

Okay. While it was undeniable that Jane McFarland
did great things, she wasn't the easiest person to like. My left eye started to throb as I listened to her continue with her thinly veiled criticism. Ian just sat there, seemingly unaffected, but the urge to defend him swelled in my heart. I actually had to clamp my lips shut to keep from saying anything.

Dinner was painfully awkward, not to mention
nasty
…the ravioli tasted like a combination between burnt coffee scrapings and rope. As for the sweet and sour cauliflower…need I say more? It was definitely a culinary “don't.” Jane was on her fourth attempt to convince Ian to return to medical school so he, like Perfect Alejandro, could follow in her holy work. The thing was, her work
was
holy, there was no denying that. But she couldn't seem to accept that Ian didn't want the same thing.

She didn't touch the cake I'd baked. I couldn't blame her for that. Note to self—tofu and chocolate do not a happy marriage make. Sighing, I stirred a spoonful of sugar into my coffee.

“Dear, you should read about what conditions are like for sugarcane workers,” she said, finally addressing me. “Well, that's condescending of me. Perhaps you already know.”

“I don't,” I admitted, suppressing a sigh.

“No, I don't suppose you do,” she murmured. “Most Americans don't.” Strike 10,006 against Callie/Cassie…she put sugar in her coffee, the ignorant, disgusting American.

And then…and then we heard a little chirp. For a second, I didn't realize what it was…not until my sister's voice boomed into our lovely evening.

“Callie! Guess what! I just had sex! It was amazing!”

“Excuse me!” I lunged from the table. Shit! Earlier today, I'd used the
push to talk
feature, as the walkie-talkie method tended to work better out here by the lake. Alas…oh, alas!…I'd forgotten to turn it off.

“I mean, sure,” Hester continued, “I've, you know,
felt
things. I own a vibrator, after all. But this was
much
better than anything you can buy online, you know?”

Where was my purse, dammit all to hell? Counter? No. Desk? No! Ah, right, over there by the back door. Hester's thunderous voice continued to detonate from the depths of my vast orange bag. “Seriously! I thought I was going to end up clinging to the ceiling by my fingernails! I know you said you were doing the vet, and he does seem hot, but listen… I hope he's
half
as good as Louis.”

“Holy crap!” I blurted. I jerked open my purse and shoveled through the debris for my phone. Tampon, paperback, picture of Bronte and Josephine, wallet. No phone. Come on!

“Callie? You there? Well, anyway, just wanted to share the big news. I'm screwing a mortician and yes, it really is true. They do it stiffer.” My hand closed around the phone. “Gotta go. I think I'm up for round two! Bye!”

I stabbed the off button. The quiet was deafening…not that I could hear anyway, the way my pulse was roaring in my ears. I returned the phone to my purse and took a breath.

“Guess what?” I said. “My sister has a boyfriend.”

Neither of them said a word. Angie, however, wagged her plumy tail. I was grateful.

Back to the table I went, face flaming. Finished off that glass of wine, oh, yes I did. It was the only friendly thing at the table. “Sorry about that,” I muttered.

“What a lovely family you must have,” Jane said, raising her eyebrow.

“You know what?” I snapped. “They are lovely. I have a
great
family. We love each other, we accept each other, we don't sit around once a year talking about how disappointed we are in each other.”

“Callie,” Ian said in a low voice.

I ignored him. “My sister may be a little, well…weird, but she's a great mother to both her kids. She'd never try to make them feel like they'd let her down.”

“Callie,” Ian said again.

Jane, however, simply looked amused. “Oh, no, speak your mind, dear.”

I swallowed and unclenched my fists. “I just think maybe…maybe you should stop telling Ian what he should do with his life. He lost his parents when he was little—”

“She knows what happened, Callie,” Ian said quietly.

“—and maybe you should stop trying to convert him to your mission and just back off.”

Ian closed his eyes briefly. The kitchen clock ticked. Angie sighed.

“Well,” Jane said, unfazed. “I guess we know where Cassie stands.”

I waited for Ian to correct her. He didn't.

“Okay,” I said, standing. My hip bumped the table, sloshing my untouched, sugary coffee. “Um, I have to run. It was good to meet you, Dr. McFarland. Have a safe trip back. Ian…” My heart was thudding so hard I thought I might barf, and not because I'd eaten beet ravioli (though surely that didn't help matters). “See you soon, I'm sure.”

He cut his eyes to me, and for the first time since I met him, I saw that he was angry. My chest tightened. How could he be mad at
me?
I defended him!
I
thought he was pretty damn wonderful.

“Actually, I'm the one who should go,” Jane said calmly, rising from the table. “I'm heading to Manchester Airport. That's not too far, is it?”

“I'll get you directions,” Ian said. “Come in the den, Jane.” He glanced over at me, his eyes still hot, and led his aunt into the other room.

Was I supposed to stay? It didn't seem right to just walk out right now, while they were looking up directions on Google. Because I wasn't sure what else to do, I cleared the table, tossing Jane's untouched cake into the trash with more force than was necessary. Loaded the dishwasher. Ian always put all the forks in one quadrant of the silverware holder, all the spoons in another, the knives in a third…you know what? I mixed them all up. So there. Swallowed against the sharp lump of tears in my throat. Listened to them talking in Spanish. Point taken.
We don't want you to know what we're talking about.

They came back into the great room a few minutes later. “Well, it's certainly been interesting meeting you, Callie,” Ian's aunt said matter-of-factly.

“Same here,” I said.
Interesting
didn't come close.

“Thank you for cooking, dear.” She didn't
seem
to be making fun of me.

“You're welcome.”

“I'll walk you to the car, Jane.” Ian held the door, and out they went. I took a deep breath, felt the tears sting my eyes. Figured emotional diarrhea was just around the corner.

From the light over Ian's garage, I could see the two of them, Ian a good eight or ten inches taller than his aunt. They talked for a minute or two, then Ian gave her a hug, picking her up a little as he did. Jane reached up and tousled
his hair, then got into her rental car and backed around, her tires crunching on the gravel driveway.

Ian was very quiet when he came back in. His dog, sensing her master's mood, slunk into the den. I wished I could follow.

“So,” I said, swallowing.

He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the floor, practically burning a hole in it. “Was I somehow unclear when I asked you not to…
campaign
for me, Calliope?” he asked, not looking up.

Crap. Things were never good when my full name was used. “Nope. Not unclear.”

“But you did anyway.”

I took a shaky breath. “Well, Ian, I'm sorry, but I just felt she should be…proud. Of you. Is that such a bad thing?”

“She's not going to be proud, Callie. I don't need her to be. And I
don't
need her to approve of you. What really bothers me about tonight is that you didn't respect the fact that perhaps I know more about my family than you do.”

“Well, don't we sound all Jane Austen,” I said. “Although it's funny, you and Mr. Darcy have a lot in common.”

Ian failed to appreciate the comparison. “I'm also a little uncomfortable with your view of me as a tragic orphan. Jane did her best with a child she didn't expect or want. That was more than anyone else was offering.”

My eyes filled. Poor Ian! Of course, he'd smite me for thinking that, but come on!

He wasn't done. “I think tonight had more to do with your need for people to adore you than with my relationship with Jane.”

“It is not about that, Ian!” I said. “She was mean to you! I stuck up for you!”

“She's not mean, Callie, and I don't need defending. Believe it or not, I can handle my aunt.”

“Then why didn't you straighten her out on my name? Couldn't you have done that, Ian?”

He raised his hands in frustration. “She knows your name, Callie. She was baiting you, and you bit. I understand my aunt. I know what she wants for me, and she's not going to get it. Okay?” His voice rose. “You're the one who had the problem. Not me. This whole night…this is just the way things are, and you being Little Miss Sunshine was not going to change that, and I told you that, but you couldn't leave it alone, could you?”

I grabbed my purse. “You know what, Ian? I'm sorry I have so many inconvenient human emotions. I know you hate that sort of thing. I wish I could be more like your dog, who's perfect in every way. I'm sorry I want people to like me, since I know you don't give a rat's ass about that sort of thing. I'm also sorry—” here I hiccupped, so dignified “—that I care about you enough to get upset when someone treats you like shit. I'm sorry that Hester called, and I'm sorry I actually voiced an opinion.” I dashed the heels of my hands across my eyes.

“Don't cry,” he added tightly.

“Sorry,” I bit out. Then I opened the door and ran down the porch steps.

“Callie, wait,” Ian called, sounding defeated.

“You know what, Ian? I'm gonna go,” I said. “Talk to you soon.” With that, I got in my car and drove off into the dark country night.

O
NCE IN THE CAR
,
I wasn't sure where to go. Noah had told me that he had, in his words, “romantic interests.” Clearly I didn't want to run into him and Jody in a compromising situation again. Hester, too, was busy, though my brain shied away from the thought of her with Louis. God! There'd been enough carnage tonight. I knew Annie would take me in, but it was late. Besides, she and Jack were probably cuddled on the couch, cooing at each other.

That left Mom or Dad, and as usual, I picked Dad. His house was dark, and no car was in the driveway. He might be on the road…his bowling club did little overnights to different alleys throughout the Northeast. I unlocked the door and went in. “Dad?” I called softly, just in case he was home.

“Who's there?” a voice called from upstairs.

I turned on the stairs light. My brother blinked and covered his eyes. “Christly, Callie, turn that fucking light off.”

“Sorry,” I said, obeying. “What are you doing here?”

“Mom's been on my ass lately. Figured I'd hide out here. What about you, sis?”

I sat down on the stairs. A thin beam of pinkish light from the streetlamp sliced through the front windows. “I had a fight with my boyfriend,” I said.

“Mark?”

I glanced up, startled. The idea of Mark and me seemed like a long, long time ago, a foggy memory best left untouched. “No. Ian. The vet. We've been…seeing each other.”

“What did you fight about?” Freddie asked.

“I had emotional diarrhea,” I said glumly.

“Now there's a pretty image,” he muttered. The stairs creaked as Fred came down. He sat next to me, slung his arm around my shoulders. “Tell your brilliant child prodigy of a brother,” he said.

“Seriously? You won't tweet this or anything?”

“Fine. Steal my fun. I won't tweet. Or blog. Or put you on YouTube.”

Odd, to be telling my cute little brother my romantic woes, but he listened mostly in silence, except for the strangled noises of appropriate horror he made when I mentioned Hester's interruption.

“So what should I do?” I asked, feeling the prickle of tears yet again.

“You should've stayed and shagged him,” my brother advised sagely. “We men are very basic. We'll forgive anything for a little action.”

“You're not a man, Freddie my love. You're a mere child.” My voice was a little hollow. Freddie didn't answer. “So how are things with you?” I asked.

He sighed. “I don't know, Callie. I lack direction.”

“I think we're all aware of that, honey.” Slipping off my shoes, I tipped my head against the wall. “Is there anything you love to do?”

“Other than get laid, you mean?”

“Yes, Fred, and I'd rather not discuss your tomcatting, okay? I changed your diapers and all that.”

Freddie was quiet for a minute. “I like having fun. Sounds stupid, right? I like to hike and kayak and fish. I don't think the market is great for river guides, though.”

“Wanted: Mountain Man,” I said. He chuckled, and I patted his bare foot. “Well, what are you best at? You're a math whiz, your blogs are hilarious, you have a huge following on Twitter, you built a computer when you were twelve, you're as charming as Dad, so you'd be great in some kind of schmoozing job…”

“See, that's the thing,” Freddie said. “I'm good at everything. The crushing price of genius.”

“Okay, brat. I'm going to bed. How about you?”

“I'm gonna stay up and watch TV and eat all Dad's ice cream.” He put his hand on my head. “Want to keep your little brother company?”

“Sure,” I said, and fifteen minutes later, I was wearing a pair of my dad's pajamas, watching
Evil Dead III
and doing my part to support Ben & Jerry. And trying hard not to think of Ian.

 

I
RAN HOME THE NEXT
morning to change. Noah was up (and alone), Bowie quivering at his side as my grandfather absentmindedly fed him bits of bacon and perused the local paper. “Well, well, well,” I said, getting a cup of coffee. “You made your own breakfast. I'm so proud.” I looked around. “Or has Jody replaced me as your slave?”

“Pipe down, youngster, I'm reading.” He glanced up, then frowned. “What happened? You look awful. You have a fight with that vet of yours?”

I blinked. Most of my conversations with Noah went something like
Find my leg, dammit!
and me replying
Yes, Master.
“Wow. Yes, I did.”

He stared at me a minute longer. “Well. Things'll work out. Don't you worry.”

“I'm worried anyway.” My throat tightened.

“Ah, Callie. You had a fight, you'll make up.” He slipped Bowie some more bacon, which my dog inhaled. “Give the boy some time. He's not used to the likes of you.”

“What's that mean?” I asked.

“Means you're…big.”

“Thank you. I feel much better.”

“You fill up the whole room, sweetheart, try to fix everyone's problems, be everyone's friend. You don't have to try so hard. We'll love you just the same.”

Not the first time I heard that, was it? “You just implied you loved me, Noah. What's next? A Hallmark card? This Jody Bingham thing is transforming you.”

He grinned. “You never know.”

 

W
ORK SEEMED ENDLESS THAT
day. I kept my office door closed, ground out copy and tried to stay away from other people. And, of course, obsessed over Ian, trying to figure out how to smooth things over, how to say the exact right thing so we'd be back to where we were. Because where we'd been…that was a nice place. A
very
nice place. As for Ian himself, he didn't call or e-mail…the only personal message I got all day was from my mom, summoning me to a family meeting at the funeral home after work. My guess was a career intervention for Fred.

Nothing from Ian. Half a dozen times, I picked up the phone to call his office, and half a dozen times, I put the phone back.

You don't have to try so hard.
The problem was, I didn't know how to do anything else.

At five-thirty, I tidied my desk and said goodbye to Pete and Leila. Damien and Karen had left already, as had Fleur. Muriel was once again in California. At least there was that.

“Have a good night, Mark,” I said, pausing at his door.

“Hey, Callie. You, too.” He stood up and smiled. “You look pretty today. Well, you look pretty all the time. If I'm allowed to say that, that is.”

I hesitated. “Uh…sure.”

“Callie, do you have a sec?” he asked, indicating the two empty seats in front of his desk.

“I have plans, actually.”

“Just for a minute?”

We both sat down. Mark looked at his hands. “I miss us talking,” he said, his voice quiet. His eyes dropped to my mouth, then rose back to my eyes.

“What did you want to talk about?” I asked, shifting slightly away from him.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don't know,” he said. “I just miss you, and I hope that…I don't know.” He sighed. “We've been friends a long time, haven't we?”

“I guess so,” I said.

He was silent a minute. “What do you think about Muriel and me, Callie?”

The question caught me off guard. “Oh…I don't know, Mark, and I…I don't want to have this conversation.”

He shook his head and held up his hands. “No, no. You're right. I'm sorry. I just…I could use a woman's opinion. That's all. I didn't mean to put you on the spot.”

“Ask your mom,” I suggested.

He grinned. “Yes. Much more appropriate. You
just…” He looked down at his hands, then gave me the James Dean look, lowered head, sheepish grin. “You have a way about you, Callie. It's…special. You're special. I hope you know that.” His smile faded. “Very special.”

The air in the office seemed to change. My knees prickled uncomfortably. Mark's eyes dropped once more to my mouth and stayed there. When he spoke next, his voice was very quiet. “I seem to be thinking about Santa Fe a lot these days.”

My breath caught. “Excuse me?”

He raised his eyes back to mine, gave a little smile and shrugged. “I don't know. It was…special. A special time.”

Couldn't the man think of another adjective? I stood up fast. “I have to go, Mark. See you tomorrow.”

“Callie…” I waited, but then he sighed. “See you tomorrow. Have a great night.”

Out on the street, I took a few cleansing breaths, my breath fogging in the darkening evening. Stupid Mark. What was
that
all about, huh? I knew Santa Fe was special, I'd spent practically an entire
year
getting over how special it was, I
told
him about its specialness the night he dumped me and he dumped me anyway! And how dare he look at my mouth that way after all he'd put me through?

I took a few more breaths, the sharp scent of autumn leaves and woodsmoke finally calming me. Jake Pelletier pulled into a parking space in front of Whoop & Holler, saw me and waved. I waved back, then headed up the hill toward the funeral home.

I was over Mark. I was. I just didn't appreciate him stirring up the muck of my feelings from the past. Especially the day after my very first fight with Ian.

Speaking of my fight with Ian, it was time to fix that.
Time for some wild monkey make-up sex. Last night had been awkward, we'd fought, now we'd make up. Because a day without hearing from him or seeing him was just not acceptable.

You go, girl,
Mrs. Obama said, and I smiled at the thought. But first, my family.

“Callie, you're here!” Mom declared as I walked in the family entrance of the funeral home. My sibs, nieces and parents were all here.

“Hey, everyone,” I said, unwinding myself from my Pashmina (on sale, a deep shade of rose, so soft!).

“Where's your grandfather?” Mom asked.

“I came straight from work. And contrary to popular belief, I am not my grandfather's keeper,” I said.

“She's more like his slave,” Freddie said.

“You are correct. And Fred, since you're shiftless, unemployed and have yet to graduate from college, why don't you take over?”

“I just called over there, and no one answered,” Mom said.

“He's probably with his lady love,” I suggested. “Hi, Josephine! Your hair looks so pretty!” My niece held up her arms, and even though she was getting big, I picked her up, sniffing her neck, making her giggle. “You smell like fairy dust,” I told her, and she grinned back at me, then wriggled down to go pick my father's pocket, a life skill if ever there was one. Dad tossed me a wink and pretended not to notice his granddaughter digging in his back pocket. Her little hand emerged clutching a twenty. “Poppy, I robbed you!” she said happily.

“Hello there, Callie,” came the silky voice of Louis. Louis who was banging Hester. That's right! I'd almost forgotten.

“Louis,” I said, taking my customary step backward.

“No need to retreat,” he murmured. “I've moved on.”

“So I heard,” I said, swallowing.

“Yeah, so, we're a freak show,” Hester said, coming up and handing me a glass of wine, good sister that she was. “No atheists in foxholes, you know?”

“Yes,” I said, not wanting her to clarify that statement. Besides, Hes was beaming. Beaming! I hadn't seen her look so happy since Bronte's adoption was finalized.

Speaking of my elder niece, Bronte came up, noted that her mother was holding hands with Louis and made a gagging sound. “Now, Bronte,” I said. “You're the one who wanted a father figure.”

“I was picturing Denzel Washington. Not Dwight Schrute here.”

“I love Dwight Schrute,” I said.

“Yes, but do you want him sleeping with your mother?” she demanded.

“Good point.” Hester and Louis were staring at each other, all sorts of icky pheromones flying. “You can come live with Noah and me,” I whispered to Bronte.

“I probably will,” she said huffily. But a little smile played around her mouth.

“Okay, kids, gather 'round,” Dad said. “Well, I wish my father were here… Callie, where'd he go?”

“He slipped out of his collar and ran off! I don't know, Dad! He has a girlfriend. Can we leave it at that?”

“Sure, Poodle,” he said, all sparkly and Clooneyesque. “Well, Bluebird, would you like to tell them?”

Bluebird.
Bluebird.
My breath caught.

“You go ahead, Tobias,” Mom said.

Dad looked around at us all. “Your mother and I…”
His voice grew husky. “We've reconciled. And we're getting married.” His gaze rested on me a long second.

My eyes flooded. I covered my mouth with one hand, absolutely stunned. He got her back! He did it.

For a second, I was right back in that upstairs window, watching my father leave, and the memory of that wrenching, twisting heartache made me dizzy. Back then, I would've given twenty years of my life for him to come back. And now he was. They were getting married. Married! My God! My heart felt so big I thought it might pop out of my chest.

“Way to go, Dad!” Freddie said, applauding lightly.

“Aren't you married already?” Josephine asked.

“No, honey. Do you want to be a flower girl? You can have a sparkly dress,” Dad said.

“Ooh! Sure, Poppy! Can it be black?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Hester boomed. She shook loose of Louis's hand. “Are you kidding, Ma? You're not serious, are you?”

Mom glanced at the girls. “Ah, Louis…would you mind taking the girls elsewhere for a few minutes?”

“Of course,” he said. “Girls, would you like play vampires in the showroom?”

“Typical,” Bronte muttered. “I am so old enough to hear this, but I get booted anyway.”