CHAPTER SEVEN
Fin breathed in the scents of kid shampoo and Cheerios.
He didn’t do it a lot, but every now and then Theo clung to him like a barnacle, and it shredded Fin’s heart.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Callie gather her purse and car keys and move quietly across the room. The door creaked closed.
Dammit. He didn’t know what had happened—or why—but for a second there her attitude had definitely warmed. He wanted more of it. He wanted her to stay.
Theo let out a deep shuddery breath, his body relaxing against Fin’s, and Fin shut out everything else. “I got you, my little man. I got you.”
When those little fingers gently patted Fin’s shoulders, he about lost it. The boy giving him comfort? Yeah, this kid was something else. Sweet, smart…and full of compassion.
Bare feet padded across linoleum, and Sherry bustled into the room with a big smile. “Okay, Theo, lunch is ready.”
The boy slowly pulled back, blinking those big, baleful eyes at him.
It had to be scary to have your parents gone for two weeks. Fin would do whatever he could to make it easier on him.
Sherry headed back into the kitchen. “You staying for lunch, Fin? We’ve got my world famous chicken fingers.”
“Nope.” Though lunch with his boy sounded a whole lot better than a court appearance. “How about I come back later this afternoon and we do some fishing? Sound good, little man?”
“Can we get ice cream?”
“You bet.” His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to find a text from Will.
Don’t forget your court appearance.
“Yeah, yeah.” He pocketed the phone. “Your uncle Will’s being bossy again. I gotta go, kid.”
Theo scrambled off his lap and climbed onto the chair next to him, the one with the booster seat.
“I’ll be back in a few hours, yeah?”
Theo nodded.
Fin smiled and walked out the door. As he trampled down the porch steps, he shoved his sunglasses on and got a whiff of a feminine scent.
Callie leaned against the hood of her dad’s truck, phone in hand.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
Looking polished and elegant, she gave him a cool smile. “Of course. Just responding to some texts.” She yanked the door open. “See you.”
Her tone sprayed him like highway grit, and it made him want to dirty up her fancy shirt. That would wipe away that placid expression. “You in a rush to get somewhere?”
“Actually, yes, I am.”
“Yeah? You got a job?”
“No.”
“So then what’s the rush? Gotta straighten your hair? It’s looking a little…” He made a motion at the side of his head just to rile her. “Messy right here.”
She drew in a breath, a clear attempt to compose herself.
But he’d gotten to her. He saw it in the clamp of her jaw. He grinned. “That oughtta eat up a whole hour. What else you got going on? Gotta polish your pearls?”
“Actually, it only takes twenty minutes to blow dry my hair, but your interest in my time management skills is noted.” She flashed him a fake smile. “Well, this has been fun. I’ll just be on my way now.”
He was getting pretty damn sick of Calliope. “On your way where, exactly? I know you’re not working in the diner, and the Museum of Taxidermy’s not hiring right now, so what’s the plan? You gonna hole up in your parent’s house all summer and use your rich boyfriend’s credit card to do some online shopping? Obviously nothing for you to buy here in Wyoming.”
Slamming the door so hard the truck shook, she whirled around to face him. “Do you know what I’ve been doing while you’ve been gallivanting around the globe pissing off unsuspecting women? Working my ass off. And, other than school loans, I’ve never taken anybody’s money, you jackass. I’ve been working two of those menial jobs you apparently think I think I’m too good for, while putting myself through school.”
There she is. He didn’t like upsetting her, but he didn’t get why she had to be all hoity-toity to be part of the New York City art world. Callie was awesome. Any museum would be lucky to get her as its curator.
“And the only thing I got from my rich boyfriend besides a place to live for the past month was his relationship to the board members at the MoCA, which I’ve lost now that he’s broken up with me. So if I’m a little preoccupied, it’s because I just spent two years and money I don’t have a hope in hell of paying back for a graduate degree that might turn out to be a gigantic waste. I have things on my mind, Fin, and they don’t have anything to do with you.”
Damn, she was hot when she got all fired up like this.
Never, not once in his life, in all his travels, among all the people he’d met, had he ever felt this kind of attraction to any other woman. Only Callie called to him at the deepest, most primal level. He wanted his hands on her warm skin, fingers scraping all that silky hair off her face. He wanted to shut that sexy mouth with a kiss he knew—he fucking knew—would pop her bindings and unleash the wild woman she was so damned determined to keep on lock-down.
She raised her arms in a gesture of, What? “Stop staring at me like that. I’m not some stuck-up city girl who forgot her roots. I bought these clothes for the internships I did at museums and art galleries. Which I worked in addition to my jobs and school work. So stop trying to make me out to be some snob just to make yourself feel better about dumping me.”
Anger whipped up so fast he found himself two inches in front of her without knowing how he got there. “I didn’t dump you. I would never have dumped you.”
“What do you call it when you show up at my house three hours before our flight to announce you’re not going to New York with me? I don’t know what you’ve been telling yourself all this time, but just so we’re on the same page, it’s called breaking up.”
“We were supposed to stay together no matter—”
With both hands, she thumped his chest so hard he had to take a step back to brace himself. “I am not having this conversation. You want to know why I haven’t talked to you? Because of this. I’m not going to listen to your twisted version of why you had to bail on me the day we were supposed to go to college together. There is no justification for that. The only thing on my mind right now is getting my life back on track.”
“And you’re doing that here? In Calamity?”
“I don’t…” She growled. “You don’t get it.”
Of course he didn’t get it. She wouldn’t talk to him.
She tipped her head back and blew out a huff of frustration. “Nobody becomes a curator out of graduate school. You have to spend at least ten years as an archivist or in research, and since Julian’s parents pretty much assured me I’d get the fellowship, I didn’t bother applying for a job, but now I don’t know where I stand with them, and my student loans became due the day I graduated a month ago, and Julian kicked me out of his apartment, which means I couldn’t show up to work for either of my two jobs today.” She narrowed her gaze on him. “So stop looking at me like I’m some pampered princess who can’t decide whether to summer on Martha’s Vineyard or the Hamptons.”
“All of that sucks but, damn, I’m glad to see you. I wondered what’d happened to my wild thing.”
She charged him. “You happened to her, you asshole. This woman with a stick up her ass is a product of you. This is what happens when you change your mind at the last minute and jump on a jet with your family instead of going with your girlfriend to college like you’d planned. Who does that? Only privileged assholes with billionaire fathers can take off on a private jet to Mount Everest.”
Why don’t you give me a chance to explain? But she was right. He couldn’t justify what he’d done. He’d known the moment he’d agreed to go on the trip that he’d messed up. Every mile that had ticked on his truck’s odometer that terrible morning had tightened the chokehold around his throat. By the time he’d reached her house, his limbs had felt leaden.
And yet some instinct—survival?—had pushed him to her front door, past her confused father, and down the stairs to Callie’s basement bedroom.
But he didn’t want to provoke her anymore. He just wanted to talk to her. “Alaska.”
“What?”
“We started in Alaska. They’d been planning the trip for months.”
She looked wild-eyed. Betrayed. “Months?” She turned away from him, hands covering her mouth. “Your dad had been planning it for months, and you never bothered to tell me?”
“No. My dad and Coach planned it for Will, but they wanted me to take a gap year and go with them.”
But she clearly hadn’t heard. “You are unbelievable. Why would you play me like that?”
“I didn’t play you. I never planned on going.”
“Oh, my God, you let me go on and on about apartments and classes. I researched all the places where you could snowboard. I even talked to the president of the Ski Club, and you never had any intention of coming with me.” Her eyes glistened. “Why would you do that? Why didn’t you say anything? I knew you shouldn’t go to New York. I wouldn’t have broken up with you. I would’ve understood.”
Fuck, he loved her honesty. That was one thing about her that hadn’t changed.
She stood there in her slim black pants and those stupid fucking pearls, her heart bleeding out her eyes, and he had to get through to her. He had one shot to find the right words.
“I didn’t tell you because I had no interest in going with them. It was Will’s graduation present. Coach thought big mountain skiing would be the best training for him. The only reason they wanted me to go was to stop me from going to NYU with you. But I never considered it. Not for a second. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d give my dad a piece of your mind, and I’m telling you right now it wouldn’t have gone down well. My dad would not have been kind.”
Underneath the crease of confusion around her eyes, he saw hurt. “What does that mean? I thought your dad liked me.”
“He did, but he thought you were pushing me to go to NYU, and that it’d be the biggest mistake of my life.”
He’d expected her to get right back in his face, offended at his dad’s unjust assumption. Instead, she looked guilty. “I—” Her jaw snapped shut. She looked away. Guilt settled into a sad resignation. “He was right.”
His protective instincts for her surged, and he shook his head. “You didn’t. It was my choice.”
“No.” Her voice had gone flat. “Every time I brought up MSU, I was only saying it so you’d reassure me that you weren’t going to choose it. Even though I knew how horrible it would have been for you, I still wanted you to come with me. Your dad was right.”
“I wanted to go with you.”
“No, you wanted to be with me. You never wanted to go to New York.”
He couldn’t argue. He didn’t belong in a big city.
“But if you’d just told me what was going on it wouldn’t have hurt so badly. I’d have been prepared for it.” Her tone changed, grew more forceful. “You had a full ride from MSU for skiing. Of course you should have taken it. Fin, I wouldn’t have broken up with you. We would’ve seen each other at every break.”
“Yeah, I think we both know how that would’ve worked out. You just told me what your life’s like, working two jobs, internships, and a full load of classes. You’d have built a whole other life.”
“I loved you. New York might’ve been my dream, but you were my world.”
He reached for her hand, and the thrill of touching her sent an electrical current up his arm. It’s still there. Everything between us…it’s so fucking alive. “Don’t you get it? You were my dream. I wasn’t letting go of you. Not for anything.”
Hurt gripped her features, and a tear spilled onto her cheek. “But you did let me go. And so here we are.”
“I didn’t think you’d break up with me. I knew you’d be pissed. I figured you’d yell at me, maybe ignore me for a few weeks, but I never thought you’d fucking block me. Why would you do that? I screwed up. I know that. But I loved you. I wanted to be with you. Do you know what life is like without you? It sucks. We were together every day for most of our lives. You were everything to me. And then you just cut me off.”
Her eyes narrowed. “But it wasn’t too hard, though, right? Because, from what I’ve seen on social media and the news, you’ve been having plenty of fun over the last six years.”
Not this crap again. “Are you talking about the damn meme? Traci’s not my girlfriend. I haven’t dated anybody since we broke up. My life’s about training, planning my trips, and traveling. That’s it. I haven’t dated anyone.”
“Here’s what I know. While I was curled up in the fetal position all alone in New York City, you were traveling the globe, hooking up with women at every stop along the way.”
“Hooking up? I was with my dad, Coach, and Will. Jesus, Callie, you’d just shut me out of your life. Why would you think I was laughing?”
“I saw you. That’s why I blocked you. Because your hookups tagged you in all their selfies. You want honesty? Then give it back. We have nothing to lose at this point. Just own what you did since I saw the pictures.”
“You blocked me because you thought I was fucking around?” Whatever reasons he’d come up with, he’d never considered that. Cutting him off for something he’d never done? Fuck that. “You knew me, Callie. You fucking knew me. What, you thought overnight I’d just turn into a horndog? You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted. You knew that.”
“Come on. You’d only ever been with one woman. Of course you wanted to have some fun.”
How the hell had she ever gotten that impression? “You were enough, Callie. Jesus, you were enough for me. I have never wanted anyone else.” And I never fucking will.
Color splashed across her cheeks, and he could tell she wavered, so right before she fell onto the side of mistrust he got a hold of her. Cupping her cheeks, he held her gaze, letting her know with everything in him that she lived in his bones, his blood, in his heart and in his soul.
He waited for her to get it, that he’d never wanted anyone else. He held his breath as emotions battled across her beautiful face. It’s us, Callie. It’s always been us, and it always will be.
But, still, she stood there, lips pressed together, eyes uncertain.
She was killing him. Trust me, goddammit.
When her hands closed around his wrists and her features softened, his knees went weak with the flood of relief. Her lips parted, and the tip of her tongue peaked out to moisten them.
He felt that lick deep in his gut. Lust stirred, and his cock hardened.
She let out a shaky breath, eyes filled with resignation. “We blew it.”
Yeah, they’d blown it, but they could recover. They would recover. Did she get that?
But she just lowered her hands and looked away. Opening the door, she hoisted herself onto the truck’s seat. “I’ll see you later, Fin.”
He stood there, watching his heart take off down the driveway.
When she’d loved him, her stubbornness had been a good thing because it meant she’d never give up on him. Now, though, it meant she’d never forgive him.
He watched until the dust settled, and her truck turned onto 191.
He watched the empty driveway until his heart, covered in the sludge of loss, regret, and guilt, started beating with the rhythm of determination.
Because it wasn’t over. Not by a longshot.
In fact, it was just beginning.
******
I’d loved Fin all my life. When he went to war I wrote him with constant dedication, eager for him to know he was loved. I’d include a leaf from his front yard, an article cut from our hometown paper, anything to give him a piece of home. A reminder. He never wrote, and he never came back. Four years later I ran into him in Orbach’s department store. Shopping with my former dear friend. They wore matching wedding bands.
Callie dropped her forehead to the steering wheel, her heart aching for a woman she’d never met. She had to stop torturing herself with these stories.
Tossing her phone into her black leather tote, she got out of her dad’s truck and trudged up the walkway. When she saw the moving boxes stacked on the porch she lost her rhythm and nearly stumbled.
He’d done it. Julian had actually kicked her out of his apartment, knowing it would leave her homeless. No matter his threat, she hadn’t believed he’d actually go through with it. He’d had a week to cool down since the rehearsal dinner and realize how much he missed and loved her. But he hadn’t.
How does this make sense? He’d been the best boyfriend, always bringing her flowers, getting her orchestra seats for Broadway shows, ordering her favorite microwave popcorn in bulk so she never ran out. He checked in with her after finals and presentations to see how she’d done. He’d paid attention to everything.
She shouldered the door open, dropping her keys in the bowl and her tote onto the floor, before turning back around to haul the boxes in.
Whatever she’d done wrong, it wasn’t bad enough to leave her stranded. He knew she had nowhere else in the city to go. He didn’t care about the two jobs she’d had to quit, leaving her employers in a bind and her reputation ruined.
As she hefted a box and brought it to the dining room table, it struck her that her entire life in New York City fit into two boxes. She didn’t know what that said about her, and she wasn’t in the mood to contemplate it. The whole situation pissed her off.
Once she’d carried the second box inside, she grabbed a knife from the kitchen and slit it open. Was this some kind of punishment for having loved someone before him?
Well, screw him. He could’ve given her a chance to explain why she hadn’t told him about Fin. But, no, Julian wanted things to be perfect. He didn’t want deep or messy. He just wanted things to run smoothly.
She whipped her phone out of her purse and hit his speed dial.
He answered right away. “Calliope?”
And for the first time she could admit she hated the way he said her name. He wanted her to be a Caroline or Katherine or Elizabeth. But she was Calliope, and no upper crust tone could make it sound any different than what it was: a musical instrument from a Bruce Springsteen song. “I’ve got a question for you.”
“Okay.” He sounded wary.
“How did you go from loving me enough to marry me to clearing my things out of your loft?”
She could hear the rush of the city in the background. A cab honking, someone shouting. The roar of traffic. “I see the boxes arrived safely.”
“You realize I have nowhere to live, right?”
“I sent them to your home.”
“You know, I don’t know whether this is because my family’s so firmly middle class and you realized I don’t fit into your world or because I didn’t tell you about my high school boyfriend, but the idea that you’d dump me—leaving me homeless, jobless, my entire future upended—is disgusting.” Digging into the box, she pulled out a freezer bag filled with her conditioner, shampoo, and lotion. How very tidy of him. “To discard someone you supposedly love…what kind of relationship is that?”
“Not a very good one. Not when only one of us is committed to making it work.”
“We were living together. How much more committed did you need me to be?” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t say yes to your proposal, but come on. I just graduated. I don’t have a job yet. I’m not ready to get married. You could’ve given me time.”
“Time is exactly what I’m worried about. What happens when the pendulum swings back? When Calliope becomes Callie again or settles somewhere in between? I’m not willing to risk my heart on someone who doesn’t know who she is.”
“That’s ridiculous. In Calamity, I was a girl. In Manhattan, I’m a woman trying to make her way in the art world.”
“A woman with a past she’s not acknowledging. Calliope, I saw you—”
“Stop calling me that. You can’t make me into one of your prep school heiress friends. And all of this noise boils down to one thing. You think I might go back to Fin. And I’m telling you that’s not going to happen.”
“I saw the way you looked at him.” He sounded exasperated, like reprimanding a dog that kept nosing his crotch. “The way you looked at each other. And, I’m sorry, but the fact that you reinvented yourself so completely that your family and friends didn’t recognize you? Well, it’s a sign.”
“A sign?” Reaching deeper into the box, she grabbed her winter boots and dumped them on the floor.
“Yes. A sign that you need to resolve your issues before you become involved in a new relationship.”
“So let me get this straight. You loved me enough to marry me, to spend your life with me, to raise your children and grow old with me, but not enough to learn about my past and stick by me while I work through whatever childhood issues I might have.”
“That’s not at all what this is about.”
She was about to ask what it was about when she pulled out the pale pink cardigan with pearl buttons he’d given her a week after they’d started dating. In that moment, everything clicked. “I’m not your mother.” Setting it down, she touched the bracelet he’d given her for graduation—a family heirloom. The pearls, the cardigan, the outings with his parents…slowly, but surely, he’d been incorporating her into his world. Turning her into the kind of woman he—and his parents—would be proud to introduce to their friends.
And isn’t that exactly what they’d planned on doing with her this summer? They’d wanted her to quit her jobs so she could accompany them to Martha’s Vineyard and the Hamptons. They were, in essence, grooming her to fit into their world.
Between school, work, and worrying about her future, marriage hadn’t entered her mind. She’d just enjoyed the attention from his mom. Sophisticated, worldly, and well-respected, Jacqueline Reyes was the quintessential New York City patron of the arts.
“I’ll never be her.” Although, hadn’t she aspired to be exactly that?
“I know that.”
She thought of her hippie mom, usually harried, tendrils of her salt and pepper hair floating around her face, always warm, generous, and kind. So very different from Mrs. Reyes who never went out without perfect makeup and hair and looking anything other than polished in her designer outfits. Nobody hung out at the Reyes’ house. No, if she had company, it was a catered event.
The woman never got her hands dirty.
“And I don’t want to be.”
When the door opened and her dad walked in from the garage, Callie got up.
She’d been watching him carefully, looking for signs of heart disease, but he hadn’t been unusually sweaty or tired. He hadn’t seemed in pain.
Frankly, he’d looked invigorated. Thanks to Fin?
Smelling like a brewery, he walked past her to the refrigerator. Bottles clinked together as he set them on the shelf.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Nope. I’ve been working on your inheritance.”
“You’re going to drink yourself to death and leave me with a whopping insurance policy?”
“No, Callie-bell.” He shut the refrigerator and arched his back, twisting from side to side. “I’m making beer. I believe you fancy folks call it artisanal beer.”
“You’re running a microbrewery in your garage?”
He grinned, and it warmed her to see him relaxed and happy. “I tried to run it in the basement, but your mom wouldn’t let me. Good thing, huh?”
“I’ve known you my whole life, and you’ve never had a single hobby. This is great, Dad.”
“Yep. I’ve got a winter brew made with rye that’s dark, spicy, and crisp. And an English pale ale.” He said it with a British accent. “That’s full-bodied with a strong, assertive hop flavor.”
She got a kick out of how much he seemed to be enjoying this. “Wow, Dad. Just…wow.”
The screen door slapped closed. “Hey, sweetheart.” Her mom bustled in, arms loaded with take-away containers. “I brought some food if you’re hungry.”
Callie relieved her of the top two boxes. “Mom, it’s almost midnight. I’ve eaten.”
“I’ll just keep it in the fridge. You can eat when you’re hungry.”
“Believe it or not, I’ve actually learned how to cook.” She smiled at their confused expressions. Growing up with a chef for a father and an endless supply of diner food, she’d never bothered learning. And then, of course, she’d gotten a job waiting tables as soon as she got to New York, so she’d never gone hungry a day in her life.
“Cook what?” her mom said.
“I can make a crostini with fig jam, brie, and prosciutto.”
Her dad grimaced. Her mom’s brows shot up.
“Not to mention a mean blackened shrimp, avocado, and cucumber bite.”
One side of her dad’s mouth quirked. “Been attending cocktail parties, have we?”
Callie smiled. “Why, yes. Julian and his crowd are so very posh. I also make a cheesecake to die for.” The Reyes’ chef had taught her that last one. “It’ll rock your world.”
“Now that I’d like to try,” her dad said.
“Sure, sweetheart.” Her mom rubbed a slow circle over her dad’s heart. “As long as you use low fat cottage cheese, gelatin, and lemon zest, we’d love to try it.”
The reminder of his heart condition put a damper on her mood. “I would say that sounds disgusting, but I love my dad, so I’ll do it. I’ve got some skills now.” To a girl who’d grown up with picnics, bonfires, and cookouts, the dinner parties Julian’s friends hosted had seemed strange at first. Young people wearing cocktail dresses and eating hors d’oeuvres? The people she’d grown up with hung out at bars or went hiking or waterskiing together. Only the people of Mr. Bowie’s billionaire world threw dressy dinner parties.
But Julian had bought her a series of cooking lessons—Ah. He really had been turning her into his mom. She’d enjoyed the lessons, so she hadn’t thought anything of it.
Why hadn’t he just gone for someone from his own crowd? Why had he bothered with her?
Whatever. Screw Julian. She had way more important things on her mind. “So, listen, Julian’s boxes came, and I guess that was my wake-up call, because I spent the whole day wracking my brain trying to come up with a plan for my summer, and I think I’ve got one. I will absolutely help out with whatever you need me to do here or in the diner, but I’ve got an idea that’ll get me the fellowship.”
“We’re all set, sweetheart.” Her mom turned on the faucet and washed her hands.
She knew that. Her parents hired high season help in January—and there was never a shortage of students looking for summer hours.
“Tell us the plan,” her dad said.
“I’m curating an exhibition. Here, in Calamity.”
Her mom reached for a dish towel, her lower back resting against the sink. “You want to open a museum here?”
“More like a pop-up exhibition. Just for the summer. But I need a venue, and I thought I could use the apartment over the diner. I can’t afford to pay rent, but I need to be in town, where I’ll get foot traffic. The apartment’s not ideal because it’s small and there’s a big staircase—”
Her mom shook her head, pushing off the sink and heading toward her with a gleam in her eyes. “Forget the apartment. You can use the old Town Hall.”
“I have no money for rent.”
“Listen to me. For two years now they’ve been arguing at every town meeting about how to make use of that damn empty building. They never get anywhere because no one can agree. I finally got the bright idea to move the Farmer’s Market into it during winter months. The Association pays a dollar a year for the whole bottom floor.”
Hope flared. “Are you serious?” When she’d come up with the idea, she’d figured it’d be a long-shot. How could she pull off an exhibition in seven weeks? But with a venue, this could really happen. She’d keep it simple, bare bones. It was the subject matter that would draw people. She didn’t need fancy displays.
“Tell me about it.” Her mom seemed excited. “What do you have in mind?”
“You know how I’m obsessed with reading the comments on Fin’s meme?”
Her sweet, honest parents couldn’t hide the flash of pity, but they both nodded and let her continue.
“Well, it’s not just me. Traci’s Instagram post has over a million likes and hundreds of thousands of comments. The hashtag on Twitter isn’t dying down. I don’t know what it is, but people need to tell their stories. It just seems like people who’ve been hurt and betrayed don’t get over it. It wounds them in a way that doesn’t heal.”
Her parents looked at her with concern.
“But sharing their stories seems to help. Maybe it’s just seeing they’re not alone, that there’s a huge community of people who can relate.” She grabbed one of her dad’s beer bottles just to have something to do with her hands, because she was about to get real. “I have to face the fact that I never dealt with my breakup. I punched it down to a manageable size and then stuffed it away. And…” She glanced up at them. “I’m pretty sure it’s why I chose Julian.”
It was a little disconcerting to see their looks of understanding. It had been obvious to her parents after knowing Julian all of twenty-four hours.
Well, she’d woken up now. Maybe it was coming home and finally facing the man she’d loved with all her heart—discovering that just being near him flushed out all the fiery feelings she’d thought she’d gotten rid of—or maybe it was reading the stories and being forced to face what she’d avoided all these years. Probably a combination of a lot of things, but all she knew was she wanted to become a whole person again.
Her mom reached out and squeezed Callie’s arm. “I’m glad to hear this. You have no idea.”
“I think…after Fin…I lost some of my spirit.” She said it quietly, worried they’d think badly of her. “And I want it back.” But it didn’t matter what they—or anyone—thought. What mattered was fixing the problem. “And I think, from reading those comments, that a lot of people want their spirits back. So I’m going to make The Exhibition of Broken Hearts.”
Two sets of eyebrows popped up. Her mom smiled. “I love it.”
“Not sure how that’s a museum,” her dad said.
“Don’t think of it like a traditional art museum. A pop-up is a temporary event. Basically, it takes over an empty store or building. My interview’s not until August twenty-fifth, so that gives me seven weeks to get it up and running. If I could operate it for a full month, I’d be happy.”
“Help me out here,” her dad said. “What kind of artwork will you display?”
“If I can get the old Town Hall”—she shot her mom a look, That would be amazing—“I’ll display the stories that’re being posted on all the different sites. I’d love to do it electronically—because this is about the power of social media, right? One single text message created a massive community through it. But it’s more important that I get it running, so I have to keep it simple.” Another idea hit. “It would be great to record some of them. I want these stories to surround the visitors, box them in…force them to pay attention.” And right then her idea crystallized. “That’s why this meme is healing people. Everyone just wants their story to be heard and acknowledged. The people who hurt them didn’t care. They just did what they wanted and moved on, leaving their former lover with no way to…purge the pain.” Yes. That’s exactly what I want to show.
“What about a projector?” her mom said. “Or something that will scroll the comments. You know what I mean?”
“I love that idea, Mom. It’s summer, so maybe the high school would let me borrow some equipment. That’s so good. Thank you.” She popped out of her chair to give her mom a hug. “You guys are the best.” Emotion rose so high it spilled over. She breathed in her mom’s familiar scent—the floral shampoo she’d always used, the hints of diner food—and her heart clutched. “I’ve really missed you.”
Her mom rubbed her back. “We’ve missed you, too, and we love you so much, sweetheart.”
Callie couldn’t remember the last time she’d relaxed around her parents. Flitting in and out of town and hiding from Fin had taken a lot of effort.
“Now, is this just so you have something to put on your resume?” her dad said. “Or are you hoping to actually draw people in?”
She pulled away from her mom. “I mean, yes, it’s for my resume, but I definitely want people to see it. It matters to me. I want them to get something out of it.”
“Then you might want to write something up for the local newspaper,” her dad said.
“Great idea, honey,” her mom said. “And if you really want them to pay attention, put in a call to action. Invite people to share their stories.”
Callie thought of the spatula, and sparks went off in her chest. “I’ll ask them to donate a symbol of the broken relationship. One thing that sums it up.” That would be so powerful.
“I am loving this,” her mom said.
She looked to her parents. “So you think I have something here?”
“Oh, Callie-bear, you do.” Her mom looked at her with so much pride. “You really do. This is brilliant.”
“You sure people are going to want to share their sad stories?” Her dad didn’t look all that convinced. “I think maybe it’s missing an angle. A hook.”
She realized her parents didn’t quite get it. When she’d talked about the meme, they hadn’t put two and two together. “This is the Exhibition of Broken Hearts, and it stems from the meme, right?” She smiled because it was just so damn perfect. “So the central installation is going to be The World’s Worst Boyfriend. Who just happens to live right here in Calamity.”