Which is suspicious.
But that was all yesterday. It could have been a product of how happy they were to be free of the airplane. Now I’m half-expecting to walk downstairs and find them restored to their natural states.
In a sense, that’s what I see when I push open the kitchen door. Mom’s in a borrowed apron, the faded green fabric broken in the middle with shamrocks and white lettering that says KISS THE IRISH COOK. Odd. Gavin is wearing a gray apron with dogs all over it, and they’re rolling out dough.
“Good morning, Cal,” Mom says. She has flour on her cheekand her brown hair is twisted back in a claw clip. Her white sleeves are pushed up on her forearms. “We’re getting gingerbread ready for houses. Don’t you think the kids will love that?”
“I was thinking we could have a competition for the adults,” Gavin says, cutting out a shape and laying it on a cookie sheet. “Make it interesting.”
Watching them work together shakes me for a second. It seems so natural, I almost don’t know how to file this away. What is Gavin? A friend? A would-be-something-more if he lived remotely closer? Just disappointment, since he can’t be anything more? The conflicting emotions are all swirled up inside me with force. I have a hurricane in my body with no clear exit.
“Competitions are always fun,” I say.
Gavin cuts another piece of a house and lays it on a cookie sheet before sliding the tray in the oven. “We’ll need to come up with some fun prizes for the winners.”
“Or punishments for the losers?”
“Callie,” Mom says, laughing. “What are you talking about?”
“Running outside naked.”
“Good grief, no one’s doing that. It’s far too cold.”
“Okay, I’ll brainstorm. But first, food.” I open the fridge to pull out the milk. “We should invite your grandparents tonight, Gavin. If you think it’s something they’d enjoy.”
“I’ll ring them when I’m done here.” He holds my gaze a moment longer, the current of electricity humming between us.
I break it when I feel my mom’s attention, though. The last thing I need is her Spanish Inquisition, or to make her worry she’s losing her second kid to the UK.
My phone rings, so I pull it from my pocket to see Bekah’s name flashing across the screen. “Sorry, I should take this.” I push through the door into the empty living room and answer. “Hey, Beks.”
“I’m in love.”
A smile splits my face in half. “Things are going well for you, I guess.”
“No, like, I’m really, actually in love.”
“Well, I’d hope so. You guys have been together for a year now.” Snow starts to fall outside, so I watch the flakes land on the window and immediately melt.
Bekah draws in a breath. “We had a date last night to celebrate our one-year anniversary, actually.”
“Oh, right. Where did he take you? Somewhere really nice so you could debut those silver heels?”
“Yeah, I wore them.” Her voice is strained.
Something is off. I turn my back to the window and sit on the edge of the sofa. “What’s going on?”
“Cal, he proposed.”
I suck in a breath so quick I’m not sure it made it down the right pipe. “What did you say?”
“Yes.”
“Yes!? Oh my gosh! Bekah you’re engaged!? Why are we not screaming about this?”
“You’re okay with it?”
“Why wouldn’t I be anything but thrilled for you? This is amazing news!”
