“Yes, mam. I’m about to enter the Tube. How are you?”
“Good!” she chirped. “Very good. I was wondering... would you come home for Calan Mai?”
Wait. Was it really already the beginning of May?
Before he could reply, she kept going. “We’re slowly losing your taid, and it would be nice to have you around while he still remembers something.”
Callum exhaled slowly. Guilt. That was always the undercurrent of any conversation involving his taid. But how could he live and work from Aberystwyth? He had loved it growing up, but once he saw the world, every problem back home suddenly felt enormous. Since breaking up with Vanessa, he hadn’t dared return for Calan Mai—not wanting to bump into her, not ready to deal with that shadow. But now, this wasn’t about avoiding an ex. His taid’s memory was slipping. Every phone call revealed a little less of the man he used to be. Sometimes, he confused Callum with an old friend. Sometimes, he thought Callum was still in high school.
“I don’t know, mam. I have... visitors.”
He scratched the back of his neck, unsure how much to say about Alejandra. What even were they? Friends with benefits? Emotional support crew with chemistry? Were they dating? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he wanted them to be something real. He just wasn’t sure if she was ready to want that too.
“Visitors?” his mam pressed, immediately suspicious.
“Why does that surprise you?”
“Because aside from me and your taid, your best friends all live in the same city. The only person I could think of is someone I sincerely hope you’re not seeing again, Callum Jeremy Evans.”
Not the full name.
“For fuck’s sake, mam. I’m not back with Vanessa.”
“So, there’s a girl,” she said, gleeful now.
He rolled his eyes. His mother wasn’t going to let this go unless he tossed her a few crumbs.
“I’m getting to know someone. We met last year at a wedding in Spain. We’ve stayed in touch.” Barely. “She had a doctor’s appointment here, and I’m just showing her around. It’s not a big deal.”
His mother let out a high-pitched squeal. “Please tell me her name. What does she do?”
He sighed. “Her name’s Alejandra. She’s Spanish. And she’s a surfer.”
Silence.
“A surfer?” she echoed.
“Yeah. A pro. She got injured on one of her tours.”
Another pause.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Sorry, I just... thought she’d have a more stable job. You know... lawyer, doctor, not surfer.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She went to the Olympics, mam. I’ve already dated a politician and it turned out shit. Alejandra’s a professional surfer. She earns her living, owns property in Spain, and works harder than most people I know. Don’t judge her without even knowing her.”
“You’re right,” she replied, a bit sheepish. “It’s just... I don’t really trust surfers.”
He blinked. “What does that even mean? Aberystwyth is full of surfers.”
“Yes,” she sighed. “But pro surfers are different.”
“How would you know?”
“Iknow,” she said, cryptically. Then: “So, are you coming for Calan Mai? You could bring Alejandra too.”
He rubbed his face. “I’ll think about it, alright?”
