Page 5 of Already Callin’ You Mine

2

PRESLEY

“Duckie!”

Otis tugs on my hand, using all the power in his little body to pull me in a different direction. I look down at my baby boy—who isn’t really a baby anymore, but a full-on preschooler—trying to decipher what he’s looking at. These days, it could be anything, his developing brain working overtime to soak in as much as it can, all whole Otis narrates the entire adventure.

“Duckie!” he repeats, yanking harder.

I follow his gaze, and sure enough, there’s a duck. Not just one, but multiple little fluffy ducklings. All happily swimming along in a kiddie pool. My eyes flick to the man behind the table, dressed in all white, with feathers adhered to the fabric and a swan’s neck wrapped around his neck, making him look like Bjork in the early aughts.

Oh…the ugly duckling…I get it…

“Yes, that is a duckie,” I reply, tightening my grip on my son so he doesn’t break free. “Maybe we can come back and see the duckies later. Right now we need to go meet up with Nana and Paps.”

“Paps!” Otis squeals, followed almost immediately by his cute little-kid giggle.

“That’s right.”

“Paps, Paps, Paps…” he repeats, the nickname making even less sense every time he says it.

When asked what my parents wanted to be called as grandparents, the answer had been a simple one—Nana and Poppa. Same as what I had referred to my grandparents as. Little guy had another idea though. Despite my calling my parents their chosen monikers, once Otis started to talk, Poppa turned into Paps, while Nana stayed put. At first I thought maybe it was nothing more than an inability to say Poppa, but soon it became clear that my guy’s favorite person—as well as his namesake—was none other than my father, and that he was giving him the name he wanted to call his hero.

There was no fighting it after that.

“Paps! Paaaaps!”

“Yes, buddy, we’re going to find him,” I assure him.

Otis stops in his tracks and points straight ahead, his giggle bubbling up again as he starts to bounce in place.

“There’s my big fella!” my father’s voice bellows, even over the crowd, the unmistakable sound of a grandfather excited to see his grandkid.

“Paps!” Otis pulls on me again and this time I let go, watching as he stumbles toward my dad.

Crouching down, my father scoops up Otis in an embrace, lifting him into the air in a single, swift movement. It’s beautiful and wholesome and makes my insides want to burst through my skin. This right here—watching the two of them like this—makes the last three years worth it. Makes moving back to Hickory Hills feel like it was the right move.

Something I’m still up in the air about.

“Presley,” my mama coos, holding her arms open. I lean into the embrace, her motherly warmth a welcome feel, despite the still warm temps of late September.

I’ve been back in town for two weeks and have seen at least one of my parents every day since we pulled into our new driveway. Sure, it helps that Dad put in a recommendation for me at Hayes Industries, the massive company that employs most of this itty-bitty town, to help land me a job. Hayes is the reason that my parents moved here in the first place—my father taking on the role of chief compliance officer right before my senior year in high school. At the time, I was livid that they were moving me before the biggest year of my life, but looking back on it now, it wasn’t as big of a deal as I made it.

Teenage-girl dramatics aside, I can’t deny this place was good to me. After all, moving here gave me the chance to bloom in a smaller community rather than get lost in the sea of kids like I had been back in Charlotte. The extracurriculars that the town offered were wildly different as well, helping round out those college applications I was in the process of filling out. Being able to solidify my spot as valedictorian didn’t hurt either.

The only thing I didn’t really have was friends. Not good ones anyway. It was hard as the new kid in a small town where everyone had grown up together to find my place, especially with only one year of school left.

I know that it will be a great place for Otis to grow up. Plus, having my parents close means that maybe I’ll actually have some time to myself. Maybe. That might be asking for too much with a three-year-old, but a girl can hope. Either way, I know that after everything we’ve been through in his short little life, Otis needs to be by family. Needs to be surrounded by people who love him. Who want him in their life.

Unlike my ex.

“Flower!”

“Want to go see the pretty flowers?” Dad asks, following the exclamation.

I don’t have time to respond, letting him know that such a declaration isn’t so much a desire to see them, but simply to show off that he knows what they are. The men are off to go look at the flowers, leaving us ladies behind.

“You have no idea how excited your father is to have y’all home,” Mama comments.