We eat in silence for a good minute before she starts talking again. I figured it wouldn’t take her long to break her own directive—I’m convinced Callie could talk under water.
“How did you know I love Ron Pope? I know you said you pay attention, but when? When did I ever bring him up?”
“Do you remember that time you and Avery went to see that local band? The one that does covers of his songs?”
She’s quiet while thinking. When she finally remembers, her eyes light up. “Yes! But that was like seven or so months ago.”
“So?”
“So, you’ve remembered that all this time?”
“I have a good memory, Callie.”
Her eyes narrow. “What else do you know about me that I don’t know you know?”
“Fuck, that’s a riddle.”
“Well?” She watches me expectantly, as if she doesn’t think I know anything.
I put my cutlery down and rest my elbows on the table. Holding her gaze, I say, “For reasons unknown to me, you love Taylor Swift; you’re a Netflix addict, with comedy, crime and documentaries being your favourite; you love going to see live music; you love visiting the markets on Sundays and especially love churros from there; the beach is one of your favourite places in the world; you love going to the movies and also to art galleries; surprisingly you love both country music and heavy metal; and you prefer to support indie artists rather than mainstream. You don’t back down easily when you’re passionate about something or believe you’re right, but you will begrudgingly admit when you’re wrong. You have a fantastic sense of humour. You like to go out a lot, but you also seem to be a homebody at times. You hate wearing heels but will put yourself through hell to impress a man. Oh, and you ask a lot of fucking questions. All the time.”
She’s stopped eating and is staring at me in shock. When she speaks, her voice is shaky. “Where the hell have you been all my life? Even the guy I dated for years probably didn’t know all that.”
A rush of possessive dominance hits me. The thought of another man with his hands on her twists in my gut. But I have no right to say the things I want to say to her about other men because she has to deal with my past more than I have to deal with hers. So, I change the subject instead. “Your mother? You’re not close?”
All the energy blazing around her dissipates when I bring up her mother. Her body slumps, and it’s clear this is not a topic she likes to discuss. “As far as my mother is concerned, I’m average at everything I try in my life. I’ve never measured up to my sister. Melissa is good at every-fucking-thing and was into all the same shit as Mum. She’s like a bloody clone. They both love the same fashion, music, TV shows, movies… Fuck, Melissa probably hates sex just as much as my mother for all I know.”
“So I take it you’re not close to your sister either?”
She shakes her head. “No. I mean, I wish we were, but that never happened for us. Mum took away any opportunity we had at an amazing friendship.”
“What do you mean?”
“Anytime I started to get close to Mel, Mum swooped in and dragged her away. She took her shopping or to the beauty salon or some other girly thing she knew I wouldn’t be interested in. I was always invited, but I’m convinced Mum knew I’d say no.” She leans forward. “As well as never being smart enough for Mum, I’ll never be girly enough for her either.”
“Callie, I’m a man, so I have no fucking clue what women classify as girly, but as far as I’m concerned, you’ve nailed it.”
A smile sparks in her eyes and travels to her lips. “You can come for roast dinner anytime, Mr Hardy.”
I smirk. “Should I cook it at home first?”
She scrunches her face up at me. “That would be acceptable. And you can also do the dishes, smartass.”
As I sit laughing, I pray that I will one day be this woman’s everything. Though, when your life has been turned upside down in ways you never imagined, and you’ve lost most of the hope you ever had, it’s hard to believe a prayer will be answered.
10
Callie
“I bought you gifts,” I say as I step through Avery’s front door.
“Coffee and Chupa Chups. Best friend ever,” she replies as she swipes them out of my hands.
Exhaustion clothes Avery today and my worry over her intensifies. I follow her into the lounge room and am surprised to find a huge mess of products and packaging supplies scattered across the floor. Avery is usually OCD about her setup.
She waves at the mess and mutters, “Sorry, we’ve got some sorting out to do first.”