crumple to the ground. He is not mine. He never was and he never will be. This all-consuming possession I feel for him is completely irrational and not one bit okay. He has every right to say yes to her proposition. And I have zero right to feel this way.
That moment of romantic feelings that swooped through me at the Paia block party and the night we spent drinking champagne at his condo should have clued me in. They’re both signs that we need to cool off ASAP.
I spin on my sneakered heel and march back to my truck where Mrs. Tokushige and Mom chat happily about the Easter dinner Mrs. Tokushige is planning. I’m thankful they don’t notice the change in my demeanor. They would definitely ask questions, but I don’t want them to think anything is amiss.
I pull out my phone from my pocket, then text Callum.
Hey. Something came up. Can’t meet tonight. Sorry.
I turn it on silent, then resume taking orders and slinging baskets of food. Hopefully, Callum read my text before saying no to that oversexed Tinkerbell. Because now he’s free to take her up on her offer to listen to him talk while she preps her pie for him.
I grit my teeth even harder, wondering if he’ll say yes, all the while praying he says no.
* * *
• • •
“I’m tired, anak. Going to bed.” Mom squeezes me in a hug.
I glance at the clock on the oven. “It’s not even eight thirty.”
She yawns. “I need as much beauty sleep as I can get at my age.”
I wonder if Mrs. Tokushige’s warning about health at their age scared her into an earlier bedtime.
“Be careful if you go out tonight, okay?” she says.
She pats my hand, then heads down the hall to her room. Lemon follows her, scurrying into her bedroom before she shuts the door. I stare at the screen of my laptop propped on the kitchen counter, my eyes burning. Watching funny cat videos on YouTube isn’t what I planned to be doing tonight, but I didn’t feel like doing much else after watching Callum get hit on by Maui Barbie.
I press my lips together, then wince at their dry feel. I’m in need of a ChapStick intervention.
When I pull my purse on my lap to dig some lip balm out, I notice my phone flashing. This is the first time I’ve looked at it since turning it to silent this afternoon. I spot three missed texts and two missed calls, all from Callum. My stomach drops.
CALLUM: I was really looking forward to seeing you. Everything all right? Let me know you’re okay at least?
CALLUM: Can you tell me what’s going on? I haven’t heard from you all day.
CALLUM: Petal. Are you angry at me or something?
The tiniest ping of guilt hits the center of my chest. He’s clearly not out with anyone if he’s texting and calling me this much.
I text him back.
ME: Sorry for making you worry . . . Nothing’s wrong, I just felt a little weird today.
His reply is less than a minute later, further proof that he is definitely at home in his condo, not out with some hottie. My emotions are a cocktail of relief and embarrassment. I jumped on the irrational jealousy bandwagon way the hell too soon.
CALLUM: Weird how?
For three solid minutes, I try and fail to draft a suitable explanation. Anything I send over text would sound positively insane right now. Because how exactly would I explain my ridiculous behavior?
I got irrationally jealous at seeing another woman flirt with you, even though you’re not mine, and you have every right to do whatever you want with whomever you want. Oops!
So instead I write:
ME: It’s hard to explain over text.
Seven seconds later, he replies.
CALLUM: Then tell me in person. Come over.
* * *
• • •
When Callum answers the door, he’s stone-faced. Just like the day I met him, just like all those times we argued and bickered.
I never thought I’d see him make that face with me ever again. But how can I expect him to act any other way when I’ve been so foolish?
He shuts the door behind me. I gaze around the living room, taking in the sparse furniture. I’ve seen this space a million times before, but tonight I examine it with renewed interest. Anything to put off the inevitable. We’re about to have a very, very uncomfortable conversation about my adolescent behavior, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to stomach