Page 33 of First-Time Caller
He checks the screen of his computer and tugs his headphones back over his ears, that stubborn piece of hair on the left side of his head still sticking straight up. He drags the controls up and then down and I take that as my cue, backtracking toward the door.
My hand is on the knob when he calls for me, chin tucked against his shoulder. “Lucie?”
I turn to look at him. “Yeah?”
“While you’re thinking, if you need someone to talk to”—he taps his finger against the headphone pressed to his left ear—”I’ll be listening.”
Some of my hesitation cracks, splinters, caves. I bite the inside of my cheek against my smile. “I’ll be listening too,” I tell him.
The last thing I see before I shut the door to the booth is his face in profile, cast mostly in shadows. Strong lines and sharp angles.
But I do manage to catch the very edge of his smile, glowing blue in the light of his screen.
CALLER:I want to believe in it, you know? That there’s something—someone—out there waiting for me. But it can be hard. Sometimes I lose hope.
[pause]
AIDEN VALENTINE:Yeah. Me too.
There’s a note taped to my front door when I get home. Three simple words.
Paella.
Attendance mandatory.
I know a threat from Grayson when I see one, though I don’t need the reminder. Grayson, Mateo, Maya, and I have dinner every Wednesday night, the weekly gathering for our pieced-together family. When we had Maya as confused and terrified teenagers, Grayson and I made a promise that we’d never do anything alone. We knew our family would look a little different, but we also knew it would always have the most important thing.
Love. Buckets of it.
And so every Wednesday, Gray attempts to cook something elaborate while Mateo bustles around behind him, adding spices and stirring every time his back is turned. It’s a system that has somehow worked for the duration of their marriage, while Maya and I sit at the island and snack on slivers of cheese and fresh fruit.
Dinner and a show, Maya always says with a snicker.
I stare mournfully at the couch and the heated blanket Maya got me for Mother’s Day and reach into the fridge for the half-consumed bottle of white wine I know Grayson will want. I find a mismatched pair of slippers and trudge my way out the back door, through the garden gate, and up the back porch steps of Gray and Mateo’s house. Music and laughter filter through the door and my heart rolls over in my chest. Family. Belonging.Love.The only kind I’ve ever known. The kind I made for myself.
I slide my arm through the back door first, wiggling the wine bottle in the air. Grayson gives a loudwhoopand I laugh, nudging the door open. Maya jumps off her stool at the counter, rainbow socks slipping across the hardwood floor as she bounds her way over to me and wraps her arms around my neck. She’s almost at my shoulders now, her not-quite-teenage growth spurt turning my baby into a mini adult.
I panic about it most days. Worry about the things to come that will change and grow and reach boundlessly in directions I haven’t dreamed of. But right now I hug her close and smell her shampoo and try to appreciate that I at least did some things right in this life to end up here like this.
“Thank god you’re back,” she mutters in my ear. “Dad is trying to poison us.”
Mateo wedges himself between us, greeting me with two quick kisses on both of my cheeks. “He’s making paella,” he says quietly. “I don’t understand why he feels the need to try the most difficult recipe he can get his hands on.”
“What was that?” Grayson calls from the stove.
“Nothing,” the three of us yell in unison, sounding suspicious as hell. Mateo grabs the wine bottle out of my hand and passes it off to Gray, nudging the salt pot out of reach while he examines the label.
“Is this the bottle you stress-cry with?” Grayson asks.
“It’s the bottleyouwandered over and drank during one of your art benders. That’s all that was left.” I rub my hands up and down Maya’s back. “Was school okay today?”
She beams at me. “School was great. I kicked ass in tech ed. Our teacher messed up when he was changing the oil on the test car, so I got to show the whole class how to do it. I’m leading an underground movement of factual engine repair.”
I ruffle her hair. “That’s my girl. How did you—”
“Nuh-uh.” Grayson waves his spoon in my face, then points at the stool Maya abandoned. Behind him, Mateo quickly adds something green to the massive rice dish on the stove. “No more school talk. No offense, Maya bean, but we have more pressing matters.” She rolls her eyes and the spoon flicks back to me. Rice comes with it. “Where have you been?”
I give him a look. “You know exactly where I’ve been.”
