Page 18

Seventeen

My family chat pings from my cell seated in my cup holder. “Hey, Siri, read messages,” I tell my Ford Bronco.

A female robotic voice booms over my speakers. “New Message from: Mom.”

Mom: You’re going into the city again?

Asher: Is Reno really a city? It’s a gambling town, an entertainment hub.

Kailey: Shut up, Ash. We all know you’re in college. Awesome, you’re acing Urban Sociology. Let’s move on.

Mom: K, be nice to your brother.

Mom: Callum? You there?

I can’t make my family wait long. Not after five months with Simone that led to barely commenting in the family chat, and only two visits. So, I ask Siri to write my message for me and keep both hands on the wheel .

I won’t ghost them ever again like that.

Me: Going to see a friend.

Mom: What kind of friend?

Tiff: It’s a girl. I know it’s a girl. He always says it cryptically and weird when he’s seeing a girl.

Asher: A new girl? Already. We just got rid of the last one.

Mom: Be nice, Ash. We just want you to be happy, Callum. The only reason we may have slightly disapproved of Simone is because we saw your natural light diminish. We promise to be nice (I’m talking to you, Ash!!).

Asher: Slightly disapproved? I more than slightly disapproved.

Tiff: When Simone dumped him, Mom said she was going to hunt that girl down and chop all her hair off in the night. The only reason she didn’t is because Dad hid the car keys.

Mom: Tiffany Lynn, I never said that! I just knew she had given up the best thing she’d ever have in her life, and I might have wanted to tell her what an idiot she was.

Kailey: Mom also praised the heavens right then and there that we were rid of the girl. It was a very confusing time…

Mom: I just wanted my boy back. Is that so wrong?

Asher: Geez. Favorites much?

Me: I’m just headed to Reno to see a friend. No need for a family freak-out.

Tiff: He’s avoiding the question. Which means… GIRL.

Kailey: Callum?

Dad: Leave the boy alone.

Mom: Cal?

Me: Fine. She’s a friend who happens to be female.

Tiff: Told ya.

Fran’s short chestnut hair is pulled back into pigtails. Her apron is on inside-out—does she not realize that? She sits across from me in this booth in a very dead Stacks tonight. I’m confused because the other day, with the guys, it was crazy busy in here.

“Is your Open sign on?” I ask.

“It’s Tuesday,” she says, as if this explains everything. “We’re never busy on Tuesdays.”

My eyes draw to her red lips. Not because they want to. Not because I’ve kissed those lips. But because tonight they are red —cherry red. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t work for her. Fran has warm skin and chestnut hair. And red looks good on her.

I lift my eyes to her honey-brown irises. “Is that why I’m here?” I had invited her to Tesoro. But apparently, Fran is a busy one—school, work, and, of course, her dating life .

“Yes. Sal’s cooking tonight. No Glen. Sal doesn’t care if we sit and talk.”

I want to ask if I’m keeping her from anything, but I saw her cleaning when I came in. There’s only one man at the counter—the very man who Fran wished haunting on—and his breakfast for dinner is almost gone.

“Right. Okay, shoot. What can I help you with?”

“Well.” She squirms in her seat. “I told you that I like to remake scenes from movies. And I have some ideas for my next date with Paul?—”

“You mentioned it.” My stomach churns because I don’t care for used car salesman Paul and his viral videos.

“I talk to Rosalie about these things, but I’ve never gotten a man’s perspective.”

I nod, but my brain runs off all the way this could go wrong. What is she asking of me? And does she want my honesty?

“First of all. Red—is it my color?” Her lips pucker, and she waits for my response.

“Red.” I blink, bringing her dark, striking lips in and out of view. “Uh—yeah. Red looks good.” I’m thinking a mile a minute. I can feel the wrinkle sprouting over my forehead. “Is that something you’re, um… testing?”

“Yes. Ever since you kissed me outside that karaoke bar?—”

My pulse quickens with her casual mention of my abnormal behavior.

“I’ve been thinking about lips. In romance movies, we’re always drawn to the heroine. She always has great lips. Bright lips, full lips, red lips. You know?”

I nod—but I absolutely do not know. I’m not really a movie person. But I do know that red looks good on Fran .

“So, the red—it works?”

“It… works .”

“Great.” And then, as if she were taking my order, Fran pulls out her phone and makes a note before turning back to me. “Okay, second opinion: Would you find it strange if a woman left her shoe next to your car?”

The red-lip trance is officially over.

“Are you serious?” I look behind me because it’s possible she’s setting me up. And I’m about to be pranked. Yep, this is all on video, and I am about to go viral along with Paul.

“I’m serious. If I leave something behind—shoe, sweater, purse… he’ll have to return it. But how romantic do you find that?”

I clear my throat. “Fran, are you asking me how romantic I would think finding a random shoe next to my car would be?”

She blows out a sigh, a few of her hairs flying up in the breeze she’s caused. “When you say it like that, it just sounds crazy.”

I refrain from saying that it might be crazy. Instead, because I’ve found that I truly want to know, I ask, “Why do you do all these things? These remakes? Why not just go on a date? Talk? Get to know one another?”

“Oh, we’ll do that too!”

“But why the production? Why do you need to copy something from a movie you’ve seen?”

She glances at the man at the counter, then stands. I watch, certain she won’t be back and that I’ve offended her. She sits on the bar stool next to the older gentleman. “Anything else tonight, Lester?”

“Nope, this is it, sis. ”

“Dorothy was sure a lucky lady. I hope she comes around real soon.”

He reaches out a wrinkled hand and pats her wrist. “That’s real sweet of you, Fran.” Then he sets a ten-dollar bill on the counter and stands up to go.

Getting to her feet, she wanders the few yards back to our booth and sits across from me once more. “You really want to know why I do what I do?” she says.

“Yes. We’re friends. I want to understand.”

“Okay, Callum Hot Lips Whitaker, I’ll tell you.”

Hot lips? I am silently praying she never calls me that in front of the guys. They will ditch my Superman nickname and snatch this new one up in an instant.

“My parents never loved each other.” She wrinkles her nose, and her amber eyes go glassy. “It’s not a new or abnormal tale. A lot of kids grow up with loveless parents.”

I’m sure she’s right—but it’s not the life I lived.

“They didn’t love each other, and I’m not convinced they loved me.”

My insides prick with pain. My parents were always loving, always affectionate with one another and us kids. I never actually thought about how lucky that makes me until this very moment—as Fran so plainly tells me that there wasn’t love in her home.

She smooths her red lips together. “They fought a lot. My house was filled with yelling, irritation, and—” She pauses, swallows, and looks right at me.

“Tears?” I supply.

Her lips perk up in a sad smile. “Tears would have meant they were feeling something. Oh, how I wish we’d had tears.” She blows out a tired sigh. “Our house was angry and numb. I hated the numbness, you know? ”

I don’t know. But I nod—because I want to understand, and this isn’t what I expected at all.

“I just wanted to feel something else, something more. So, I filled my days with movies. Dramatic movies, funny movies, thrilling movies, but most of all, love stories. Because they made me feel—so much.” She leans back in her booth seat, her eyes flicking to the ceiling for a second.

“I was sure that all those movies were a lie. A fabrication of what life isn’t.

But I still loved them.” She tilts her head, breathes in like she’s taking it all in—every ounce of emotion.

“Five years after my dad walked out, my mom decided to leave too. She took me to a friend’s house and asked her mother if I could hang out there for a few hours.

” Fran blows out a shaky breath. “One week later, she came back.”

“Whoa.” I sit up a little straighter. “Fran, that’s… that’s awful.”

“It is. I know it. But that week was the greatest gift my mother ever gave me.”

I don’t follow, but I don’t speak either. I want her to finish.

She wraps her arms around her middle and breathes.

“I was sure after that first night that the Hunters would kick me out. That they’d call the police or yell at me and each other.

” She shakes her head, her eyes on mine.

“But they didn’t do any of that. We played games.

Carol Anne and I camped out on the floor of her bedroom.

We ate ice cream, watched movies, and we laughed.

Those people laughed so much. All of them.

Even when Carol Anne and I stayed up too late, and I thought for sure the magic was about to end.

They gave their daughter a little scolding, turned out the lights, and the next day—” She looks at me for effect, as if I won’t believe her next words.

“No one brought it up again. We weren’t yelled at or put down again and again and again.

They forgave, and they moved on. They were happy, Cal.

Carol Anne’s parents were always hugging and looking adoringly at each other and holding one another’s hands.

They said nice things to each other, and it was clear they believed them.

It wasn’t for show. It was just like all those movies I’d watched. Only this was real. It wasn’t a lie.”

My mouth is dry. For whatever reason, I have been hanging on her every word.

“The happiness in that home was just like a movie, only true.” She grins, and one of the tears brimming in her eyes falls.

“I knew that day that I could and would one day have a movie-like love story too. I want the same house the Hunters made. It’s possible.

I learned that with the week my mother gave me.

And though eventually guilt got to her and she came back for me, I went home to that unhappy house.

Still, there was the memory and idea of what could be.

” She exhales, her speech tiring her. “That’s why I do what I do.

I’m going to find that fantasy romance. I’m going to make that fairytale home. ”

“Okay, then.” I’m at a loss for anything else to say. She’s stunned me. I wasn’t expecting Fran to describe my home—loving parents, happy, supportive family—as if it were a fairytale. To me, it was normal. She’s humbled me. She’s made me look at things differently.

“What about you, Callum? What do you want?”

I swallow. After all of that, how can I be anything less than honest with her?

“I recently broke up with someone. Simone. It was… difficult. I need a break.”

“Oh,” she says, her brows cinching. “So, a long relationship, then? ”

I clear my throat. Because that’s not really why. “Five months.” I shrug, unsure if that’s long or short. “But it made me realize that I need a break from love. You know? I need time to ponder. To focus.”

Her brows cinch, and her head jerks as if I’ve said something shocking. “Ponder?”

“Yeah.” I nod, but she still looks confused or maybe appalled—I’m still getting to know Fran. “Ponder.”

“What’s to ponder?” She stabs her finger on this diner table. “What’s more important than love? You want to take a break from the most important thing in the world?” Her tone rises with panic as she speaks.

I lift my brows and clear my throat. Who knew Fran would take this so personally? Then again, she did just tell me all about her home without love. It’s possible I should have put two and two together. Still, I have to be forthright with her.

“It’s not that simple. I know love is important. I do.” I shrug. “It’s just not for me.”

Fran gasps, her eyes blinking, one palm flat on the table. “Not for you? We’ve gone from taking a break to not for you .”

“It’s complicated, Fran.” I clear my throat. Maybe this was a bad idea. “I just mean that it’s a personal choice. One that’s right for me. I’m not saying it’s the same for you. Clearly it isn’t. But it’s okay if we’re not on the same page, right?”

“The page where we believe love is the most important thing in the world? That it exists?—”

“I understand that love exists. I just don’t need it. Or want it. My situation is different than yours. That’s all. It’s com?—”

She holds up a hand, shutting me up. “You know what I think?”

I really don’t. I’m not sure I’ve met anyone like Fran Fairchild before. To guess what she’s thinking would be near impossible. I wobble my head in a shake. “What?”

“Love is important for everyone, Callum. See? It’s not that complicated.”