Enjoy and please review. Regards CC.

A Doorstep Epiphany

Callie knew she would return - get pulled back by the invisible cord connecting her to Jude. She missed her brother to the point of infinity and could no longer cope with being separated from him.

She knew she would return eventually. And here she was, standing on the veranda trying to conjure the courage to knock on the front door.

Which beggared the question, why did she leave in the first place?

She had found living with the Fosters an outrageous experience. Her first week had been like landing on the Moon – everything from the tangible love between Stef and Lena and the deep down devotion of the siblings towards each other, to the home-cooked meals. Even the house rules were reasoned and fair.

They touched all the time, like bees greeting each other, where one had returned from a nectar hunt in strange and dangerous territory. They communicated "I'm here, you're here, we've known each other all our lives, we grew up together, we belong together".

The Fosters stood clear and unique in her world, where much was synthetic and dishonest and drab. They rearranged her molecules. Who were these magical unicorn people?

Stef was a shining light. She had brought Callie the dawn after the endless night Liam had shrouded her in. Callie didn't want to return to those times when she would find herself at the end of a night, approaching dawn, with nothing but sadness and despair on her mind. Stef fulfilled the need she had to believe that someone was in control, where previously she had thought the opposite existed, that everyone lived in a howling void of chaos. Stef signalled everything and its opposite: chastity and sexy; maternal and remote. She had the wonderful habit of looking vaguely puzzled at everything she said and smiling at her confusion.

Being with Stef and Lena was like being in group session with trained therapists, where she was given the chance to say the things she didn't normally say to anyone, and to tell them the stories she sometimes didn't even tell herself. It was like exposure and it was an epic challenge – heartbreaking, and hilarious and touching. It was if doors had opened inside of her and there were corridors and they lead to places she'd never been. And inside those places were ancient feelings and memories patiently waiting to be acknowledged.

One time in Stef's company, shortly after Liam's trial, she had blurted out "Fuck!" when she had been asked for the umpteenth time that day if she was OK. She had been about to intone she was absolutely fine, thank you. It had been her go-to response so many times it had made her sick. This time the words wouldn't come. The expletive had been so much better – gloriously cathartic like being splashed with cool water on a hot day. Stef did not admonish Callie for her outburst. It was though she had expected it or, goodness, had been egging her on to elicit from her the emotional release she obviously had needed.

It suddenly occurred to Callie to think whether Jude needed the same release. Should she provide the sounding board to enable him to say "fuck" out loud? Or had Stef or Lena already done the job for her in her absence. That thought brought on a wave of guilt that made her want to cry out loud in shame and sorrow, made worse by the relief she also felt that she wouldn't have to perform the service herself. Fuck indeed.

Why did she leave?

In the three weeks since she had left she had tried to make a list of reasons why. It was a short list, which disturbed her. The shortage of reasons meant she must have acted on impulse, which she really didn't want to admit. It didn't occur to her to think that, having to compile a list in the first place, was revealing in itself. No, what did occur to her, was that each item was of dubious merit and accuracy.

The mental list (at least she hadn't written it out!) was topped by the wonderful horror that Brandon loved her, with an addendum in brackets stating she did not love him in return. This had clearly been inaccurate...at the time of leaving since, if it were true, she needn't have run away. Second on the list was her love for Wyatt...at the time of leaving.

At the time of leaving she had been in love with both of the teenage boys. Modern convention stated you could not date two people at the same time. This had been deeply annoying. Certainly, it would be absurd to take them both on a date together – although the concept was quite appealing, but surely alternating wasn't that bad. Of course two thirds of those involved would object and demand a choice be made.

Surely they could all get along. They didn't have to act like characters from a CW show. Callie lapped up CW and ABC Family shows like all her generation, with their one girl with two love interests vying for her affection with barely concealed malice – teen love triangle tiffs made for hugely addictive viewing and she was as hooked as the next junky, but in reality it would be a drag. She would much rather she and her other two corners sit together in Starbucks with their diaries and come to an arrangement.

If her hand had not been forced by Brandon, Callie felt sure she would not have been able to choose. But, choosing Brandon would have jeopardised Jude's entry visa to their new-found Paradise. Therefore, she chose Wyatt.

The irony that Jude was the reason she had left and now the reason she was standing at the front door was not lost on her.

She would sacrifice the relationship she had built up with Wyatt over the last three weeks so as to be with her brother. She would bear the unbearable tension between her and Brandon to be able to hold Jude again.

The mental list of reasons for leaving was based on what she had felt at the time of leaving – the love for two boys. Three weeks later she now realised she had been more in love with the concept of being in love, like the infatuation you have with the latest pop idol. The difference had been that Brandon and Wyatt were flesh and blood, rather than images on posters or a Facebook screen; their words had been sincere and gloriously random, rather than 140 words carefully structured to illicit a emotional response.

But, Callie no longer felt she loved them. She was inordinately fond of them – fancied them to a disturbing degree, but she did not love them. Certainly not enough to give reason to running away from the only home she had ever wanted to stay in; from the only people she had ever wanted to call her parents since her mother had died – Stef in particular made her want to thank a deity she did not believe in; from a brace of siblings who made her laugh and want to care for rather than compete against for favours and attention; from her brother.

What on earth had she been thinking?!

She felt confident she wasn't sacrificing her 'One True Love (TM)'. Neither boy was the epic superhero who was going to solve everything and imbue every facet of her life with meaning, for ever. She was quite relieved, in fact, at this revelation. They could still both be one of The Ones. To her every lover should be The One. For an hour. A weekend. For summer. Love should not be based on endurance, but rather intensity. If the love failed you just had to get up, brush your teeth and have another go.

Much as first love is wonderful, or supposed to be, she dreaded the thought that Brandon and/or Wyatt would be her only loves. They weren't that great! She was pretty sure Brandon's puppy-dog eyes and 90's New Man sincerity (she had read of such in a waiting room magazine) would drive her insane eventually – criminally so. And Wyatt's constant playing with his hair was enough to make her resort to an act of midnight amateur hairdressing – he spent longer in the bathroom in the morning than she did!

There were thousands of people to lust after, to fantasise about. All of whom, she knew, would be impossible to get along with. Still, she wanted them all. And then there's space, other planets, galaxies; an infinity of unknowing.

When she fell truly in love she wanted to know enough of...everything to be able to know for sure he was the One. What she really meant was...she wanted to practice first. She blushed profusely and was oh so glad Wyatt was still in the car behind her. Their 'practice' sessions during the last three weeks had been wonderful – joyously amateur and exploratory; two pioneers discovering new frontiers. She longed to show Brandon the New World. She blushed again and smiled widely.

She had contemplated each direction of escape from the Foster's house. The beach had been her initial favourite. But, despite her love for the sea's edge, and the sense of freedom it induced, it was false, an illusion. It was a wall against escape; run in its direction and you had to stop and turn eventually and face what you were running from. Only a featureless highway could truly offer something over the horizon, even if it was more highway – seemingly endless until the next town appeared over the crest of a hill. So she had taken up Wyatt's offer to hitch with him. She felt guilty. He already thought he was second choice behind Brandon. Did he also suspect he was third behind the beach?

She and Wyatt hadn't set out to consummate their obvious attraction to each other. At the start of their 'adventure' they had remained remarkably chaste, if admittedly prone to teasing each other – a form of intentional torture as though they were both saying to each other "You know the effect you are having on me. You are doing it on purpose. Therefore, I will tease and torture you right up to the line of respectability until you scream with sexual frustration."

The act lasted an admirable eight days until Callie emerged from the motel bedroom and woke Wyatt, who had been taking his turn on the couch. He had taken full control of the large sofa and was using it to its full potential – wriggling, stretching, laid out like a patient in analysis. "There's a monster under my bed," she had said. "Can you read me a story?" Sitting on the side of her bed the beautiful fool actually started to tell her a tale – about a princess running away with her prince, before she placed two fingers on his lips to silent him then replaced them with her own lips. While her days continued to be tinged with haunting melancholy for the brother she has left behind, the nights became oases of seductive warmth. She got Wyatt to tell his story at a later date as it had sounded quite interesting.

However, in place of clumsy fumblings she now wanted a seduction scene each time, even though both parties accepted they would end up in bed together. She wanted a partner to slowly take off her clothes rather than have to disrobe herself. She'd read that in a magazine too, but it sounded so wonderful that she felt goosebumps just thinking of it. Her face began to ache from the smile she couldn't release.

Goodness, she couldn't knock on the door smiling like that!

Callie had started to see herself with a 360 degree view; the successes, mistakes, the patterns, the bad bits co-existing with the other shiny and clear bits. Now she had learnt to cry more easily, shout more easily, and she was probably only just beginning.

"Will you knock on the door already!" Wyatt shouted from behind; his head craned so as to look at Callie from inside the car. "You've been standing there for ages."

"Have not."

"Have too. Godot walked past a few minutes ago."

"You're such a nerd. I don't know what I saw in you," she teased.

"Good grief, Charlie Brown, knock on the frigging door."

Callie stuck out her tongue, then resumed her position on the veranda.

She realised she was enjoying herself. She was waking up like a tiger after a 10-year nap. She was flying. She felt like a living coming-of-age tale, where the eventual arrival occurs in a final leap, preceded by agonising steps – two forward, one back. Her leap forward culminating in an epiphany on a doorstep.

Callie knocked on the door. It opened to reveal Stef. A rush of warm air from inside buffeted the prodigal daughter. For five long seconds – count them, nothing was exchanged. Then Stef smiled, stepped back and to the side and allowed Callie to enter.