Chapter Thirty-eight – Hello Hello
I sit on the kitchen island, one leg swinging, the other immobile in plaster. Taylor is finishing up making a cheese and tomato sandwich for me.
He eyes me with a smile while I look on smugly. "I thought it was your leg that you broke, not your arms."
"I'm an invalid; you have to help the needy."
He rolls his eyes at me, cutting the bread in two and dropping them on a plate. He holds it up for me, still smiling, one eyebrow raised. "Thanks, Jeeves," I say. "How long are you gonna be gone for?"
He shrugs, placing his hands on the counter either side of me. "I don't-" he begins, his brow furrowed in thought. But then he leans a little too close, his leg pressing against my cast, and I gasp in pain.
"Sorry, Cal, crap, I'm sorry," he blurts out, immediately straightening up. He looks at me with those doe brown eyes and worry lines criss-crossing his forehead, and it only takes me a few deep breaths to dispel the worst of the pain before I begin laughing.
"It's fine, Tay," I tell him. "You got payback for having to make me a sandwich."
The creases in his forehead smooth out as he smiles. "I guess I did," he says, leaning closer more carefully this time to plant a tentative kiss on my lips.
"Okay," he says, pulling away, "I'd better go."
He places his hands on my waist and gently helps me down from the counter, supporting me with one hand as he reaches for my crutches.
"I could just carry you to the couch, you know," he says, smiling down at me, but I take the crutches from him instead.
"Oh, so you moaned about making me a sandwich but you'd carry me to the sofa?"
He shrugs, and there's colour seeping into his cheeks. "Practice."
"For what?"
He doesn't reply, just keeps getting redder, his smile shy. Then I realise. "Like when the groom carries the bride over the threshold of the house?"
"You got it," he says, and he winks dramatically.
"Well, maybe next time, Romeo. For now you can carry my sandwich," I answer.
"Deal."
He walks at a snail's pace beside me as I make the gruelling trek from the kitchen to the living room. He watches my feet attentively as just one of them moves slowly forward, the other wrapped in plaster and hovering just above the ground.
"Don't laugh," I say.
"I'm not." But there's a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "I think it's cute."
"You think me being a cripple is cute?"
"Okay, endearing then," he says, putting the plate on the coffee table as I awkwardly lower myself onto the sofa.
Taylor grabs a cushion, placing it on the table as well, and I lift my broken leg to rest on it.
"TV?" he asks, that smile still tugging at his lips.
"If you'd be so kind."
He turns it on, tossing me the remote. "Okay, I am actually going now. You gonna be alright?"
I fix him with a look, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously, Tay, just go."
He grins. "Okay, okay," he says, grabbing his jacket and car keys. "See you later." And, just before he closes the door, his head pops back round the threshold and he calls out, that big puppy-dog grin on his face, "I love you!"
I shake my head at him, a laugh bubbling to my lips. "I love you too, now go on, get lost!"
When he shuts the door my smile stays in place for a few seconds longer before quickly fading. Even with the TV on, Taylor's house is eerily quiet. And then I realise. Our house. My house. This is going to be our house soon, and the thought has my breath hitching in my chest, a smile stretching across my face. I look at the engagement ring on my finger. It almost doesn't seem real. Despite the whole broken leg and Josh fiasco, everything seems too good to be true. God, we're going to have to start planning the wedding soon. I seriously didn't envisage this for myself, not for a few more years at least. It's like the sandman has sprinkled sand in my eyes but kept me awake. It's a waking dream.
I finish my sandwich while the TV rambles through advert after advert telling me to call phone numbers with letters in them, which has always confused the hell out of me. I'm contemplating actually calling one of these phone-numbers-with-letters just to see how it works when the doorbell rings.
I sigh heavily. I was hoping this wouldn't happen.
"Alright, on my way," I grumble as I drag my leg off the pillow. I hold it to keep it from thudding on the floor before reaching for my crunches. Now this is always my least favourite bit; pulling myself onto my feet without toppling over.
The doorbell rings again, twice this time in quick succession. Grudgingly, I manage to stand up, leaning heavily on the crutches. I've only been out the hospital a few days and I still ache. With any luck, whoever's at the door will have given up and gone by the time I get there.
I close the gap between the sofa and the door, stooping as much as I dare to look through the peep hole. I feel like an old woman. But if it's someone selling something, then I'll just save myself a lot of standing up and go sit back down.
Only it isn't a salesperson. It's Josh Farro.
My heart starts hammering. Thud, thud, thud againstmy rib cage. I think I've had enough shock and surprises recently to last me a lifetime, but now they go as far as turning up on my doorstep.
Do I open the door? I look through the peep hole again. He stands there, warped by the lens, but his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets and jittery on his feet. He looks nervous. It's in the way he chews on his bottom lip, in the way his shoulders are hunched.
We need to talk though, I know we do. I've even contemplated texting or calling him, but every time I've unlocked my phone I've just gone and locked it again. I didn't want to make the first move. I didn't do anything wrong. Or did I? Maybe just a little? We didn't invite him to the engagement party. The thought had crossed my mind, but I'd thought it too soon. I had wanted him at the wedding though. Do want him there. But only if he sorts everything out.
I have to steady my hand before I open the door, trying to stay standing on my crutches at the same time. It swings open slowly, revealing Josh stood on the porch. Immediately, he looks from my eyes to my cast. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
I don't feel angry yet, or upset. I just feel nervous, awkward, at how this is going to go. We don't exactly have a good track record of keeping conversation light and easy.
"Hi," I say when its apparent he can't get his words out.
He snaps his mouth shut, moves his gaze from my leg but not back to my eyes. "Hi," he says, his voice tight.
I sigh, irritation swelling. An apology would be a good start.
"Taylor's gone out," I say, as if that might make him open up.
He lets out a long breath, pausing before he finally strings a sentence together. "I've never seen Taylor angry that often, but when he gets mad he gets mad."
I shrug. "Well, you just missed him, so say what you have to say."
He meets my gaze then, frowning. "I'm sorry, Callie."
"Thanks," I say. I was hoping those words would send relief flooding through my veins, but I barely feel anything, and I don't like it. I want to make things better. I can't stand tension. I want the months ahead of me to be happy.
"I really am sorry, Callie," he continues. "I mean it. What happened was all my fault. If I hadn't turned up then..." he trails off, gesturing to my leg.
"Well, what's done is done, Josh. Thanks for apologising. I don't know, it might take me a while to properly forgive you, but it might take Taylor longer-"
I stop, hearing the sound of an approaching engine. Taylor's car swings into view, crawling up the drive. It comes to a stop beside Josh's car, and I feel my test tighten. No arguing, please.
Taylor gets out of the car a little slowly. Even from here I can see how his eyebrows are knitted into a frown. "I forgot my phone," he calls as he approaches, and his voice sounds strained, like he's holding something back. His emotions, that's what.
"Taylor," Josh says like he's trying to start a conversation, but he doesn't continue.
Taylor comes to a stop beside him. "Josh," he says, in greeting, but his words sound final.
"I think I'll leave you to it," Josh says, beginning to edge away.
Taylor dips his head as he lets out a huff of laughter. I've never really seen him like this before. "Okay," he says, and steps past me into the house.
Josh turns to leave, but not before he catches my eye.
"Bye Josh," I say.
"Bye."
I watch him head back to his car, his hands still stuffed into his jacket pockets, before I turn to Taylor. He's coming back from the kitchen, phone in hand.
"What did he want?" Taylor asks. His words still sound tight.
"He came to apologise," I tell him.
"And did he? Or did he back out again."
The words catch me off-guard. There was venom in them, a venom I haven't come across before. "He apologised," I say.
"Okay, good," Taylor says. His face softens then as he comes closer, but I can still see it in his eyes, that hardness. "You okay getting back to the couch?"
"I'll be fine, Tay, don't worry about me."
He steps forward and lands a kiss on my forehead. "See you later then, Cal."
"Bye Tay."
When he shuts the door, the house seems even quieter than before.