by Blair, E. K.
“But what about you never answering my calls or responding to my texts?”
“I’m sorry. I admit it; I’ve been a shitty friend, but that doesn’t equate to Caleb holding me hostage.” I take a moment to better compose myself before going on to add, “Look, Caleb isn’t like us. He comes from a completely different world, and he doesn’t really fit in with our crowd. I haven’t been coming around much because I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable.”
She nods, and I can only hope she understands where I’m coming from.
“I could almost make the same accusation about you and Micah.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I first met Micah when we were freshman, he always used to party. But now that he’s dating you, he doesn’t do that anymore. And I know it’s because you aren’t into that scene and Micah respects that, but someone could easily paint that as you being too controlling.”
She takes a moment to think about what I just said. I wish, instead of her doubting me, she would just be happy for me.
“Trust me,” I say. “I’m not the type of girl who would ever put up with a guy who was an asshole to me.”
“Okay,” she concedes softly. “I trust you.”
“Are we cool then?”
She gives me a subtle nod.
“You want to get out of here?” I suggest, needing to cut the tension somehow. “I could use an iced coffee from that place that just opened down the street.”
“Should we walk?”
“Yeah.”
After we grab our phones and slip on our flip-flops, she stops me short of the door. “You’re one of my closest friends,” she tells me sincerely. “I just want you to know that I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I respond before we hug it out.
We then head down to the street and walk a couple of blocks over to grab our drinks. She doesn’t bring up my relationship with Caleb again, and I couldn’t be more thankful. There’s nothing worse than having to defend yourself to the people who should trust you and have your back.
When she decides to head out, I try to let our earlier conversation go, but it’s proving to be difficult. It’s the knowing that everyone is talking about me and Caleb behind my back. Honestly, it’s embarrassing. The last thing I want is for people to think I’m some weak, stupid girl who’s in an unhealthy relationship.
I’m not blind to the fact that there are parts of our relationship that bother me. Do I like it when he yells at me and loses his temper? No. But he’s only human, and I’m not some innocent bystander either. I’m well aware that I do things that set him off. I’m sure I would’ve lost my cool too if we were on a date and he was texting some girl. I can totally understand his issue with my friendship with Trent but that, in no way, makes him a bad person.
We all have our hang-ups, but Caleb is working on trying not to get so angry when something bothers him, which shows just how much he loves me. The areas of our relationship I’m not exactly proud of don’t take away from the fact that we make each other happy.
And when he comes over to my place later in the evening, I wish they could all see the man I see. The one who shows up with a plastic pumpkin filled with all the best Halloween candy and a copy of my favorite horror flick.
“I figured we could camp out tonight,” he says, and we do just that.
Grabbing a bunch of blankets and pillows, we make a huge pallet in the living room where we lie down, watch the movie, and over-indulge on candy. Nestled in his arms, I plant kisses along his jaw, and when he slips deeper down under the covers, meeting me eye to eye, I know everyone has him pegged all wrong.
He threads his fingers through my hair with a soft, “God, I love you so much.”
KATE
Gathering the hem of my shirt, I roll it up to expose the splotchy, faded green and yellow bruises. I see the marks in the reflection of the mirror and want to believe they are independent of me, that they belong to someone else. Instead, they stare back at me, proving themselves to be real. In the moment when Caleb pinned me down so hard that he left bruises, there was no denying the reality.
So why, as I stand here now, does it feel so unreal?
As if the girl in the mirror is merely a fictional version of me.
I press the marred skin just above my right hipbone and wince through the pain that’s still buried underneath.
I feel it.
Yet, I don’t.
I’m me.
Yet, I’m not.
The man who did this should be a monster.
Yet, he isn’t.
I forget what even sparked our fight because it got torn into a million different pieces that took the argument into a million different directions, all of which landed me at the mercy of his rage. It was the first time Caleb struck me. I’ve grown used to the screaming, the grabbing, and the shoving, but this time he hit me. I couldn’t even comprehend what had happened after he backhanded me because in the very next second, he was on top of me, forcing me down as I kicked and screamed beneath him.
Eventually, I gave up and went lax. When he crawled off, he stormed out of my apartment, leaving me alone and in a state of shock.
I felt like crying, but no tears came.
I felt like running for help, but I told no one.
I felt like I hated him, but I loved him too much.
He came by the following day as I was leaving for campus. Still angry with him for breaking his promise that he made after our last fight, I didn’t want to let him in. So, he stood outside of my door, upset and in so much torment for what he had done. The agony in his voice as he pleaded for my forgiveness was torture on my heart. Yes, he hurt me worse than what he had before after he swore he wouldn’t, but that doesn’t make my love for him just disappear.
“I can’t lose you, Kate. Please,” he urged. “I love you. Please, let me in.”
I couldn’t ignore him when he sounded so desperate, so I let him in and skipped my classes that afternoon.
“I fucked up,” he admitted with his head in his hands as we sat on my couch.
In a way, it hurt worse hearing the pain he felt for what he had done than actually enduring it. My heart broke as he begged for my forgiveness, and while a tiny part of me didn’t want to give it to him, a bigger part of me did.
It wasn’t just him that held regrets. I played a part in igniting his fury, and I admitted my fault, telling him, “I shouldn’t have provoked you the way I did. I knew I was wrong, but I did it anyway.”
The two of us held each other, making promises to turn a new leaf in our relationship and focus on each other more than what we had been. It was a few days later that I took a huge step and invited him to come home with me for Thanksgiving despite my having hesitations. The last thing I want is for my parents to catch wind of any of our issues.
Today is the day though.
Earlier this week, I drove back here to West Palm Beach to spend the holiday break with my family. Caleb is driving up today for Thanksgiving dinner tonight and staying through tomorrow. My mother already adores him even though they’ve yet to meet. She even suggested that Caleb could stay the night in one of the guest bedrooms, but I never told him that. Fear has found a way to embed itself inside me, and no matter how good Caleb and I are doing, it’s something I can’t shake. I walk upon eggshells most hours of most days, so I lied and told him that he would have to stay at a hotel.
When my sister barges into my bathroom, I shove my top down. “Can you knock?”
“Mom wants your help in the kitchen.”
After shutting off the lights, I follow Audrina downstairs, where the aroma of freshly baked pumpkin pie fills my nose.
“Oh, man, that smells good.” I moan as I walk over to the pie that’s sitting on the counter.
“Get away from that,” my mother playfully scolds while I’m bending over and taking a deep breath in. She then swats my butt with a dishtowel.
I jump and grab my ass. “Ouch!”
“Where’s Dad?”
“Pulling down the Christmas lights,” my mother tells me as she hands me a sack of potatoes. “He decided to use your boyfriend for manual labor while he’s here.”
“And you think that’s a good idea?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say sarcastically. “What could possibly go wrong with Dad on the roof with a staple gun and my boyfriend?”
My mother shakes her head and smiles. “I think his intention is to spend some alone time with Caleb to get to know him, not to torture the guy with a staple gun.”
“Choose your poison,” my sister chimes in. “Staple gun or his pistol?”
“Neither.”
My mom hands me the potato peeler. “It’s your father. You already know it’s going to be one or the other.”
The three of us continue to chat while we prep the food. With the Thanksgiving parade playing on the television in the living room and the house filled with so much laughter, we barely hear the doorbell ring.
The moment I see my mother’s beaming smile, I hold my hand up and stop her. “I’ll get it. I don’t want you bombarding him.”
She pretends to act offended as I wipe my hands on a dishtowel before making my way to the front door.
“Hey, babe,” he greets as I open the door, and then he pulls me in for a hug.
I hang on to him longer than he expects, and he senses my nerves. “You’re worrying over nothing. Your parents are going to love me.” As if to punctuate that fact, he leans back and shows me the bottle of wine he brought with him.
“You must be Caleb,” my mother says as I lead him inside.
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiles as he walks over to her.
After he kisses her cheek, he hands her the wine.
“Oh, that’s so kind of you.”
He sees my sister, who can’t even hide her gawking smile. “Audrina, right?”
She nods, and as he’s giving her a hug, she shoots me a thumbs-up, to which I roll my eyes.
My mother is still grinning as she says, “Can I get you something to drink?”
As they walk into the kitchen, Audrina and I trail slowly behind them.
“Oh my god, is that his car?” she whispers as she peers out the window.
I nod.
She slugs me in my arm. “You lucky skank!”
“Aren’t you still seeing Zach?”
“Yeah, so?”
I laugh, and when we make it to the kitchen, I find Caleb standing over the sink, peeling a potato.
“Mom, Caleb didn’t drive all the way here to work in the kitchen.”
“He offered,” she defends.
Caleb smiles. “It’s fine. I’m happy to help.”
I grab a cutting board and knife before sidling up next to him at the sink. As he peels, I chop.
“So, Caleb, Kate tells me you grew up in Chicago. What was that like?”
Caleb goes on to explain how great it was as a kid growing up in a big city—all lies to spare her the unimpressive truth. I listen to the two of them go back and forth with little effort, and I’m relieved to see how easily they’re getting along. Not that I should’ve had any concerns. Caleb is a natural charmer. It’s what immediately drew me to him.
“Everything is down,” my father calls out when he comes in from the garage.
“Caleb is here,” my mother announces, and my father’s annoyed grunt reaches us before he enters the kitchen. It’s all part of the game he likes to play when my sister and I bring a boy around.
“Caleb,” my dad greets, holding his hand out for Caleb to shake.
“Good to meet you, sir.”
“Call me Officer Murphy.”
“Don’t call him that,” I chime in as I step next to Caleb. “His name is Steve.”
Caleb wears an uncertain smile until my mother playfully swats my dad on the arm, and then he relaxes.
Dad ignores us girls, keeping his focus on Caleb. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-two, sir.”
He nods. “Grab a couple of beers from the fridge and meet me in the garage.”
When my father steps out of the room, Caleb gives me a questioning look, and I tell him, “Don’t worry. He just wants your help with the Christmas lights.”
He then grabs the beers and makes his way outside.
“Are you worried?”
I hand my sister the peeler. “No. Caleb is a solid guy. I’m sure Dad will like him.”
Once the potatoes are prepped and mashed, Audrina and I start working on the stuffing while Mom tends to the turkey and watches over the cranberries that are on the stove. One by one, we pull each dish together, and when my sister puts the rolls into the oven to warm up, I go outside to check on the guys.
Only, when I look around, I see my father and not my boyfriend. “Where’s Caleb?”
“Back here,” he shouts as he juts up his hand from behind one of the eaves while my dad casually sits on the roof and sips his beer.
I shoot him an admonishing glare. “Dad.”
He just smiles and takes another swig.
“Dinner is almost ready.”
“Good. I’m starved.”
“Me too,” Caleb says when he shuffles into view.
“What happened to your shirt?” I ask when I realize he’s no longer in his button-up.
“I didn’t want to get it dirty. I had some clean clothes in my gym bag I keep in my car.”
“Are you done with him, Dad?”
He claps Caleb on the shoulder. “I appreciate your help.”
“No problem.”
“And Kate’s right,” he tells him. “You can call me Steve.”
And with that small gesture, I know Caleb has won him over.
When the two of them are down from the roof, I show Caleb up to my room so he can freshen up.
“So, what did you two talk about?” I ask as he washes his hands in my bathroom.
“What you would expect,” he says. “My family, school, hobbies. Nothing too intense.”
He walks back into the room, and I hand him his shirt.
“He didn’t give you the third degree, did he?”
“More like the tenth degree,” he chuckles. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
When we make it back downstairs, the formal table is set and all the food is laid out in a mouth-watering spread.
After we take our seats, my mom, my dad, my sister, and I start to look between each other, and after a few seconds of silence, the four of us bust out laughing.
Caleb eyes me. “Am I missing something here?”
“Grace.”
“Who’s saying it this year?” my sister asks.
My mother then tells Caleb, “We aren’t a very religious family, but it always feels wrong to eat without saying grace during the holidays.”
“Mom is afraid God will strike her with lightning,” I joke.
“I’m happy to say grace,” Caleb offers, stunning not only me but also the rest of my family.
Mom smiles, and when we bow our heads, Caleb gives a very thoughtful blessing, erasing any worry I had about bringing him home.
“Caleb,” my mother starts as she cuts a bite of turkey. “When do you graduate?”
“Next semester in May.”
“Will you be staying in Miami?”
As he pierces his fork into his green beans, he says, “Honestly, I haven’t made up my mind just yet.”
That catches me off guard because he’s never mentioned not knowing if he was going to stay in Miami. “Where would you go if you don’t stay?” I ask, but I already know the answer.
“Nowhere in particular. I’m just keeping my options open.”
He says this, but there’s no question he would go back home to Chicago. Nothing else makes much sense.
Once my parents move on to another subject, he leans a bit closer to me and murmurs, “You have no reason to w
orry. We’ll talk about it another day.”
I force a smile and nod because he’s right. This isn’t the time to discuss his future and how I fit in to it.
After everyone is stuffed and tossing their napkins onto the table, I help my mother clear the dishes while my dad tells Caleb stories about his time on the SWAT team. The two go back and forth, and after I make another trip into the kitchen, my mother tugs my arm and pulls me in for a hug.
“What’s this all about?”
Drawing back, she keeps her hands on my shoulders. “I’m just really happy for you. Caleb is . . . well, he’s nothing like the boys you’ve liked in the past.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“You have no idea. I mean, Caleb is so polite and respectful. The way he looks at you . . .” She drifts off with a smile.
Hearing what my mother has to say and watching how easily my father tossed aside his game of intimidation with Caleb settles the hesitations I sometimes feel about him. Surely, if he was a bad person, their parental spidey senses would know it, right? I need to let go of the idea that couples are always perfect and that relationships don’t come with flaws. But the flaws we do have hold no sway over the foundation of love our relationship stands on.
When all that is left of dessert is a few crumbs and the sun has set, my mother sips her decaf coffee while flipping through the Black Friday ads and my father retires to the couch to watch football. With everyone doing their own thing, Caleb and I go to my room for some much-needed alone time.
I rest my head on Caleb’s chest as we lie on my bed. We don’t say much as we soak in the quietness of the room, the only sounds coming from the football game downstairs.
“I think I ate too much,” he eventually murmurs, and I let go of a breathy giggle.
“Me too. But I’m not going to lie, I would still force down a second piece of pie.”
“Same. Your mother is an amazing cook.” He plants a kiss on top of my head. “When do you want to head to the hotel?”
“What do you mean?”
“You look like you can barely keep your eyes open.”
Slowly, I sit up, and he follows suit. “Oh, I was planning to stay the night here. I thought you knew that.”
“What do you mean you’re staying here?”