11. Calista

11

CALISTA

" I told you to leave all my things alone," my mother sobs at the kitchen table.

It's a change from the screaming rage earlier. "Mom. I'm sorry. But it was a health hazard. All I've done is clean it up."

"You had no right to throw anything away."

This has gone on for two hours, since I tried to make a start on the bathroom. I was on my knees, pulling stacks of cardboard from beneath the vanity, when she hobbled out of her room, obviously in pain, and let out a cry a Viking shield maiden would be proud of.

Then, she pulled my hair to make me stop, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to get me off my knees.

I take a deep breath, recenter myself by looking out of the window at the garden. There's a wintery sun today, and it glints off last night's snowfall that thankfully covered over the debris from Switch and Vex power washing things in the yard.

I can hack many things, but not my mother's health. And the patience I have when I'm up to my eyeballs in code is somehow escaping me.

But at two o'clock this morning, I realized this is a turning point in mine and my mom's relationship. Vex's words hit deep.

You're gonna leave her like this?

Am I?

I can't see a life here. I'm the CEO of a company that employs three thousand people. I can't just up and move it across the country because my mom is…

I don't know what she is.

Becca found a private doctor willing to make a house call because, well, I did what I normally do and threw money at the problem. She was clear that there won't be a full diagnosis tomorrow. It'll be the start of a journey to begin understanding what happened to her.

Guilt ripples through me as I look at her. She's…diminished. She seems shorter than I remember. Definitely more fragile. Emotionally and physically.

"Mom," I say, walking to her calmly. I crouch down next to her chair and take her hand. It's cold in mine. "I understand this must be frightening for you."

She doesn't say anything, but she squeezes my fingers.

"It's okay. All of it. But, if you want to stay in this house, you need to let me help you clean it so it's safe and healthy for you. Or I can find you a smaller place, perhaps a little apartment that might be easier to clean."

I stop shy of suggesting she come live with me. That would need a lot more consideration.

"I want to stay here. This is my home."

I nod. "It's been a really good home to you. But if that's what you really want, then some things are going to have to change for you to be safe."

She turns to look at me, and there is something almost childlike about the gesture. "I don't want to throw anything away."

I nod again. "I know. You've obviously worked very hard to collect all these things. But they're going to make you sick. And you really need to be able to use the bathroom and walk down the stairs safely."

"Can you store it all in the garage?"

"I will," I say. But I don't promise. Anything with mold, anything easy enough to replace, will go in the garbage. Cereal boxes folded in half, out-of-date flyers from the grocery store, half eaten food will all go straight into the yard skip I've arranged to be delivered this afternoon.

She takes a breath. It ends on a wheeze.

"I cleaned out the bathtub. Why don't you go take a bath or a shower, and I'll strip your bedding and wash it. I can get it dry by tonight."

"I don't need you to do that," she says, snatching her hand back from me.

"I know you don't need me to, but I'd like to. It'll feel nice to be clean. I'll put my toiletries at the end of the bath so you can use them."

"Fine," she agrees, and I let out a whoosh of breath.

Feels like I just won a point in a game of tennis.

But my mom's life isn't a game.

Just as I finish watching her walk upstairs and close the bathroom door, I hear the clatter of a truck outside. It must be the delivery of the yard skip for the waste. But when I open the door, it's Vex who is standing on the porch. "The driver wants to know where to put the skip."

I look confused between the two. "Did you two come together?" I ask.

Vex shakes his head. "Just got here at the same time."

"I'll go tell him to put it on the drive." I go to grab my boots.

"I got it, Cal. It's cold. Stay inside."

Before I can argue, he's gone. From the living room window, I watch as he shares a few words with the driver, helps him reverse the truck up the driveway, and waits until it's unchained.

He always was so utterly competent. I used to love the quiet and stoic way he went about fixing things.

When the truck disappears down the road, Vex walks back toward the house. His shoulders are hunched against the biting cold, and he cups his hands before blowing warm air into them. When he knocks on the door, I contemplate ignoring him. But I can't.

"What do you want?" I say when I open the door.

"We going to argue about this all over again today, Calista?"

"Argue about what? How we aren't friends?"

"Just let me in. You're letting all the heat out."

He sighs and looks at me the way he always used to. I wish for a millisecond that his eyes weren't so damn persuasive. I think about the time he wanted to spend the summer camping in tents next door to each other. I didn't want to because I hate mosquitos and the outdoors. He wanted to because he shared a bedroom with his younger brother and wanted some space.

I told him he didn't need me to camp for him to camp.

And he told me it wouldn't be the same without me. On his own he was just a weird kid camping in his own yard. With me in my own tent next to his, we could pretend we lived anywhere other than Asbury Park. We could pretend we were neighbors in a Manhattan condo or a Malibu beach house.

He'd looked at me then as he's looking at me now.

I ended up spending the summer in the tent. And it hadn't been as painful as I'd imagined.

Perhaps the same would happen today.

Because it's a strange thing, carrying so much hate for the man you loved.

I step out of the way and let him in.

He smells of fresh air, wholesome and earthy. "It's warm in here," he says.

I put my hands on my hips. "The guy came and got the heating working again."

"What's the skip for?" he asks.

"Did you just come here to ask me questions, or was there a purpose for this intrusion?"

Vex smirks and his dimple pops. "Babe, if you're hungry, go get a snack. If you're tired, go get some sleep. But don't talk to me like that when you kissed me with that same mouth less than twenty-four hours ago."

"First, I'm not your babe. Second, I'm not hungry or tired." It's a lie. I slept like shit on the sofa. First, I was too hot in front of the fire, then, I tossed and turned on the lumpy cushions. When I woke, my knees hurt from being bent like a pretzel for most of the night. And my dreams…well, they were filled with images connected to his third point. "And third, we aren't talking about that kiss. It was a mistake."

He sits down on the sofa and pats the cushion next to him. "Didn't feel like a mistake from where I was standing."

I sit down on the chair. The one across the room that couldn't be any farther away from him unless it were outside the damn house.

Words tumble in my head, but none of them are strong enough, witty enough, hard enough to make Vex leave.

But thoughts rush in. Of how it felt to walk away with such an ache between my legs for the man sitting there so calmly.

How I touched my clit once I lay down on the sofa in the darkness, desperate for sleep, but too revved to forget what had happened.

The orgasm I brought myself to was almost as good as the kiss. I'd allowed my mind to daydream to a place where I'd let him remove my denim and released his cock from his jeans.

I'd come to the imaginary grunts he'd make as he came deep inside me.

"Stop trying to find some smart-ass comment to say. And we don't need to talk about the kiss."

"We don't?" Mentally, I slap a palm to my forehead. I'm the CEO of a successful company. I know how to galvanize my team, schmooze investors, and control the media narrative about me.

Now? I'd probably struggle to recite my ABCs.

He shakes his head. "Tell me what we're working on today."

"I don't need?—"

"Yeah, yeah. You don't need my help. You're an independent woman. You hate me. Got it. We had this conversation yesterday, and I still ended up helping you out. So, let's just jump to the part where you tell me what the skip is for, and I'll make a start."

"I don't like being cut off or spoken over."

Vex stands and removes his jacket. "Well, when you start saying something worth hearing, I won't do it."

"Fuck you," I say.

A wide, white-toothed smile greets my words. "There's the girl who handled Kiwan's shit in sixth grade."

I almost smile at the thought of the bully's attempt to trip up Benny Barlow, the small fourth grader, as he carried a tray full of art supplies down the school corridor. I might have been suspended for an afternoon, but I was treated as a hero when I returned to school after the weekend.

And Kiwan walked a wide circle away from me every time I saw him after that.

"The stairs," I blurt, before I say anything else. "I intend to clear the stairs so she can walk up and down them properly. From what I can tell, it's an avalanche of old newspapers and junk. Then, I want to tackle my old bedroom. If I can tidy that room, I can move Mom into it while I do hers."

"Got it. You got a cleaning company coming in?"

"I had it booked for tomorrow. They specialize in cleanups, but…"

"But?" Vex asks.

"I think the intrusion might be too much for Mom. Or she might be too embarrassed if they come in before we clean some of it up. I feel like if I can get all of this done today, it'll make their cleanup easier."

Vex pulls his phone out of his back pocket. "I have an idea."