Page 182 of Trouble from Abroad
Instead, I stayed.Haven’t I learned this lesson earlier?
Mia told Callie to keep her voice down. That I might be sleeping. Another missed opportunity to show myself and be a decent human being. Missed my shot at that again when I inched closer to listen better.
To secrets. Private things.
Things you can’t unhear.
The kind that starts with“bang the awkward out of me”and spirals from there.
And Callie’s contributions? Those confessions alone will earn me multiple sessions of hypnosis, because they’re beyond what therapy can do for a person.
Now I’m glued to the wall, an overgrown, ethically compromised Spider-Man, praying I don’t sneeze or breathe too hard.
As I try to retreat, quietly and carefully, Callie says, “I’ll save you from hiring a man-whore to teach you how to fuck.”
That’s it. The end of whatever moral high ground I thought I still had. My breath catches in my throat. I don’t blink for a full ten seconds. I might be permanently stuck in this position: knee lifted, foot in the air.
But then Callie adds, “There’s nothing in your body that needs fixing,” and some of the tension goes out of me. I find my footing, unfortunately on a loose board, which betrays me with a loud creak.
Fuck.
Perfect timing though, because hell breaks loose in my living room, and I just roll with it. There’s a dramatic yelp, the unmistakable splash of something spilling, and Callie’s hysterical laughter trailing right behind it.
I panic-move, and another step up is all it takes. I stride in, doing my best impression of someone who hasn’t just been standing here being the dictionary definition of a creep.
Mia appears, breathless, heading back from the kitchen. She stops cold when she sees me. “Oh God. You’re awake.”
“I was reading downstairs,” I say, too fast and defensive, but she’s too flustered to notice.
She holds up the paper towel as if it explains everything. “I was just… Her drink… I need to clean the?—”
“You don’t need to clean,” I say, stepping in and taking the roll from her hand. Our fingers brush. Hers are warm. “I’ve got it.”
I kneel beside the champagne-stained carpet, blotting as if I didn’t just hear every word of the most chaotic conversation of my adult life.
Behind me, Callie cackles on the floor, probably convinced she’s the star of tonight’s comedy special. Mia mutters something and helps her back onto the sofa.
“Time to call it a night,” I say, not looking at either of them. “Do you want to crash in Lily’s room?” I ask Callie.
“Noooo.” She shakes her head frantically. “No offense, but all those unicorns and fairies freak the hell out of me.”
“All right. I’ll drive you home, then.”
“Nah, just call me an Uber.”
“You sure?”
Callie smirks. “Yeah. You can track me through the app if your need for control gets too bad.”
Mia’s already heading to the kitchen again. “I’ll get you some water while you wait.”
Callie watches her go, then lowers her voice, just for me. “She’s a good one.”
I don’t say anything that can and will be used against me in the court of Calista Maverick.
Mia returns with a banana and the biggest drinking glass I own.
“Small sips until the car gets here,” she says, pressing itinto Callie’s hand. “And eat this. Before bed, not after you’ve passed out.” She gets Calista sorted—water, sugar, orders her around with that quiet teacher calm—and one of the most stubborn women in the world complies. She might be a good nanny, after all.
