Look at You

Chapter 58

58

When Simon calls, I'm hauling three bags of groceries from Whole Foods into my apartment, all six handles dangerously close to snapping and releasing my entire weeks' worth of healthy girl era food prep across the laminate floors. For a second, I think hey, that's not the worst thing that could happen.

I wipe the sweat dripping down my forehead and drop everything in front of my fridge just in time to prevent any wreckage. Healthy girl era lives on.

I slip my phone out of my biker shorts and answer. "Hi my love."

"Callie, phenomenal. I'm conferencing in Mathias." He's talking quickly and acting faster. The phone in my hand is suddenly ringing again—this time for a Facetime. I shake out the tension in my free hand and answer it.

Simon's in his car. He looks happier than I've seen him in weeks. I almost collapse in relief.

"You're smiling!"

"I'm fucking freaking out," he says, just as Mathias joins the call. "Matty boy. Good to see you."

Mathias is on his couch in his apartment. It's a record high of 68 degrees, but the signature red and white checkered flannel is tucked around that sweet little body in true Mathias fashion. "Hi. You're happy."

"You mistake my nervous energy for glee. That is fine." He blinks quickly. I swallow down my maternal instinct—the one that wants to jump out and say is humiliating yourself in front of everyone we know the best way to go about this? Because Simon is right. There's really only one thing left to do—the grand gesture—and this. This is as grand as he can get in this town.

"How can we help baby?" I've called him twice today, but both went straight to his answering machine. He sent a text immediately after I left a voicemail on the second call.

piano. cnt txt.

"I've got three foot-long subs from the deli and a handle of tequila with our names on it."

I give him my best high-pitched squeal. "Now chile, if you think I am taking tequila shooters at 3 o'clock—" I give him wide, crazy eyes. I am suddenly my aunt—Carla, the one who didn't marry rich—and I know my mother would beat the back of my relaxed head if she heard me.

"I never said shooters!" His smile is wider now. Those dimples are out, and that hair is shockingly not in its perfect textured place. It's giving an air of manic episode, but still. Seeing those teeth in the light of day again warms every corner of my soul. "I got stuff for margaritas. And Cal I got you those little gut health soda things. And Matty I got you some Cadbury eggs—"

Mathias lowers his glasses. "My interest is piqued."

"And I've got my keyboard plugged into an amp I got from Best Buy, and I need you guys at my apartment to listen and be moral support and keep me from busting my ass to Philly and never coming back."

"Say less," I tell him. "Let me shower this Pilates class off me."

His shoulders fall out of relief. "Thank you."

"I'll be there in a few," Mathias says.

I blow two kisses into the screen. "Don't you dare head for the interstate before I can get there fast enough to stop you."

Mathias' square on my screen shakes as he stands up off the couch. "Don't worry, Cal. I'm on it."

__

I dress knowing I'm not coming back here before O'Malley's tonight, even though it's hardly four o'clock. Flared leather pants; one of my mom's vintage blouses. Hair drenched in dry shampoo; two front pieces pinned behind my lobes. I put on all my gold jewelry—chunky chain necklace, a few bracelets, and obsidian gemstone earrings. I line my lips in a soft brownish pink and spray Glossier you into every crease of my body.