In
Mallory
Ibegged Callen for forty-five minutes to shower and freshen up before we start filming the scene with the date invite. I don’t need half that time to make myself presentable, but I need to check in with my family. I need them to tell me if I’m crazy for considering Holland’s proposal.
I tap the video call button, and a moment later, my phone connects.
Aunt Jo’s face fills the screen. “Mallory, thank goodness. Look at this madness. Your parents are going to be the death of me.”
She swivels the camera around, and I hear the crooning voice of Frank Sinatra in the background. My dad floats into the screen. He’s dancing to the melody, cradling my mom in his arms as he serenades her. She’s got her arms wrapped around his neck, and she’s beaming.
“They’re killing me with this cuteness,” Jo says from off camera.
I laugh, feeling some of the stress of the morning roll off my back even as a knob of emotion clogs the back of my throat.
That’s what I want. I want dancing around the living room. In sickness and in health. I want the laughter and the tears with a life partner.
Could my person be Holland?
“What’s up?” Jo’s face fills the screen again. She hooks her thumb over her shoulder. “I want to let the two of them have their little moment. But I’ll get them for you if you need them.”
“No, it’s okay. I can talk to you first.” I flop onto my bed. I tell her everything about the guy at the golf course this morning.She’s outraged, obviously, but I assure her we’re handling it here. I talked to Cy when I got back to the clubhouse, and he told me to expect a call from Collin. I met him at Darla and Drew’s house, and I trust him to take care of everything. Speaking of taking care…I tell Jo about Holland next. How he defended me. What he said to me about his feelings. “Now, I don’t know what to do,” I say when I finish.
Jo bites her lip and cuts her gaze to the left, not meeting my eye. She’s completely silent, and the only sound coming through the line is Frank Sinatra singing about how everybody loves somebody at some point. That, and my parents’ laughter.
They are almost too adorable for their own good.
“Say something,” I demand.
She looks back at me. “You look like you’re surprised by this development.”
I huff. “I am.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Me and Holland? Come on. We bicker like…”
“An old married couple?” she fills in with a wry grin.
“I was going to go with cats and dogs, but…” I shrug.
She sits down in the chair in the corner of my parents’ living room. I can still hear Frank singing in the background. “What about your work?”
“He says I’ll always have a job with him, no matter what.”
“You believe him?”
“I do.” I don’t even have to think about it. Instead, I think about the folded-up note he wrote for me. I opened it when I got back into my room. It said:Don’t ever let anyone steal your voice. You’re allowed to live out loud.I haven’t been able tostopthinking about that. About how Holland pierced right through to the heart of what I was telling him. How he recognized why I was acting a certain way but then pushed back on it. He challenged me. It’s not quite as easy as how he spelled it out, but it’s definitely making me think. I’m allowed to take up space. I’m allowed to have a voice. Inan effort to control my circumstances and all possible outcomes, I’ve been letting other people—or the potential reactions of other people—dictate how I behave for too long. “He’s different than Brevan,” I add.
“Maybe so, but who’s to say he won’t change his tune when things get tough.”
I waver. The rawness of how I felt after our moment in the storage shed is still fresh. Holland wasn’t very perceptive there, was he? But he owned his mistake. “That’s fair,” I admit.
“Do you have feelings for him?” Jo presses.
“Who has feelings for whom now?” My mom’s head pops into the camera. My dad is still holding her.
I sigh, holding back a smile. “Rude, Mom.”
