“Definitely.” I reached over to take his free hand, threading our fingers together. “Though I was thinking we might venture out later to test that new snow gear we bought for you for Montana.”
Calloway’s eyes widened slightly. We’d gone shopping last week for winter clothes for him that were suitable for Missoula’s harsher climate, and he’d been adorably overwhelmed by the options. “The p-parka makes me look like a m-marshmallow.”
“A very cute marshmallow. Besides, you’ll be grateful for it when we’re dealing with Montana winters.”
He took a sip of coffee, and I could see him processing, that little furrow appearing between his brows that meant he was thinking hard about something. “Do you think your f-family will want to meet me? While we’re there?”
The question caught me off guard, though it shouldn’t have. Of course he’d been thinking about this—Calloway thought about everything, turned it over in his mind like a worry stone until the edges were smooth.
“I haven’t told them yet. About you. About us.”
His face didn’t change, but I felt the slight tension in his hand. “Oh.”
“Not because…” I stopped, reorganizing my thoughts. “My family and I talk about work, weather, safe things. I haven’t told them about you because I wanted to keep you separate from that. Protected.”
“P-protected from what?”
“From their questions. Their assumptions. Their inability to see past their own narrow view of what my life should look like.” I turned to face him more fully. “If you want to meet them, we can make that happen, but I don’t know how that will go.”
Calloway studied me with those perceptive hazel eyes. “You’re af-fraid they won’t approve. Of m-me.”
“Not you as a person, but you for what you represent. The undeniable proof that their son and brother really is gay.”
He was quiet for a moment, then: “I d-don’t need to m-meet them. Only if you w-w-want us to. It won’t change who or w-what we are.”
Sometimes he said things that knocked the breath right out of me. Simple truths delivered with such matter-of-fact grace that I wondered how I’d gotten so lucky.
“Have I told you today that you’re incredible?”
Pink crept up his neck. “It’s only eight-th-thirty.”
“Then I’m behind schedule.” I lifted our joined hands and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “You’re incredible.”
He ducked his head, but I caught the pleased smile before he hid it behind his coffee mug.
We spent the morning in comfortable domesticity. Calloway worked on his memoir while I reviewed the training materials Morrison had sent. The snow continued to fall, muffling the outside world until it felt like we were in our own private bubble. Every so often, one of us would share something—a particularly good sentence, a funny incident report from years past—but mostly we just existed in the same space, content.
Around noon, I convinced him to bundle up and venture outside. The parka did make him look a bit like a marshmallow, but an incredibly endearing one. We walked slowly through the neighborhood, my cane providing extra stability on the fresh snow. Calloway kept pace beside me, occasionally pointing out how the familiar landscape had transformed.
“L-look,” he said, stopping in front of Gladys’s house. “The gnomes have h-hats.”
Sure enough, Gladys had put tiny knitted caps on all her garden gnomes. They looked absurdly cheerful, poking out of the snow.
“Think she knitted them herself?” I asked.
“D-definitely. She knits during b-book club too. She s-says her hands c-can’t stay still.”
We continued on, making a slow circuit of the neighborhood. A few kids were already out building snowmen, their laughter bright against the muffled quiet. One of them waved at us—one of the Frant girls, I thought—and Calloway waved back.
“This is n-nice,” he said softly. “Being out in the world t-together.”
I knew what he meant. For so long, he’d moved through Forestville like a ghost, seen but not really noticed. Now we werea unit, a couple taking a winter walk, normal and extraordinary at the same time.
We returned to Calloway’s house with cold fingers and red cheeks, stamping snow off our boots on the porch. He shucked his marshmallow parka and hung it carefully on the hook in the entryway.
I pulled off my own layers, flexing my right knee, which was already stiff from the cold. The walk had been worth it though. Seeing the gnomes in their caps, the kids building lopsided snowmen, and Calloway’s delighted smile had made every ache disappear into the background.
“Tea?” he asked, heading into the kitchen.
