Page 107 of Holiday Hopefuls
Oliver stops half a step behind me, yielding to my judgement of how best to proceed in the Rutherford minefield. His warm knuckles brush against mine.
Despite the cold seeping into my bones at the situation before us, Oliver being right here with me does strange things to me.
Like giving me confidence knowing I don’t have to face this alone.
Imogene rings her slender hands together, a brow furrowed in concentration. She furtively glances at our stoic and cautious mother, clearly hoping for some kind of direction on how to proceed about something so unprecedented.
Mom lifts her face from the veil her hands have been providing. Sighing, her glazed look makes its way to me. “Calloway … ”
My feet take me further into the space, reaching the back of the sectional where I have a front row seat to the back of Chris’s head. “Please, let me explain.”
My father’s voice cuts through the air, causing me to startle. “No.” The word is sharp, threatening harm to any who dare contradict it. An unnatural shade of red paints his face as he turns to look at us. Dad stands slowly from the couch with an expression I’ve only seen on him during litigation that’s going poorly.
Or when he would berate any of the older Rutherford children for showing anything short of extreme excellence.
One that reads as calm and collected while he rages below the surface.
“Ira,” Mom cautions.
“Not now, Lillian.” Dad holds out a hand to silence whatever was going to come next.
The gesture has Imogene recoiling, as well. Worried brown eyes flick from us, to Dad, and back while my oldest sister is clearly churning through some kind of internal turmoil.
“Why don’t I go first?” Dad says politely, each word more clipped than the last. His hawk-like eyes are trained on my rapidly heating face. “My son just told us how you and—” angry eyes cut to the man standing beside me “—that man have been using a bogus romantic relationship to manipulate our family. Now, I can’t really say I know why you would want to do that, exactly, but I would sure be interested to learn. Calloway, start talking. Now.”
Oliver tries to step in front of me, but I manage to keep the front position. If anyone should be in the direct line of fire here, it shouldn’t be him.
“I’m waiting.” My father’s voice is low, ominous.
I look my father in the eye when the next words leave my mouth. “No one has called me a glorified babysitter since Thanksgiving,” I whisper. It wasn’t something I’d been aware of until this very moment.
But it’s a truth that Oliver has helped bring about.
Dad’s face contorts in disgusted confusion. “What?”
“The family joke that nearly everyone else has been in on since I graduated college?” My voice comes out stronger this time. Despite the slight tremor in my words, I can feel the flush rising in my cheeks. “Or rather, since the day I announced my major. That was the first time. And one time was all it took.” My fists clench, pressing into my sides.
Oliver places a steadying palm on my lower back.
The calming effect on my nerves is instantaneous.
Dad’s eyes don’t miss the movement. Pointing an intimidating finger at my boyfriend, his eyes bulge. “You,” he roars, “get your hand off my daughter. This is all your fault.”
“Dad—”
“My family is hurt because ofyou,” he spits.
When Oliver tries to step in front of me this time, he succeeds. “Because of me?” Incredulity colors every syllable. Anger rolls off of him in sheets. “What about Callie? Your entire family has done little except hurt her for years.”
Dad scoffs, waving him off. “If Calloway can’t take a joke or live up to her full potential, then that’s on her.”
“Calloway is the strongest person I’ve ever met. You should all be ashamed of how you’ve treated her over the years, some of which I’ve had the misfortune of witnessing firsthand.” Oliver fumes. “And that is my professional opinion.”
Imogene leans forward in her seat while Dad tries to gather his jaw from the floor. “So Calloway brought you in to … what, exactly? I mean, you really are a therapist—and a good one. We looked you up after you came to Thanksgiving. What was the end goal here?”
Oliver reaches backward until his strong hand finds mine, unfurling my fist and intertwining our personal universes. “I was supposed to help balance the family dynamics, however that needed to happen.”
Chris, who has been annoyingly silent throughout this entire discourse, snorts. “And you needed to act like you’re in love with her to do that?” He looks over his shoulder with narrowed eyes, finding our point of connection immediately. “No offense but, like we told you at the school that night, you could do way better than Calloway.”
