Page 110 of Holiday Hopefuls
“Calloway Leora Rutherford,” my father plants tense fists on his hips, “you’re not going anywhere.”
Spinning around to face him, a sense of calm I never thought I’d feel when faced with this very moment washes through me. “Actually, I am.”
My dad’s face takes on a fifth shade of red. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head around in a stilted motion, “it’s still rattling around in there.”
He scoffs. “All of your things are still upstairs.”
“Yeah, Calloway,” Prescott interjects, “I only packed Oliver’s things.”
Connie perks up, turning to me. “I’ll bring all your things over tomorrow,” she says, further wounding our father. She pulls me in for a tight embrace, which is made slightly awkward since neither Oliver nor I let go of the other.
“Thank you,” I whisper in her ear.
Connie leans away, giving me a short nod in acknowledgment.
Looking back at my father, I deliver the checkmate. “I’m twenty-seven years old and can make my own choices. And if I’m faced with a choice between spending today with people who don’t see me as an equal, or with someone who has been supportive of me since we met, I believe I’d choose the latter every time. Merry Christmas, everyone.” I take a moment to look everyone in the eyes, only letting the tiniest bit of guilt leak in when I reach Imogene and Connie.
To my intense surprise, Imogene doesn’t look the least bit upset, instead opting to let slivers of pride break through her stoic exterior.
Connie just acts like she’s ready to shoo us out the door herself so that we can get back to enjoying our day.
Oliver and I share a look as we head back toward the garage door. One that says neither of us are backing out now.
That we’re a team and we’re in this together.
When we reach Prescott, he hands over Oliver’s bag, unable to look my boyfriend in the eye. “Calloway,” he says as we start to walk away.
My feet stop, tuning in to my annoying penchant for curiosity.
Oliver’s protective eyes never leave my face, watching for any sign Prescott’s upset me.
My brother palms the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. His guilty brown eyes meet mine before finding something interesting on the floor.
“Tell Goldie I’m sorry we had to go, okay?”
Swallowing, he nods without another word.
Oliver and I walk hand in hand to the car we parked haphazardly in our haste to get to my family before Chris could. If everything wasn’t so messed up, I’d probably find the poor parking job entertaining.
He makes quick work of tossing his bag in the back and opens my door for me, when a noise from the house catches our attention. Tucking me in close, his stance relaxes when Connie comes into view.
Stepping out of Oliver’s hold, I watch as my sister’s nose pinkens with every passing second. “What’s wrong?” The worry I’ve tried to bury colors the words more than I’d like.
Oliver presses a kiss to my temple. “I’ll warm up the car,” he murmurs into my hair before walking around to the driver’s side. Moments later the car roars to life.
Connie’s arms wrap around herself in an attempt to keep warm as she reaches the car. “I just, I’m so sorry,” she says, shaking her head.
“This is so not your fault.”
“I never thought … he’s such an idiot.”
“Dad? Or Chris?”
Wet laughter bubbles from her lips. Unshed tears glisten in her eyes and I pull her into a hug. “Well, both I guess,” she laughs, wiping her running nose.
I don’t bother stopping my dark chuckle.
