Rom-Com Collection (Part 2). Kristan Higgins
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all Jane Austen,” I said. “Although it’s funny, you and Mr. Darcy have a lot in common.”
Ian failed to appreciate the comparison. “I’m also a little uncomfortable with your view of me as a tragic orphan. Jane did her best with a child she didn’t expect or want. That was more than anyone else was offering.”
My eyes filled. Poor Ian! Of course, he’d smite me for thinking that, but come on!
He wasn’t done. “I think tonight had more to do with your need for people to adore you than with my relationship with Jane.”
“It is not about that, Ian!” I said. “She was mean to you! I stuck up for you!”
“She’s not mean, Callie, and I don’t need defending. Believe it or not, I can handle my aunt.”
“Then why didn’t you straighten her out on my name? Couldn’t you have done that, Ian?”
He raised his hands in frustration. “She knows your name, Callie. She was baiting you, and you bit. I understand my aunt. I know what she wants for me, and she’s not going to get it. Okay?” His voice rose. “You’re the one who had the problem. Not me. This whole night … this is just the way things are, and you being Little Miss Sunshine was not going to change that, and I told you that, but you couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”
I grabbed my purse. “You know what, Ian? I’m sorry I have so many inconvenient human emotions. I know you hate that sort of thing. I wish I could be more like your dog, who’s perfect in every way. I’m sorry I want people to like me, since I know you don’t give a rat’s ass about that sort of thing. I’m also sorry—” here I hiccupped, so dignified “—that I care about you enough to get upset when someone treats you like shit. I’m sorry that Hester called, and I’m sorry I actually voiced an opinion.” I dashed the heels of my hands across my eyes.
“Don’t cry,” he added tightly.
“Sorry,” I bit out. Then I opened the door and ran down the porch steps.
“Callie, wait,” Ian called, sounding defeated.
“You know what, Ian? I’m gonna go,” I said. “Talk to you soon.” With that, I got in my car and drove off into the dark country night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ONCE IN THE CAR, I wasn’t sure where to go. Noah had told me that he had, in his words, “romantic interests.” Clearly I didn’t want to run into him and Jody in a compromising situation again. Hester, too, was busy, though my brain shied away from the thought of her with Louis. God! There’d been enough carnage tonight. I knew Annie would take me in, but it was late. Besides, she and Jack were probably cuddled on the couch, cooing at each other.
That left Mom or Dad, and as usual, I picked Dad. His house was dark, and no car was in the driveway. He might be on the road … his bowling club did little overnights to different alleys throughout the Northeast. I unlocked the door and went in. “Dad?” I called softly, just in case he was home.
“Who’s there?” a voice called from upstairs.
I turned on the stairs light. My brother blinked and covered his eyes. “Christly, Callie, turn that fucking light off.”
“Sorry,” I said, obeying. “What are you doing here?”
“Mom’s been on my ass lately. Figured I’d hide out here. What about you, sis?”
I sat down on the stairs. A thin beam of pinkish light from the streetlamp sliced through the front windows. “I had a fight with my boyfriend,” I said.
“Mark?”
I glanced up, startled. The idea of Mark and me seemed like a long, long time ago, a foggy memory best left untouched. “No. Ian. The vet. We’ve been … seeing each other.”
“What did you fight about?” Freddie asked.
“I had emotional diarrhea,” I said glumly.
“Now there’s a pretty image,” he muttered. The stairs creaked as Fred came down. He sat next to me, slung his arm around my shoulders. “Tell your brilliant child prodigy of a brother,” he said.
“Seriously? You won’t tweet this or anything?”
“Fine. Steal my fun. I won’t tweet. Or blog. Or put you on YouTube.”
Odd, to be telling my cute little brother my romantic woes, but he listened mostly in silence, except for the strangled noises of appropriate horror he made when I mentioned Hester’s interruption.
“So what should I do?” I asked, feeling the prickle of tears yet again.
“You should’ve stayed and shagged him,” my brother advised sagely. “We men are very basic. We’ll forgive anything for a little action.”
“You’re not a man, Freddie my love. You’re a mere child.” My voice was a little hollow. Freddie didn’t answer. “So how are things with you?” I asked.
He sighed. “I don’t know, Callie. I lack direction.”
“I think we’re all aware of that, honey.” Slipping off my shoes, I tipped my head against the wall. “Is there anything you love to do?”
“Other than get laid, you mean?”
“Yes, Fred, and I’d rather not discuss your tomcatting, okay? I changed your diapers and all that.”
Freddie was quiet for a minute. “I like having fun. Sounds stupid, right? I like to hike and kayak and fish. I don’t think the market is great for river guides, though.”
“Wanted: Mountain Man,” I said. He chuckled, and I patted his bare foot. “Well, what are you best at? You’re a math whiz, your blogs are hilarious, you have a huge following on Twitter, you built a computer when you were twelve, you’re as charming as Dad, so you’d be great in some kind of schmoozing job …”
“See, that’s the thing,” Freddie said. “I’m good at everything. The crushing price of genius.”
“Okay, brat. I’m going to bed. How about you?”
“I’m gonna stay up and watch TV and eat all Dad’s ice cream.” He put his hand on my head. “Want to keep your little brother company?”
“Sure,” I said, and fifteen minutes later, I was wearing a pair of my dad’s pajamas, watching Evil Dead III and doing my part to support Ben & Jerry. And trying hard not to think of Ian.
I RAN HOME THE NEXT morning to change. Noah was up (and alone), Bowie quivering at his side as my grandfather absentmindedly fed him bits of bacon and perused the local paper. “Well, well, well,” I said, getting a cup of coffee. “You made your own breakfast. I’m so proud.” I looked around. “Or has Jody replaced me as your slave?”
“Pipe down, youngster, I’m reading.” He glanced up, then frowned. “What happened? You look awful. You have a fight with that vet of yours?”
I blinked. Most of my conversations with Noah went something like Find my leg, dammit! and me replying Yes, Master. “Wow. Yes, I did.”
He stared at me a minute longer. “Well. Things’ll work out. Don’t you worry.”
“I’m worried anyway.” My throat tightened.
“Ah, Callie. You had a fight, you’ll make up.” He slipped Bowie some more bacon, which my dog inhaled. “Give the boy some time. He’s not used to the likes of you.”
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“Means you’re … big.”
“Thank you. I feel much better.”
“You fill up the whole room, sweetheart,