But no...this is the first time I’ve laid eyes on her in a very, very long time, and damn if she hasn’t gotten even more beautiful over the years.
Calliope is my age...twenty-six. Our birthdays are only ten days apart. We celebrated all of them together, seeing as how we were the best of friends growing up and then way more later.
I take every bit of her in. Her long, dark hair parted in the middle and cascading in loose waves over her shoulders. Her skin a light mocha, compliments of her Puerto Rican dad, but the rest of her face is classic Irish from her redheaded mom. Her eyes are hazel-green, more on the green side when she’s feeling intense emotions, and she has a smattering of freckles all over her nose and cheeks. She’s got the Irish temper to boot.
“Your mom sent me to pick you up,” she replies flatly, her eyes conveying that she’s not overjoyed to see me. “Your dad’s having a bad day, and she didn’t want to leave him.”
In that moment, I forget all about my sad history with Calliope. The way I broke her heart and left her behind for fame and fortune. At least, I’m sure that would be her story if you asked her to tell it.
“What do you mean by bad day?” I ask her, my heart thudding in my chest.
For just a moment, her expression softens in empathy, and she gives a small shake of her head. “I only meant that he’s really tired, and your mom doesn’t like leaving his side hardly at all. I’ve been pitching in when I can to help out. She asked me to come, so I came.”
“Okay,” I reply, gusting out a relieved exhale of air. I attempt a smile. “Thank you for doing that.”
“Sure,” she replies with a shrug and turns on her heel toward the exit doors. I scramble to catch up with her, pulling my suitcase along.
Wordlessly, we head out of the airport into the parking garage and take an elevator up to the fourth floor. I follow Calliope to a later-model Nissan Pathfinder that, although clean, bears a few rust spots near the fender. I notice a parking decal for Raleigh Community Hospital and of course, I know that Calliope is a nurse.
I actually know quite a bit about her because, over the years, I’ve never been hesitant to ask my mom how she’s doing. I do it because I’m riddled with so much guilt and regret over what I did to her all those years ago that I have to torture myself with all the details of her life that don’t include me.
So, yeah... I know she’s a labor and delivery nurse at the local hospital, and while she doesn’t live with her parents anymore, she still lives close by and visits them frequently, so she still sees my mom quite a bit.
Because Mom still thinks I’m the world’s biggest idiot for leaving Calliope behind, she tends to overshare details about her.
Including information I’d rather not know, like the men she’s dated over the years.
Bitterness fills the back of my throat because leaving Calliope behind was truly the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. At the time, I thought it was best for her, and I sacrificed my own happiness to give her the best shot at life I could.
It’s painful to see her now, just like it’s going to be painful to see my dad before too long.
Yeah...this homecoming sucks.
I’m silent for several minutes as Calliope navigates her way out of the airport terminal and heads onto the beltline that circles Raleigh. We grew up on the southeast side of the city, not in the best area, but not in the worst either. Definitely blue-collar and lower middle class. Calliope’s dad is a mechanic, and her mom is a music teacher. It’s funny but I remember being slightly jealous of Calliope growing up. Her dad had a trade profession, the same as mine. Owned his own business, same as mine. Yet her father always seemed to be more involved in her life than my dad was in mine. I knew that while my mom always made excuses for my dad’s physical and emotional absence, blaming it on the stress of his job and owning a business, it really couldn’t be all that true since Calliope’s dad was very present in her life.
“So, how are things going with you, Poppy?” I ask her, hating the silent void that actually hurts my ears, particularly since her radio is off. I’m a bit shocked how easily I slipped into calling her by her nickname that I’d given her when we were younger, but I press forward. “I understand you work as a labor and delivery nurse?”
Calliope’s neck twists as she briefly takes her eyes off the road to give me a sour look. “Look, Rafe... I’m sorry about your dad and what you’re going through right now. I’m sorry you had to come home to this, and I’m actually really committed to helping your parents get through it because I care for them deeply. So you might see me around from time to time. But that doesn’t mean you get to know anything about my life or how I’m doing. It’s off-limits to you, okay?”
I grimace and turn my gaze out the passenger window. “Yeah...got it.”
“Good,” she snaps, and I sneak a glance back her way. She’s gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles are turning white. I knew she’d probably have hard feelings, but I guess I didn’t think she’d still be this bitter after all these years.
I should leave well enough alone, but I have other things driving me than merely wanting to reconnect in some way to this beautiful creature I left years ago. “Do you mind talking to me about my dad?” I ask her quietly.
Calliope jerks, her head snapping my way, eyes round with surprise. “Excuse me?”
“My dad,” I prompt. “It would help to have maybe a bit more perspective as to what I’m walking into.”
“What do you want to know?” she asks cautiously.
I take a deep breath, the bazillion questions, fears, and insecurities I have about my father’s cancer overwhelming me. I try to focus. “He told me on the phone he doesn’t have long...maybe just weeks, but he didn’t give me details. And I tried to talk to Mom about it, but she just cries when I ask, so I left it alone. I don’t want her more upset than she already is. I need information because I’m feeling a little lost and out of control right now.”
I watch Calliope carefully, and while she doesn’t look my away again, her expression is soft with sympathy as she gives it to me straight. “It was just too advanced by the time he went to the doctor. He’s been sick for a long time but kept putting it off, always needing to work. You know how your dad is.”
I nod because if there’s one thing I know, it’s where I got my intense work ethic from. He worked all the time, long hours, and we rarely took vacations. I can even remember him working on major holidays like Christmas and Easter. He certainly missed a good chunk of my games growing up because of work.
“He’s going to decline pretty rapidly,” she says, and the tone of her voice is different. This isn’t pretty, sweet Calliope Ramirez talking, but a seasoned and educated nurse who may not deal with cancer in her line of work, but clearly knows something of which she speaks. “Your parents have already decided to use hospice to come in once he needs more skilled care, but for now, he’s still able to ambulate, eat, and take care of basic life-care skills like dressing himself. He’s just really tired a lot now. That will be the biggest thing you’ll notice.”
A lump settles in the base of my throat, and I can’t even speak past it. She must sense it’s not enough information for me to truly understand what I’m facing, so she continues.