My phone rang at precisely 8:07 AM on Friday morning. I knew who it was before I even looked at the screen. My mother was nothing if not predictable in her timing, always calling during what she considered a "reasonable hour" regardless of whether it was reasonable for anyone else.

"Hey, Mom," I answered, pinning the phone between my ear and shoulder as I continued my morning routine.

"Callum! You answered on the second ring. Are you feeling alright?"

I rolled my eyes, grateful she couldn't see me. "I'm fine. Just getting ready for work."

"Oh good, I caught you before you left." Her voice held that specific tone that told me this wasn't a casual check-in. "I'm calling about Sunday."

Sunday. Right. My parents' anniversary dinner. An event I'd been successfully avoiding thinking about.

"What about it?"

"You are coming, aren't you? It's our thirtieth, Callum. Everyone will be there. Your sister's flying in from Seattle. Your aunt and uncle from Michigan. Even your cousin Robert, and you know how he is about flying."

I did know. Cousin Robert had once driven twenty-six hours straight rather than spend three hours on a plane. The fact that he was flying in did make this a bigger deal than I'd initially thought.

"I know it's important, Mom."

"So you'll be there?" The hopeful note in her voice made guilt twist in my stomach.

"Yes, I'll be there."

"Wonderful!" She sounded genuinely pleased, which only amplified my guilt. When had I become the kind of son whose presence was a pleasant surprise rather than a given? "Dinner's at six, but people will be arriving around four for drinks."

"I'll aim for five," I compromised.

"That's fine, dear." A pause. "And Callum? Will you be bringing anyone?"

The question caught me off guard. My mother rarely asked about my dating life, a mercy I'd always appreciated. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, Theo mentioned you've been seeing someone. A girl from a bookstore? He said she's lovely."

I mentally added Theo to my hit list. "It's not like that. We're just friends."

"Of course, dear." Her tone made it clear she didn't believe me for a second. "Well, the invitation extends to her as well. I'd love to meet your... friend."

The way she emphasized the word "friend" made me wince. "I'll let her know. But don't get your hopes up."

"I never do, darling." The cheerfulness in her voice belied the hint of sadness underneath. "But it would be nice to meet someone who makes my son smile."

I blinked, surprised. "Theo said that? That she makes me smile?"

"He didn't have to. I can hear it in your voice when you talk about her."

I didn't know what to say to that. Was I really that transparent?

"Anyway," she continued when I didn't respond, "let me know if she'll be joining us so I can set an extra place. Love you, dear."

"Love you too, Mom."

I hung up and stared at my phone for a long moment. The thought of bringing Isla to my parents' anniversary dinner was simultaneously appealing and terrifying. On one hand, it would be nice to have someone in my corner, someone who wouldn't look at me with that careful blend of concern and pity that seemed to be my family's default expression since the accident. On the other hand, it was a lot to ask of someone who wasn't even my girlfriend.

I texted Theo: Big fuck you for telling my mom about Isla.

His response came almost immediately: What? She asked if you were seeing anyone. I said you had a friend. Not my fault she read between the lines.

I considered bringing Isla to the dinner. The idea kept circling in my head as I finished getting ready, as I drove to work, as I sat through a morning meeting about client deliverables. By lunchtime, I'd gone from "absolutely not" to "maybe" to "how would I even ask her?"

Which is how I found myself outside Horizon Books at 12:30, my lunch break half gone, still sitting in my car like some kind of stalker. This was ridiculous. We were adults. I could simply ask if she wanted to come to a family dinner. The worst she could say was no.

With that pep talk firmly in mind, I wheeled into the bookstore. The lunch crowd was thin, just a couple of browsers and Isla behind the counter, her nose buried in a book. She looked up when the bell chimed, and her face brightened when she saw me.

"Hot Wheels!" she exclaimed, marking her place and setting the book aside. "What brings you to my humble book emporium on this fine Friday?"

"Just thought I'd stop by."

"During your lunch break? I'm honored." She leaned on the counter, studying my face. "You look serious. Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine." I approached the counter, suddenly uncertain how to phrase the invitation. "I was just wondering if you were free Sunday night."

"Sunday?" She tilted her head. "I think so. What did you have in mind?"

"My parents are having an anniversary dinner. Thirtieth. Big deal, apparently. Lots of family." The words came out in an awkward jumble. "My mom said I could bring someone. If you wanted to come."

Isla stared at me like I'd suggested we rob a bank together. "A family dinner? With you? Yeah, no."

"That's what I figured." I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. "It was just an idea."

"Callum, it's a family event. An anniversary. That's..." She made a vague gesture with her hands. "That's a lot."

"I know."

"That's like, serious relationship territory."

"I said it was just an idea."

She bit her lip, looking uncertain for the first time since I'd known her. "Wouldn't it be weird? Me showing up at your family event? What would you even introduce me as?"

"A friend."

"Right. A friend." She nodded, but something flickered in her eyes. Disappointment? Relief? I couldn't tell. "Anyway, I probably wouldn't be good company. I'm not exactly great with the whole meeting-new-people thing."

"You meet new people every day in here."

"That's different. That's work. I have a script for that." She straightened a stack of bookmarks on the counter. "Plus, family stuff is complicated for me. You know that."

"I know. It was just a thought." I glanced at my watch. "I should head back to work. Lunch break's almost over."

"Callum."

I looked up, meeting her eyes.

"It's not because I don't want to spend time with you," she said carefully. "It's just a lot of pressure. Meeting your family. Being in that kind of setting."

"I get it. Really." I offered a small smile. "No big deal."

"Are you sure? You look..."

"I'm fine, Sunshine. Don't worry about it." The nickname slipped out naturally, feeling right on my tongue.

She smiled at the use of it, though something still seemed off in her expression. "Okay. Still on for tomorrow? The art festival?"

"Absolutely. Noon, right?"

"Yep. I'll text you the address."

"Looking forward to it."

With a final wave, I headed back to my car, telling myself it was for the best. Bringing Isla to my family's event would have been complicated, confusing. Better to keep things as they were. Uncomplicated. Undefined. Safe.

The rest of the workday dragged, my mind only half on my tasks. By the time I got home, I'd convinced myself I'd made the right call not pushing the dinner invitation. Yes, I was disappointed she'd said no, but it was an unreasonable ask to begin with. We weren't dating. Not officially. We hadn't even kissed, beyond those brief pecks on the cheek that could be interpreted as friendly.

I ordered takeout, settled in with a beer and a basketball game I only half watched, and tried not to think about what Sunday would be like. Facing my extended family alone. Answering the well-meaning but exhausting questions about my health, my work, my love life. Watching my mother's careful hovering, my father's awkward attempts at normalcy.

My phone buzzed just after 10 PM. A text from Isla.

Sunshine: What time on Sunday?

I stared at the screen, wondering if I'd misunderstood.

Sunshine: For the dinner. If the invitation still stands.

My heart did a strange little flip in my chest. I typed back: 6, but people are arriving from 4. Mom said around 5 is fine. Are you sure?

Sunshine: No. But I want to. For you.

The simplicity of that statement made something warm bloom in my chest.

Me: You don't have to.

Sunshine: I know. I want to. Unless you've changed your mind?

Me: No. I'd like you to come.

Sunshine: Then it's settled. I'll be there.

I hesitated, then added: Fair warning: my family can be a lot.

Sunshine: So can I. We'll make quite the pair.

I smiled at that.

Sunshine: One question: is there a dress code? Like, how fancy are we talking?

I considered. My family wasn't particularly formal, but this was a special occasion.

Me: Nice but not formal. No jeans, I guess.

Sunshine: Got it. I'll dust off my fancy pants.

Me: You own fancy pants?

Sunshine: No, but I'll find something nice. Don't worry, I'll make you proud, Hot Wheels.

The nickname made me smile.

Me: You always do, Sunshine.

There was a long pause before her next text came through.

Sunshine: That's possibly the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.

Me: Then you need better people in your life.

Sunshine: I'm working on it. Starting with you.

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I changed the subject.

Me: I'll pick you up at 4:30 on Sunday?

Sunshine: Perfect. Goodnight, Callum.

Me: Goodnight, Isla.

I set my phone down, a strange mixture of excitement and anxiety churning in my stomach. She'd said yes. She was coming to meet my family. It was a big step, bigger than anything we'd done before. Bigger than late-night texts or diner meals or art festivals. This was entering new territory.

And despite all my attempts to play it cool, I was terrified. What if my family was too much? What if she felt uncomfortable? What if seeing me in that context, surrounded by people who knew me before, changed how she saw me now?

Most of all, what if she saw how different I was with them? How guarded, how distant. How I kept them at arm's length not because I didn't love them, but because I couldn't bear the weight of their concern, their handling of the new me.

Yet beneath the fear was a thread of something else. Hope, maybe. Or anticipation. Because for the first time in four years, I was bringing someone to a family event. Someone who mattered enough that I'd risk the awkwardness, the questions, the knowing looks.

Someone who saw me. Really saw me. And chose to be there anyway.

The next day, we met for the art festival as planned. It was a beautiful autumn day, the kind that reminded you winter was coming but wasn't quite ready to surrender to it yet. Isla wore a bright blue dress and a denim jacket, her hair loose around her shoulders, catching sunlight like burnished copper. She seemed relaxed, happy, pointing out interesting artwork and dragging me to various food trucks to sample everything from Korean tacos to ice cream.

It wasn't until Isla was sitting on a bench beside my wheelchair, both of us people-watching and sharing a plate of something called "loaded tots," that she brought up the dinner.

"So," she said, popping a tater tot into her mouth, "about tomorrow."

"Having second thoughts?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"No. Well, yes. But no." She fiddled with her napkin. "I just want to make sure I understand what I'm walking into. Who's going to be there exactly?"

"My parents, Lillian and Alistair. My sister, Tessa, who's flying in from Seattle. My mom's brother and his wife. My dad's sister and her husband. Their son, my cousin Robert. Maybe a few family friends. Not a huge crowd, but enough."

She nodded, absorbing this. "And they know about everything? With you, I mean."

"They were there for all of it. The accident, the surgeries, the rehab."

"Right. Of course." She was silent for a moment. "Do they know about me?"

"They know I'm bringing someone."

"What did you tell them?"

I hesitated. "That you're a friend."

"A friend." She repeated the word, her expression unreadable. "That makes sense."

"Is that okay?"

"Of course. That's what we are, right?" But there was a question in her voice, a slight uncertainty that made my chest tighten.

"Right," I agreed, though it felt like a lie. We were so much more than friends at this point, even if neither of us was ready to define exactly what.

"And they'll be cool with that? Me just showing up as your... friend?"

"They'll be thrilled I'm bringing anyone, to be honest. I don't usually involve people in family stuff."

She studied my face. "Why not?"

I shrugged, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "It's complicated."

"Most things worth talking about are."

I sighed, knowing she wouldn't let it go. That was Isla, always pushing, always digging deeper. "After the accident, I pulled away from them. Not physically—they were there for all of it, like I said. But emotionally, I just couldn't handle how they looked at me. Like I was broken. Like they'd lost the son they knew."

She nodded, understanding in her eyes. "And you didn't want to subject anyone else to that dynamic."

"Something like that."

"So why now? Why me?"

It was the question I'd been asking myself since I first considered inviting her. Why her? Why was I willing to risk the discomfort, the awkwardness, the inevitable questions?

"Because you don't look at me like I'm broken," I said finally. "And I guess I want them to see that. To see me the way you do."

Her eyes widened slightly, surprise and something else flickering across her face. Then her expression softened into a smile that made my heart skip. "Well, when you put it like that, how could I possibly say no?"

"You still can, you know. Back out."

"Not a chance, Hot Wheels." She stole the last tater tot from our shared plate. "I've already started planning my outfit. No going back now."

"Anything I should know about you before I introduce you to my family? Secret criminal past? Weird food allergies? Tendency to break into showtunes when nervous?"

She laughed. "No criminal record they could find, no food issues except a deep suspicion of mayonnaise, and my singing voice has been compared to a cat being strangled, so no worries there." Then she grew more serious. "But there is something you should probably know, if we're doing this."

"What's that?"

"I'm not great with families." She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, a nervous gesture I'd never seen her make before. "Like, my own experiences were not typical. So sometimes I don't know how to act in normal family situations. I might say the wrong thing or ask weird questions or not understand some dynamic that everyone else takes for granted."

I reached over and caught her hand, stopping the nervous fidgeting. "You'll be fine. And if you're not, we can leave early. Just say the word."

She looked down at our hands, then back up at me. "You'd do that? Leave your parents' anniversary dinner early just because I felt uncomfortable?"

"Yes."

The simple answer seemed to surprise her. "You're not what I expected, Callum Rhodes."

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know. Someone less good." She said it with a hint of wonder, like the discovery was still new to her.

"I'm not that good."

"Better than you think." She squeezed my hand, then released it. "So, we're doing this. Tomorrow. Me, you, and your family. What could possibly go wrong?"

"That's the spirit."

"Should I bring something? Wine? Flowers? A smoke bomb for a quick escape if things get awkward?"

I smiled. "Just yourself. That's more than enough."

A pink tinge colored her cheeks at that. "Smooth talker."

"Just honest."

We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through the festival, commenting on artwork, trying more food, enjoying the ambient music from a small stage where local bands performed. It was easy, comfortable in a way I hadn't expected. Being with Isla in public, navigating crowds, dealing with the occasional logistical challenges my chair presented—it all felt natural, no awkwardness, no pointed looking away when I needed to manage something.

By the time I dropped her off at her apartment that evening, the anxiety I'd felt about the dinner had transformed into something closer to anticipation. Yes, it would probably be awkward. Yes, my family would definitely read too much into her presence. But somehow, with Isla by my side, even the prospect of an uncomfortable family dinner didn't seem so daunting.

"Thanks for today," she said as she got out of the car. "I had fun."

"Me too."

"See you tomorrow, then. 4:30."

"4:30," I confirmed.

She leaned back into the car and, in what was becoming a habit, pressed a quick kiss to my cheek. "Goodnight, Hot Wheels."

"Goodnight, Sunshine."

I watched her enter her building, a small smile playing at my lips. Tomorrow would be interesting, to say the least. My family meeting Isla. Isla meeting my family. Two worlds colliding in what would undoubtedly be a memorable evening.

One dinner. No survivors.