I add, “With no sad endings.”
His smile lights up his face. I love that it returned one more time. “No sad endings, love. Those aren’t meant for us.”
Good. I’m ready for a happy one.
61
LILY CALLOWAY
“Someone needs to spank him twenty-six times—not me,” I clarify quickly. “I’m not touching Ryke’s butt.” September 19th marks his birthday. We’re all on the back patio, grilling barbecue, while Ryke grumpily slouches in an iron chair next to me.
He’s said four words all day. Two of them were “fuck” and the other two were “off.” He’s been sullen since Lo received the news from the hospital. A lot weighs on his mind.
“I’ll do it,” Lo offers. He threateningly waves a greasy spatula back and forth. “Turn around, bro.”
Ryke shoots him the middle finger, unamused. Lo scowls at his brother and shakes his head. They’re both frustrated for different reasons.
The cool evening air chills my cheeks, the sun disappeared for the night. I adjust my white fuzzy Wampa cap on my head, and then I tug the flaps of a mini-Wampa cap over Maximoff’s ears. Rose sewed the Star Wars one for Moffy, and his cuteness has now broken all cute scales. He sleeps on my thighs, all bundled in a red Marvel blanket.
Rose has Jane snuggled against her chest, beneath a black fur coat, asleep too. Beside the grill, Connor sips wine, and I sometimes catch him observing his wife and daughter with this reverent smile, like he treasures this moment and them.
Daisy wags her brows. “I can spank Ryke later.” In one swift sentence, she deflects the attention off of Ryke’s moodiness. Since they’ve been together for a little under a year, the comment is not as awkward as it otherwise could be. She sits behind Ryke, on the table, running her fingers through his thick hair. He has one hand on her leg that drapes over his chest.
The only time he looks like he’s semi-enjoying himself is when Daisy distracts him. I’ve seen her lean over and he’ll grip the back of her neck for an upside-down kiss. Five minutes ago, I even tweeted a picture of that kiss (with Daisy’s approval) with the caption: #Raisy is alive!
I’m forever waiting for it to trend.
Connor wears a million-dollar grin as he says, “If there’s not a bruise, you’re not hitting him hard enough.”
Lo feigns surprise. “You like bruises? Jesus Christ, love. I don’t even know you anymore.” And then he cocks his head at Rose. “What about you, Mrs. Cobalt? Did you know this?”
Rose’s yellow-green eyes pierce him, throwing a thousand daggers his way, and then she whips her head to me. I stay strong against the fire inside her gaze. “Tell Loren that I think his jokes are subpar and wouldn’t make a clown laugh.”
I recoil. No way am I stepping between their fight.
Lo spins to Connor and says, “Tell Rose her retorts make me feel sorry for her and that she has horrible taste in company names.”
Connor sips his wine, staring between his best friend and his wife like this is his evening entertainment.
I just don’t want it to escalate. That’s always my number one priority.
“I have great taste,” Rose refutes. If she wasn’t holding Jane, I think she’d spring to her feet by now. “And if you hadn’t noticed, you asked me to be a partner in a subdivision of Hale Co. I can still reject you.”
“We’re not calling the clothing line Blossom Babies,” Lo retorts. “It sounds like we’re dressing Cabbage Patch Dolls.”
They’ve been fighting on the name for the past week, and I’m still alarmed that they’ve agreed to work together at all.
“I’m not calling it Hale Co. Baby Clothes. I’m the designer.”
“You don’t even like babies,” Lo says.
“Then why are you asking for my help, Loren?”
Because he needs Rose. And she actually wants to be a part of this project. For the past week, Rose has sketched infant and toddler clothes, overly excited at the prospect of having a clothing line in a department store again.
He stares at her blankly and then says, “We’ll keep brainstorming.”
Rose sits even straighter like she won a spelling bee. Even though I love Lo dearly and I’m on Team Loren Hale, I am also Team Calloway Sisters and so my smile still exists.
It takes a lot for Ryke and Lo to smile, but I check on Ryke just to see if he’s cheered up a bit.
Wishful thinking, I suppose.
On my left, Ryke stares off into space, his gaze haunted and lips downturned. It’s his birthday, and he’s plagued by too many thoughts. I lean close and whisper, “Ryke.”
It takes him a second to register my voice. When he does, he slowly turns his head.
“Do you want to open presents?” I ask. Usually he tells everyone to buy him climbing gear, but this year, it’s like he forgot it was his birthday. He never mentioned rock climbing or the equipment he needed.
Lo and Connor even had a cardboard cutout of Ryke from his Ziff promotional campaign. Our publicists blamed Ryke’s puke-fest on food poisoning, so the sports drink could live to see the light of day. We were going to play “pin the harness” on Ryke but with his downcast mood, it seemed like a bad idea. I think Lo shoved the cardboard cutout in a closet.
“Maybe later,” Ryke says morosely.
Lo’s jaw tics. “Okay, I can’t take it anymore.” He passes Connor the spatula.
Then Lo faces his brother. Ryke stiffens in his chair, his brows hardening in confusion as he watches Lo. Lo…the guy who used to run away from bullies, who shouted insults until his throat burned, who always fell down in the end—he stands upright with magnetic confidence that pulls us all in.
“You’re not dying today,” Lo tells his brother, pointing adamantly at the ground. “We’re all alive right now, Ryke. Maybe in a year, Dad won’t be around, but it doesn’t mean we’ll stop moving. Out of everyone, you taught me that. Don’t look back. Just go forward, run through quicksand. So pick up your feet, man. For one, it’s your birthday. For another, no one likes to see you this pissy. It’s depressing.”
While Ryke mulls over these words, Lo searches for me, maybe for affirmation or just because. His amber eyes find mine in seconds. And his lips begin to rise.
We’ve been obliterated and we’ve come together whole for the first time. Our lives are meteor showers on rewind. I don’t think we even knew what we’d be once we pieced ourselves back.
Maybe we do belong in space with all the stable, constant stars. We’re just the more destructive, more disastrous chaotic pieces, the comets that head towards earth.
After a long moment, Ryke slowly pushes to his feet. He’s an inch taller than his brother. More brooding. But Lo is more severe.
Stone vs. Ice.
Hardness vs. Sharpness.
For a second, I wonder if they’re about to fight. But then he reaches out and clasps Lo’s hand. Ryke leans in for a bro-hug-pat. And my shoulders lift like I’m soaring. They’ve been to hell and back for each other, and I think they’d both be willing to take a second travel if they had to.
Lo always poked fun at me for having three sisters, with all the extra, added drama. He thought being an only child was easier—better. But I can tell that he wouldn’t trade Ryke.
And now he has a sister of his own. Lo cares for Willow, and he doesn’t hide this fact from anyone. He’s been checking his phone all day for her texts, partly responsible for her while she’s in Philadelphia. Tonight, Emily flew in and she’s eating dinner with her daughter to discuss the future. Whether or not Willow will return to Maine is up to her.