The store has been a safe place for Lily away from the house, and we both know if it opens, that safe place ends.
“We can wait,” I offer. Her despondent gaze is really f**king scaring me. “I can convince—”
“No,” she interrupts, but my muscles keep tightening. “He’s right. We should open it soon.” I know she doesn’t believe that. “I’ll hire a general manager and just keep in contact through phone and texts, so I know what’s going on…”
“Lily,” I say her name but I can’t say anything else. My lungs constrict, and when I look at her, all I see is a girl trapped in her own world.
Hell, she’s trapped in her own f**king body. She just needs time, but no one seems to be giving it to her.
She actually turns her head to look at the space underneath the desk, like she’s contemplating returning. Don’t you f**king dare crawl back there, Lil.
Slowly, she climbs off my lap. “I’m going to go count the inventory,” she says in this really soft voice, all her humor gone. My biggest fear barrels into me. Losing her.
“No you’re not,” I snap. “You’re going to stay here and help me with this pile of shit.” I wave at my desk, motioning to the comics. She considers this like it’s a suggestion. It’s not. I don’t trust her to be alone right now.
“Please, Lil,” I add. “I’m getting bogged down here. I need your help. You can do the inventory another day.” That does the trick.
She walks back to the desk and picks up a thick manuscript.
It’s terrifying how the both of us can ride highs and lows so quickly. She slumps down on the chair and opens a comic, her lips slightly downturned. But I’d take a Lily at a low over no Lily at all.
That’s the truth.
4
0 years : 01 month
September
LOREN HALE
We opened Superheroes & Scones last week.
Three hours before we unlocked the doors, we had to rope off the sidewalk to contain the lines and lines of people outside. The crowds haven’t died down since. The shittiest thing: We barely sell any comics. People buy a cup of coffee and sit their asses in a booth, waiting to spot Lily or me.
We’re the products on display.
Lily spent the last two weeks holed up at the Princeton house, hiding from the reenergized media. I invited her to lunch, and she threw out some excuse about studying. But I know she’s binge-watching a TV show.
Right now, I ignore Ryke and Connor, the latter of which accepts our drinks from a waitress. She wears a multicolored Sombrero. Apparently it was some kid’s twelfth birthday, so they sang in Spanish to him and shook maracas. The boy looked pretty happy.
I focus on my cellphone and text Lil.
I’m checking Netflix when I get home. I press send, not clarifying. She’ll understand where I’m going with this.
She replies quickly. Do it. I’m studying :P – Lily
Did you just stick your tongue out at me?
:P – Lily
While adorable, the emoticon is her way of being evasive. I wish she was here. It’s easier to know where her head’s at when I can actually see her.
“Are you joining us for lunch, Lo?” Connor asks me as the waitress leaves us with more chips and a bowl of guacamole.
I pocket my phone and attempt to clear the frustration from my features. It’s like a permanent appendage, this pissed off I f**king hate you look. I can’t get rid of it.
I don’t know how.
My gaze drifts to that young kid in the center of the Mexican restaurant, at a table for ten, probably all family surrounding him.
While he opens a present, his mom collects the tissue paper and folds it neatly.
His dad snaps photos.
I hate everything about that kid. I hate that he’s smiling. I hate that more than one person hugs him. And I hate that I hate him. Why does other people’s happiness have to feel like someone punching me in the gut?
“Lo,” Ryke snaps.
I face my half-brother and Connor. They can barely withstand each other sometimes, so I’m surprised they’ve chosen seats side-by-side. “I’m here, aren’t I?” I say sharply.
I lean back against my wooden chair, trying to loosen my taut muscles. We sit in the back, away from lingering eyes and the glass windows.
No cameras. No paparazzi.
It’s more freeing than I can explain.
“Physically, you’re here,” Connor replies. “But I prefer one-hundred percent attention from people.”
Ryke lets out an unamused laugh. “You never change, do you? Still a narcissist.”
I eat a chip and say, “I was going to call him an attention whore.”
“I’m that too,” Connor agrees with a burgeoning grin. “So I love myself. Not many people can say the same thing—which is a shame.”
I wait for him to look at me.
But he stares off at the salsa bar, sipping his water.
I pop another chip in my mouth and try to relax. I don’t question Connor’s black button-down or his expensive watch or his wavy brown, perfectly styled, hair. The guy is put together, unlike my brother who seems to have rolled out of bed, disheveled dark brown hair, unshaven jaw and a University of Pennsylvania track T-shirt.
I think I fit somewhere in between.
At least I hope so.
“How’s Lily?” Connor asks me.
“How’s Rose?” I deflect and reach for my drink. A water.
“Busy. High-strung. You know she took over the wedding planning from Samantha?”
“Yeah.” I know. “Lily and her mom aren’t on speaking terms yet.” I don’t know if they’ll ever patch things up. It’s so complicated that I’m not sure if opening lines of communication is the right move. Lily was destroyed after her mom told her that she was a disappointment.
Samantha’s whole life is about protecting her family’s reputation, and her own daughter f**ked with it.
Lily thinks our marriage will repair the shattered bond that she has with her mom—but I’m not holding my breath. I don’t want to watch Lily’s face crumble when she realizes that her mom still harbors deep-seated resentment.
So I’m counting down to our June wedding with nothing but dread.
Connor opens his mouth, and I cut him off. “Have you removed the wicked witch’s chastity belt yet?” I ask, redirecting the conversation to his relationship. “Or is it still welded together?”
“Rose is still a virgin,” he says like it doesn’t bother him at all. He’s almost been with her for an entire year and they’ve barely done anything, at least from what Lily and Connor have shared with me. Rose—she wouldn’t tell me the barest detail of her relationship, even though she’d like mine advertised. Just to ensure I’m not screwing up her sister’s recovery.
I’m not.
I grab a chip from the basket, waiting for the hot sauce to eat my chicken tacos. “Watch out for her nails. I wouldn’t want her to mess up your pretty face.”
“I’m not afraid of Rose, but thanks for the concern, darling.” He winks.
I touch my heart. “Anytime, love.”
Ryke rolls his eyes and slouches further in his chair, brooding. “How about save it when I’m not around?” he says.
“Homophobic?” I wonder, dunking a chip in salsa. I didn’t really peg my half-brother to be like that.
“No,” Ryke snaps like that’s the furthest from the truth. “Just irritated.”