My body warms. Maybe I can tell him today. After lunch. He seems to be in a much better place.
“I know Greg doesn’t like me, but I’m trying. Isn’t being here enough?” Ryke asks.
“No,” Sam says. “It’s a small start, but it’s definitely not enough. I spent years trying to gain his trust and his acceptance into the Calloway family. Since Jonathan is your dad, it shouldn’t take you as long, but no offense, you’re notorious for being with many women. I even questioned what you’re doing with Daisy.”
Ryke rolls his eyes, agitated, but has no reply. He takes off his dark green tee, and I train my eyes to stay on Loren Hale for a prolonged second.
“You have a tattoo?” Sam asks with a mixed expression like: you’re screwed, buddy and I feel sorry for you.
I pipe in, “Didn’t you watch Princesses of Philly?” During the show, Ryke spent many weeks filling in the tattoo along his shoulder and chest: a phoenix with some red and orange coloring. A black chain is tied around the ankles of the bird and extends along his ribcage, ending with an anchor by his hip. That anchor is in a naughty place, and he knows it.
Sam just realizes that I’ve crept into the room.
Invisibility gone. “I never watched the show, no.”
Oh.
Ryke puts on Lo’s nice shirt and starts buttoning it. “So what if I have a tattoo?”
“Greg hates tattoos,” he says.
“That’s too bad,” Ryke says flatly, “because his daughter has one.”
Whaaa. “Which sister?” I ask.
Ryke gives me a look like I’m being dumb.
Oh. Right. Daisy.
Sam scratches the back of his head. “Word of advice, don’t mention it now, or really ever. He’ll think you’re a bad influence on her.”
“He already thinks that,” Ryke retorts. “Just say it: I’m fucked.”
“Maybe you should fix your hair,” I suggest.
He lets out a frustrated growl and tries to comb his fingers through the thick, messy strands. He’s making it worse. “Stop looking at me with that face, Lily,” he retorts, more nervous than I’ve ever seen him.
“What face?”
“Your constipated face.”
I gape. “That is just mean.”
“That was pretty mean,” Lo says.
“It’s the fucking truth.”
I cross my arms. “You know what, I was going to help fix your hair, but I’m retracting my offer.” I raise my chin in confidence. Take that.
Connor finds a hole in my declaration. “You can’t retract an offer that was never stated.”
I look at Ryke. “Would you like me to fix your hair?” He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “I retract my offer. Ha!” I raise my fist to Lo, and he knuckle-bumps me. And then he kisses my temple. I got a kiss out of that. I try not to smile too hard.
“As fun as this is,” Sam says with his phone in hand, not sounding as amused as the rest of us, “we better head into the dining room.
Poppy just texted me. Jonathan is here, and apparently Samantha’s not coming.”
“She’s embarrassed about what happened,” Connor clarifies.
“Good thing for you, Ryke, you may not have to deal with her for a while.”
“Fucking fantastic,” he says, heading to the door. I’m not sure my mom’s silent treatment is any better than her constant, nagging presence. At least, for me the quiet moments have granted more nausea than the early weeks of my pregnancy.
Lo slips the green shirt over his head. “Ready?” he asks me.
Lo and I don’t attend luncheons all that much, but we decided to come to this one in support of Ryke and his relationship with Daisy. It won’t be as hard with my mom here, but I still have a huge baby bomb to drop today.
I’m praying he’ll withstand the blow.
{ 62 }
2 years : 03 months
November
LILY CALLOWAY
“Let’s talk about the future little Calloway,”
Jonathan says at the dining room table, Sunday family luncheon in session.
“Cobalt,” Connor corrects him, sipping his wine.
Jonathan’s eyes flicker to the liquor briefly, but he makes no motion to switch his coffee for alcohol. I can barely believe he’s sober. I don’t even think Jonathan believes it, but three twenty-four-seven sober coaches sit on chairs by the door, proving that he’s dedicated to his rehabilitation.
“Right,” Jonathan says. “Whatever you need for your baby, Hale Co. will provide: toys, cribs, diapers.”