“I’m sorry.” He sounds a little cross, not towards me really, but maybe that’s his normal tone of voice? Everything seems to come out harsh, but it doesn’t always match his expression.
I guess if I looked at him, I’d have a better interpretation of this moment. Willow Moore, that little turd, can’t even look her own brother square in the eyes—will definitely be my eulogy.
I shrug and push up my glasses that keep slipping down my nose. “Ellie had her sixth birthday about a month ago, and it was the first time my parents were together since the divorce.”
The fight starts to flood me: the balloons littering the linoleum floor, the way my father passed me coldly and never looked back, the half-eaten cake and my mother gripping the counter. My chest tightens, and my eyes burn again.
“I heard them fighting in the kitchen,” I nearly whisper, “about how my mom had a son, and she…abandoned you.” I clutch my mug harder and finally look up.
He scratches his neck, appearing a little more uncomfortable than he has been. “I had my father, so it was okay.” His throat bobs.
I wonder if Jonathan Hale is nice. Just based off tabloid rumors, I’d say no. (They’re so awful I really hate to repeat them.) Disregarding those, all I have to go on is the fact that he slept with an underage girl—my mom, our mom—and got her pregnant.
He doesn’t sound that awesome, but if he raised someone as cool as Loren Hale, then maybe he’s not entirely bad.
When he swallows, he asks, “Did you confront her about it?” Did I confront my mom about her abandoning you?
I just picture my mom turning her back on me, trying to bury this. I see her never chasing me upstairs. Never chasing me outside. I see her in a new horrible light that I can’t shake. It hurts…
“Yeah,” I say softly, “right then. I asked her about it, and it took some screaming for her to really tell me the truth.”
My voice nearly dies by the last word. I wipe my eyes beneath my glasses, hoping these tears won’t overflow.
He angles closer to me, kind of like he wants to comfort me but still wants to give me personal space. I’m not a touchy-feely person. My mom wasn’t ever that way, and I wonder—I wonder now if it was because of what happened when she was sixteen. Being kind of taken advantage of by Jonathan Hale… I mean, she didn’t say that she said no to him. So I have to assume it was consensual.
But is it consent if she was underage? And the product of this event… is right in front of me.
My stomach knots, the coffee not settling well with these thoughts.
Then Loren says, “I’m sorry you had to find out like that.”
My eyes sear now, tears welling as I realize full-force how much my mom kept him from seeing me. Loren wanted me to know about him.
“I ran away,” I suddenly say, my voice cracking and tears leaking with the words. I’m crying in front of one of the most famous people alive in the world, and I don’t even care anymore. I hate and resent her more than I ever wanted to, and it all hurts.
“You what?” His mouth drops a little, and concern overtakes the edge in his voice.
“I just…I was so mad.” My breath staggers between tears. “I told my mom that I was going to find you, and she couldn’t stop me. So…I hopped in my car and drove to Philadelphia.”
He pinches the bridges of his nose, his eyes tightening closed. “You’ve been here for an entire month? Does Emily know—”
“She knows.”
His reaction makes me feel like I made a mistake—and it’s tearing a hole through me. With my mug between my knees, I cover my face in my hands, embarrassed now and heartbroken all over again and full of combatant emotions that cut.
He stands, and I don’t have the heart to watch him walk around the break room. I just keep talking—trying to explain and justify why I’m here.
“She’s waiting for me to run out of money,” I clarify. “She doesn’t have any vacation days left to leave work, so she can’t come get me.” I sound like the villain. My hard-working mother is left at home while I’m off chasing a long-lost brother, leaving her to worry.
If she worried so much, she would’ve called. A hot tear rolls down my cheek.
Loren plops back on the couch with a box of tissues. That’s what he went to find? “How much money do you have left?” He hands me the box.
I take one tissue. “I’m not going back.” It hits me now. I don’t want to return home. My dad can’t look me in the eyes. I expect after this, my mom will have trouble too.
“Willow,” Loren says forcefully, “how much money?”
He’s worried. My stomach has all but curdled. “Enough for a couple more nights at the motel,” I lie.
His nose flares, upset. “I’ll pay for a hotel tonight and tomorrow, and I can get you a plane ticket back to Maine.”
Tears stream down my cheeks. “No, no,” I cry. “Please don’t make me go back. I just met you, and…” I hiccup and remove my glasses, wiping the fogged lenses with my striped blue and green shirt that peeks from my overalls.
I’ve never felt more alone or lost, and if I go home, these sentiments will only intensify. I can see it—all of it. An unbearable pressure mounts on my chest at this purposed future that may become real.
“Aren’t you in high school?” he asks.
I don’t speak, afraid that if I say yes, he’ll grab his computer and book me the next flight to Maine.
He’s more closed off towards me than before. He shakes his head a couple times. “Your mom is probably sick over this,” he says to me.
“Our mom,” I say, reminding him why I’m here to begin with. I set my glasses back on.
He’s scrutinizing me a little more, his eyes flitting over my features.
I wipe beneath my nose. “And I don’t care what she is.” She can be sick. She can be angry. I feel just as hurt as her over this, and I’m acknowledging my own feelings for the first time in my life instead of burying them to make room for everyone else’s.
He grimaces. “Willow—”
“She lied to me.” I point to my chest. He has to understand how much this hurts. Doesn’t he see? “I don’t want to be around her ever again.”
“How about I call Emily and see where her head is at?” His muscles seem to flex, and he scratches the back of his neck again. He offers me a single weak smile, but I realize that he’s nervous…to talk to her, his mom.
She didn’t want him. He should be so angry. He should hate her, shouldn’t he? How does someone become a bigger person that way, I wonder. How much time will it take because right now I feel like it’d be centuries before I grew a new pair of eyes, a new brain, and thought differently of my mom.
I just nod to Loren, not sure what other options there are. I tell him my mom’s number, and after he types it in his phone, he stands. “I’ll be quick. Are you hungry?”
I shake my head, holding the coffee mug again.
“Can you get her a muffin from the front?”
I look up and realize Loren has motioned to the employee underneath the Iron Man poster. I quickly wipe my wet cheeks, wondering how much this random person saw me break down. I’m never really that emotional in front of people.
* * *
“Hey.” The gruff voice pulls my attention upwards. Ryke Meadows has entered the Superheroes & Scones breakroom with Maximoff Hale, his infant nephew that swats at his arm with a wide toothless smile.
“Hi…” I stiffen even more, watching him grab a couple comic books from a rack and then take a seat right in front of me, on the fuzzy white carpet.
Ryke rests his forearm on his bent knee—his whole demeanor confident and cool. He takes a quick glance at the closed bathroom door, the baby that tries to clutch a comic, and then me. Only as soon as we lock eyes, he doesn’t look away.
I’m so nervous I may puke.
“You should eat.” He nods to the muffin that’s frozen in my anxious hand.
I swallow again and loosen my finger joints
to pick at the muffin top and eat a small piece. The blueberry is overly sweet, but it’s better than coffee.
It’s quiet for a second, only the baby making noise. I’m not sure what to say, and maybe he’s lost for words too. The tension here is different than it is with Loren and me.
We’re both half-siblings to the same person. It’s a common link, but trying to understand how we should be with each other—I think it’s just complicated. With Lo, I can simply say, you’re my half-brother. With Ryke, there’s not really an easy definition.
Because Ryke isn’t my brother. We just share one.
His brows harden in questioning. “What made you want to find him?”
“I learned the truth,” I explain, glancing at my hands and the muffin more than a few times. “And I wanted to know him—not because he’s famous or anything…” I pale. What if Ryke thinks I’m here to capitalize off his half-brother’s fame and fortune?
Ryke scratches his unshaven jaw and nods to me again. “You know I’m his half-brother, right? We have the same fucking dad, so you and I aren’t related.”
“Yeah I know about you—or of you…or you know, whatever the correct terminology is…” I clear my throat and stare intently at the muffin, grateful that I didn’t blurt out how I made a gif of Ryke tossing Daisy Calloway over his shoulder, using footage from the short-lived reality TV show.
He runs a hand through his thick, disheveled dark-brown hair. I really want to know what his palms look like. Which sounds so weird and creepy.
He rock climbs though, and Tumblr speculates whether his hands are really callused or cracked—which also sounds weird and creepy, but everyone’s curiosities run rampant online. And it’s hard not to be sucked into this all-consuming vortex that includes the Calloway sisters and their men.
“Your name’s Willow?”
I nod in reply, but he says nothing more. He’s trying to draw my gaze back to him. I sense it, and it takes me a couple long moments to stare into his brown eyes, hazel flecks around his pupils.
A piece of muffin goes down my throat densely, no matter how much I swallow.
He says, “I knew about my brother for a long fucking time—he didn’t know about me, and it took me years to actually try to meet him. I could have, at any point in my life, but I just…I didn’t.”
I frown. “I didn’t know that.”
He almost smiles. “It’s not on the fucking internet.”
Right…this isn’t public information.
His brows rise at me. “You being here at your age, wanting to turn your life upside down just to get to know your brother, it’s fucking…” He shakes his head and lets out a breath. “I did it almost four, five years ago? I was in my twenties, and you here, now—it’s just brave.”
I wipe my eyes quickly beneath my glasses. “You don’t think it’s dumb?”
His brows furrow. “Fuck no. Meeting my brother was the best decision I’ve ever made.”
I let this digest, and not long after, I breathe easier and peel the paper off the muffin, able to eat more.
His constant F-bombs remind me of a video compilation I’ve watched. Someone spliced together a lot of his “fucks”—and the video lasted around three minutes. It has over 16 million views and always makes me laugh when I watch it. Ryke seems badass in every frame.
Silence stretches, and Ryke tickles his nephew’s foot. The baby has hold of the comic book and giggles.
“Loren knew about me, you know,” I say softly. Ryke looks up at me, and I add, “All these years, he knew about me, and I didn’t know about him.” I’m not in the exact same situation that Ryke had been in. I was the one in the dark. Loren was the one with the knowledge.
Ryke glances at the bathroom door, then back to me. “I’m not sure how much I’m supposed to fucking tell you—but I don’t want you thinking badly of my—our brother. I don’t know what you’ve been through in your life, but he’s been through a fucking lot. And what I do know…” He checks over his shoulder again and then to me. “…when Lo met his birth mom for the first time, he wanted a relationship with you and your sister. But Emily basically told him that she didn’t want you two to know that you have a brother, and out of respect for her, Lo left you alone.”
My chest tightens again. I figured as much, and then I fixate on something else he said. “So…does everyone call him Lo?” I try to straighten my glasses.
“Mostly.” He watches Maximoff shake a comic book—oh, the baby actually slobbers on the corner, trying to gnaw on the pages of Young Avengers.
“I’ve been calling him Loren. Is that bad?”
He almost smiles again. “You’re his fucking sister. I don’t think he’ll care either way.”
I hesitate to ask something more, but I just let it out in one breath, “Do you think he’s happy I’m here?”
His hardened eyes, like stone, nearly soften. “These relationships we have with each other—they’re not fucking easy, but I wouldn’t want to lose a single one. I think Lo feels the same.”
“…is now a good time to be here?” I wonder. “Lily just had a baby—”
“Yes,” he says deeply, strongly, full of heart. “Lo’s the best I’ve ever seen him.” It reminds me that Loren, or Lo (that’ll take some getting used to), struggles with alcohol addiction, hereditary, on his father’s side.
The worst part: I’ve actually watched him relapse. The paparazzi never missed a beat.
Suddenly, the bathroom door opens, Lo hugging Lily against his side. She’s much shorter than him, and her limbs seem ganglier next to his defined biceps, all lean muscles. They stop at the rug, zeroed in on their baby Maximoff chewing the comic book.
“Close your eyes,” Lily says quickly and then nearly jumps on Loren’s back to shield his view of their son destroying Young Avengers right in sight.
“It’s too late, Lil,” Lo says. “I’ve seen it.”
I smile as she climbs up his back. Lo holds her like he’s going to take her for a piggyback ride, and her hands fit across his eyes.
“You didn’t see anything!” Lily says.
I wish I could snapshot this and send it to Maggie. My smile fades…or is that wrong? I shouldn’t want to publicize them anymore than they already are. That’s not why I’m here.
Maximoff rips a page.
“Ryke,” Lo groans. “I blame you for this.”
“He’s not even crying right now. I’m doing a fantastic fucking job.”
“You gave him a comic book, and he can’t even read yet.”
“He’s starting early then,” Ryke says. “Maybe you should’ve given me his diaper bag or something.”
I listen to them, but their banter isn’t totally registering in my head anymore. I remember that Loren just talked to my mom, which means I could be receiving a one-way ticket to Maine soon.
Lily uncovers Lo’s eyes. “We’re in a store with tons of toys on the walls. You could’ve taken a Green Goblin action figure.”
Lo chimes in, “Or Wolverine, Black Widow, Hulk, Spider-Man—”
“For fuck’s sake, okay. I got it.” Ryke retrieves the ripped and wet comic from Maximoff and then picks him up. The baby giggles, and both Loren and Lily look like proud parents, their smiles infectious.
I shouldn’t be here, I think. They just had a baby. I try to remember what Ryke told me, but my gut is telling me not to impede on their lives too much.
“You should babysit more often,” Lo tells his brother.
“Fucking hilarious.” He hands the baby to Loren, and Lily slides to the floor.
I crumple the muffin paper, finished eating, and when I look up, Loren is suddenly focused on me. I have trouble reading his features.
“Your mom is going to fly out this weekend to talk with you. Until then, you can either stay with us in a guest room or at a hotel. I’ll pay for the expense, no problem.”
It’s not a terrible verdict. My mom will probably reiterate what she’s said this whole time: if you stay here,
you’re on your own. You make your own mistakes now.
“A hotel works,” I tell him. “I don’t want to impose any more than I already have.”
His baby squirms in his arms, so much so that I can’t take stock in his expression. Lily ends up taking Maximoff so Loren can continue talking with me.
“If you change your mind, the invite is always open.” And then he asks, “How old are you, by the way?”
“Seventeen.” It’s not like I could hide it much longer.
“That’s what I thought.” He pauses. “You know, Daisy is pretty close to your age.”
Daisy Calloway is nineteen—and Ryke’s girlfriend, and also spontaneous, lively, and so much cooler than I’ll ever be.
Ryke gives his brother a look that I can’t decipher.
Loren adds, “She’d probably love showing you around Philly. Is this your first time here?”
Daisy Calloway? Showing me around? I don’t think she’d be fond of me. I like books. I like scrolling through Tumblr and surfing the internet. I like sitting activities, and Daisy is always seen moving. She’d probably try to take me on a wild adventure, and I’d slow her down.
I nod. “Yeah, but…” I stand up since everyone else is, and I find comfort in my backpack, slinging it on my shoulder. “I’m not sure she’d like me. I mean, I don’t ride motorcycles and…other stuff like that.”
I purposefully evade Ryke Meadows since I’m speaking about his girlfriend. And he likes motorcycles. And he likes all that “other” stuff.
“Neither do I,” Lily pipes in. “They’re terrifying.”
Ryke raises his brows at her. “You haven’t even ridden one.”
“Because they’re terrifying.”
I relax some. “Yeah, same. I’ve never been on one, but I’m scared too.”
Lily smiles and then points a finger at Ryke. “Ha!” Maximoff coos in her arms, almost babbling in agreement with his mom.
Ryke rolls his eyes and then sets them on me. “Daisy won’t care if you’re not into bikes. She’d honestly do anything you want.”
Whatever It Takes Page 7
