Hothouse Flower (Calloway Sisters)

by Ritchie, Krista

  Connor rotates a fraction to look back at Rose. “You’re five weeks along.” He just states it, not as a question.

  She holds her breath. “No.”

  He frowns. “Seven?”

  She shakes her head once.

  He looks fucking pissed. He rubs his lips to hide the emotion, but I see the hurt and anger pulsing in his eyes. “Eight weeks?”

  She glares. “Ne me regardez pas comme ça.” Don’t look at me like that.

  They glance at me with agitation, realizing I understand them now.

  Rose sighs heavily, reaching for her water.

  “What’d they say?” Lily asks.

  “I’m not getting into it,” I tell her.

  Rose says, “You’re mad, Richard, that you were off on your numbers. I’m sorry you weren’t right—”

  “No, darling,” Connor tells her with conviction. “I’m upset because it took you this long to talk about it. I thought you would have conceded a month in.”

  “How long have you known?” she asks quietly.

  “When you had a flat tire, I was almost positive. Your GPS was set to the gynecologist, and you purposefully had a fight with me the next day so I’d sleep on the couch. I figured the doctors confirmed what you already knew, and you were too stubborn and afraid to tell me.”

  Lo frowns and looks at Lily. “You knew?” She had been in the car with Rose.

  She nods, her shoulders turned into her body. “Moral support.”

  Connor glances at Lily cautiously before setting his gaze back on his wife.

  Rose sits stiffly, and her chin trembles. “This wasn’t the plan. I’m not thirty-five yet.”

  The waitress returns, cutting into possibly the most bizarre way a pregnancy can be announced. At a Mexican restaurant. With a tequila shot standoff. In French.

  “Ready to order?” she asks.

  “We need like ten minutes,” Daisy tells her.

  She nods, her eyes lingering on Daisy’s scar before she disappears. I can’t tell if the waitress recognizes us or not, but Daisy ends up resting her head against my arm. I comb my fingers through her hair.

  “You’re not aborting the baby,” Connor tells Rose.

  “I know,” she retorts, fire coming back to her eyes. “You want a lineage. Eight kids, I remember.”

  “We’re married,” he says. “We have billions of dollars. We may be young, but we can be the best parents. You just have to trust that you’ll be a great mother.”

  I’ve seen Rose around kids. She’s about as maternal as a fucking brick wall, her nose curling in disdain when a baby cries or acts out. But I do know one thing—when she loves someone, she invests her whole fucking heart and time into them.

  After a long stretch of silence, Rose says softly, “I thought about getting rid of the baby.”

  Connor’s face stays unreadable. “I know.”

  She swallows hard. “Lily talked me out of it.”

  Lo kisses Lily’s temple. I think we’re all glad Rose didn’t choose that option, even if she thought about it.

  And I would feel worse for Connor if he didn’t already know everything beforehand.

  “I just…” Rose lets out a deep breath. “I figured that I had a couple of months before my body started to really change. Two months to ignore the fact that my world is going to flip upside down and a creature is going to grow inside of me. Give me that.”

  He smiles. “I did, darling.”

  “So,” Lo says, holding his water, “how exactly do two geniuses accidentally get pregnant?” He sips his drink in amusement.

  Rose starts putting her frizzy, wet hair in a sleek pony. “Why don’t you answer this one, Richard? You’re friends with Satan’s spawn.”

  Lo laughs. “I think you’ve mistaken me for the ‘creature’ growing inside you.”

  Connor raises his hand to quiet them. Rose looks ready to pelt my brother with the contents of her purse. There’s probably a canister of pepper spray in there.

  “We have unprotected sex,” Connor announces.

  Rose points at me at this. Fuck. “You better be wearing a condom with her.”

  My face hardens. I already told her I’d be safe with Daisy. They all need to chill the fuck out. “That’s none of your fucking business, Rose.”

  Daisy ends up saying it anyway, just to appease her sister. “I’m on birth control.”

  “So was I,” Rose snaps. “And I never missed a day.” She prides herself on this fact.

  “Then what the fuck happened?” I ask, extending my arm in confusion.

  “Birth control is only ninety-nine percent effective,” Connor says. “We’re, of course, in the one-percent.”

  Rose smacks him on the arm for that comment, and he grabs her wrist and kisses her deeply. She melts. I stop fucking watching.

  And then I meet eyes with my brother, with Lo. He has his arm wrapped around Lily, and even with the news, he looks more at peace now, in this moment, than he did three days ago.

  “So you know French,” he says to me.

  “Yeah, I know French.”

  Connor holds Rose’s hand on the table, and he nods to me. “Where’d you learn?”

  “Tutors as a kid, like you and Rose.”

  “I taught myself, actually,” Connor says with a million-dollar grin.

  Lo claps slowly. “Congratulations, love.”

  Connor only smiles wider, and I share it as well, surprisingly.

  Lily perks up. “I’ve learned some French too.” She clears her throat. I think we’re all laughing internally, not at her, just fucking with her. She’s goofy as hell. In a more American accent, she says, “Comment allez-vous?” How are you?

  Connor replies with a genuine smile, “Je ne pourrais pas être plus heureux.” I couldn’t be happier.

  Rose relaxes into Connor’s body. And Lily looks really fucking confused. He’s already lost her.

  Daisy slides her misshapen pumpkin napkin over to me. I squeeze her hand beneath the table. And for a brief second, I think about after California, after my climb. Back in Philly. Her parents… it doesn’t seem like they should be a big roadblock. I’m twenty-five. But your family doesn’t just leave when you become an adult. They’re a part of you forever.

  I add to the whole table, “Je serais génial, mais je sais ce qui me fait toujours obstacle.” I would be great, but I know what still stands in my way.

  Lo claps again. “Color me impressed,” he tells me. He turns to Lily. “You’re almost fluent, love.”

  She punches him in the chest, and he mock winces, acting like it hurt. They’re both smiling.

  My eyes flicker up to Connor, who stares at me with understanding and more compassion.

  He says, “Tout ira bien, mon ami.” Everything will be fine, my friend.

  Connor has said that he doesn’t believe in magic, but his words hold a possession all on their own, filling me with serenity, a temporary calmness, that I am grateful to have before my climb.

  Everything will be fine, my friend.

  I nod a couple times.

  Everything will be fine.

  < 52 >

  DAISY CALLOWAY

  California.

  We’ve made it. The national park is beautiful, and I’d revel in the atmosphere of Yosemite on any other day, but it’s hard when we’re in the brush, a giant rock looming one hundred feet in front of us. El Capitan is larger than Devils Tower. More ominous. But it does have a kinder name.

  The sun isn’t even out yet. It’s 5 a.m. and Ryke plans to start climbing in the dark with a headlamp. He wants to climb three routes in under twenty-four hours. It’s going to take endurance, strength and a dose of luck. It’s that luck part that I’m worried about. Everything else—I know he’ll ace.

  Ryke talks to a park ranger at the base of El Capitan, nodding a few times. He ties his bag of chalk around his waist.

  I pluck yellow weedy flowers by my feet in the brush, twisting the stems to make a crown. Every time I
look up at Ryke, my heart thuds. I’ve never been this anxious for someone else before.

  Rose slaps her arm and curses out the mosquitos. She sits on a wooden bench behind me.

  “I told you not to wear perfume, darling,” Connor says casually, sitting beside her.

  Rose gives him a look. “I’m not going to sacrifice smelling good for stupid flies.” She swats another away.

  “You smell good without it.”

  She narrows her eyes. “It’s Chanel. If I don’t wear it, I feel like half of myself is missing.”

  Lo sits on top of a picnic table beside the bench, Lily’s head on his lap as she sleeps. “That’s because you mask your bitch scent,” he says. “And your soul leaves when it realizes it’s inhabited the wrong host.”

  “And I’m sure your brain cells fried coming up with that insult,” she refutes.

  Before Lo can retort, other voices shout over him. “Daisy, are you and Ryke together?!”

  “Daisy, just one question!”

  “Are you scared about Ryke’s climb?!”

  “Hey,” Lo snaps at the seven or eight reporters congregated about twenty feet behind us, camera crews in place, lenses pointed at us and Ryke. “Calm down. We have twenty-four hours and I personally don’t want to go deaf by the end of this.”

  I stand in front of the wooden benches and picnic tables, so I turn my head to see Lily awakening from all the commotion.

  “Did he fall?” she asks in alarm, her eyes snapping open.

  “No, love. He’s okay.”

  She exhales loudly. “Okay, good.”

  A lump lodges in my throat. I’m not the only one concerned today.

  The cameramen start flashing pictures at me, catching my face. When we left Nevada, word circulated about Ryke’s solo climb. Apparently he had to register with the state parks, and those documents leaked to the press.

  I think Ryke would be more nervous about the media being so close to us today if it wasn’t for our team of security drawing a line between the cameras and our benches. So at least we can pretend to ignore them. Mikey is here, shaking his head at a couple of the guys who shout questions out to me.

  It’s still early in the morning, so we expect a lot more people to show up, probably some fans too.

  My father also sent a note with Mikey:

  We need to talk about Ryke.

  Love, Dad

  Having my parents find out about the relationship from a tabloid was not ideal, but it was the risk we both chose to take.

  And I only received one text from my mom, not even a phone call.

  I’m interviewing the best plastic surgeons in the city. You’ll be okay. – Mom

  I asked Connor to send out a tweet (he’s the only one with a Twitter account) to tell people what happened. The rumors from the leaked photograph were horrendous. They ranged from a knife fight to rape. And then both.

  Connor’s tweet set everyone straight.

  @ConnorCobalt: Daisy is fine. Her scar is from the Paris Rugby riot. Thanks for all the well wishes.

  And of course he had to add a second tweet.

  @ConnorCobalt: Apparently, I need to clarify for some of you. No. She was not raped afterwards.

  He told me that the second tweet was for the media sites that love to stir stories out of nothing. I appreciated it, especially since it meant that I didn’t have to go on any talk shows or phone into a radio to explain the situation.

  When the park ranger leaves, Ryke glances back at us, and he actually walks over. My heart rises to my throat, but his eyes meet mine for a brief second or two before they pin on everyone behind me. And then he just treks right on past.

  Okay…

  “You realize how stupid this is, right?” Lo asks him, forearms on his knees, hands clasped. He has his feet on the picnic table bench like Lily.

  Ryke just smiles. “I love you too.”

  And then surprisingly Lo rises off the table and hops down. He hugs Ryke and pats his back. “Don’t die on me, okay?”

  “I don’t plan on it,” Ryke says.

  That one fight in Utah—with the red rock and dirt swirling—has cleared the air between them. Whatever bad blood they had between each other was left in that state, and I hope it won’t ever return.

  They split apart, and Ryke faces Lily now. She jumps off the picnic table quickly and flings her arms around him. Then she pulls away and presses a sticker on his shirt. “It’s Spider-Man. For good luck.”

  “Thanks, Lily.” I can’t see his smile this time, just his back. But I’m sure he’s smiling because Lily’s eyes are flooded with emotion.

  I shift my weight from one foot to the other, just watching him go down the line.

  Rose and Connor stay seated. My sister has on designer sunglasses even though the sun has yet to rise, and Connor is wearing an expensive suit. They do not fit in. But they don’t care much.

  Ryke holds out his hands. “Please, don’t stand up for me.”

  “I’ll hug you when you come back down,” Rose tells him in her clipped voice. “It’ll give you something to look forward to.” She swats another invisible fly out of her face.

  Ryke nods and looks to Connor. “And you?”

  “You don’t need my luck.” His words are velvety smooth, like he’s telling Ryke he has all the confidence in the world in him.

  Ryke nods again. “Thanks guys. For being here. See you on the other side.” He starts walking back, and I think he’s going to stop in front of me, for a private moment. But he just keeps on hiking towards the rock face.

  I don’t think twice. I sprint after him, taking off. No one calls me back to the tables.

  No one reprimands me for following a boy much older than me.

  No one says to stop.

  I go with freedom in my chest, freedom in my heart. And I block his path with my body, holding my hands out.

  Ryke’s dark features brighten as soon as he sees me. His lips rise far beyond an almost-smile. He notices the flower crown still in my clutch, and he steals it from my hand. I watch as he sets it atop my blonde locks, some strands painted with color.

  “I was waiting for the sun to chase me,” he breathes, drawing me to his chest. In one swift movement, my lips are on his. The world is spinning. He kisses me like this is the moment he’s envisioned all his life. Like this is heaven on Earth.

  For me, it is. A blissful moment before something that could be the end. The rush before the fear. He whispers, “I fucking love you.”

  I smile, my lips tingling. “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I love you more than chocolate cake.”

  He kisses my head, and his mouth returns to mine, his tongue sliding sensually, lasting and perfect. Then he flips off the cameras, the click click click in the background like buzzing insects.

  When our lips break away, he just stares at me, his eyes grazing over my face, spending an extra moment on my hair and the crown of flowers. I can tell he’s engraining this image in his head. In case he falls.

  “Don’t miss me too much, Calloway,” he says. And then he starts to drift back towards the rock, his hand leaving mine.

  This is it.

  I watch Ryke Meadows climb.

  < 53 >

  RYKE MEADOWS

  Connor may hate Confucius but there’s something he said that I never challenge. “It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.”

  El Capitan looms before me. All those fears loom behind.

  It’s just me and the ascent.

  Years of hard work and labor coming full circle to this one day. And I’m fucking ready.

  I take a deep breath, blink one last time.

  And I ascend towards the summit.

  < 54 >

  RYKE MEADOWS

  “Man, I wish I could’ve been there,” Sully says, my cell pressed to my ear while I walk into the private airport with my brother, Lily, Connor, Rose, and of course Daisy. “The pictures online are insane. Th
ose photographers caught some awesome shots of you on the Northwest Face of Half Dome.”

  “I haven’t seen them yet,” I admit.

  “Not like you need to. You lived it, man,” Sully says.

  I lived it. I didn’t beat any fucking records. I just set my own, and I completed a challenge that seemed impossible in my teens. I can’t adequately express what this feels like. When I dropped on the ground, I was so fucking exhausted but so fucking overwhelmed with joy.

  I did it. I free-solo climbed the Yosemite Triple Crown. 19 hours. A goal for me. Not for anyone else.

  “How’s Venezuela?” I ask him.

  “Hot and humid,” he says. “But the routes on Mount Roraima are incredible, and the whole place feels spiritual—hard to explain in words. You’d love it here though. I’d ask you to come join me, but…you know.” I hear him smiling on the other end.

  “Sorry, Sul. Can’t read your fucking mind.” But I have a feeling he’s talking about Daisy. I hold her hand as we walk through the quiet airport, heading to our gate where our private plane is supposed to be waiting to fly us to Philly.

  “You’re probably sore as hell.”

  I am. My muscles fucking scream even as I keep stride with Lily and Lo’s leisurely pace. “That’s not what you were about to fucking say.”

  “Please, please invite me to the wedding.” I picture his smile reaching the ends of his scraggily red hair.

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

  “I just want you to know that I called it. I’m like a relationship whisperer.” He laughs at his own joke, which makes me fucking smile. “Anyway, that picture of you two outside of Devils Tower is seriously becoming iconic. It’s everywhere. Even in a Venezuelan newspaper.”

  “Yeah, someone else told me the picture is pretty popular.” A friend from college texted me the photo, which landed on the cover of Time magazine. It’s famous because they’re pairing it with the Paris riot, even though it was taken a while after that. But after the press learned that’s how she got hurt, Daisy’s scar has become a symbol of what happened that night. People like to hold onto the good in the wake of the bad. And in the photo, she’s on my shoulders, kissing me, smiling, my fingers stained with colors. It looks like a fairytale, something setup. But it was completely candid—captured by a hiker’s cellphone who recognized us.