More links for apartments in New York. This time from Jane. She’s pretty much fully New York or bust now.
I like the idea more and more of taking on New York with Charlie and Jane. It’ll be like old times when the three of us were in high school together.
When I pocket my phone, I realize Kinney still hasn’t come downstairs. “Kinney Hale!” I yell again.
“Alright!” She emerges from her room. “Jeez. You don’t need to bust your vocal cords. No one likes the sound of your voice.” She stomps down the stairs and shoots me one of her epic glares.
I ignore it and return to the dining room.
“I like the sound of his voice,” Farrow says casually, gaze pinned to me. Heat washes over my face. He grins. “Some days.”
“Ha ha.” I take a seat beside him, and I catch sight of Xander’s plate. “Really?” A mound of half-eaten mashed potatoes rests on his dish.
“Luna’s already eating too.”
Sure enough, Luna is scooping into a hunk of meatloaf. “Oh, I thought we could.”
“It’s alright.” I let out a deep breath. “Everyone can eat.”
“Good, we thought you were turning into Dad for a second,” Xander says.
Luna nods. “Butts in the seat before you eat.” Her impression of our dad is spot on.
“No, Kinney, you can’t have wine at the table.” Kinney pours herself a glass of water. “If you want to drink the blood of your enemies, use grape juice.”
We’re all smiling.
“Lily would definitely be punching Lo’s arm,” Farrow adds, light behind his brown eyes.
Fondness drifts around us. We love our parents, and them not being here tonight—when they promised—is like a giant void.
Fuck.
I want to change the mood before it plummets to the bottom of the Earth. Go with your gut, Farrow would tell me. Everything inside me is saying—now’s the right time.
Just do it.
“Hey, you know what…” I stand up. “I’ve got something for you guys.” I go to the dining hutch, Avengers collector’s dishware displayed pristinely behind glass. Crouching down, I unlatch the bottom cabinet and pull out two small gift boxes. Each tied with a sky-blue bow.
“What’s that?” Luna wonders.
“You’ll see.” I hate this part. Where I hand one to Xander and the other to Kinney, and I give Luna nothing. I try not to look at Luna. Yeah, this is hard.
Kinney and Xander exchange a hesitant glance.
“You can open them.” I sit down, and Farrow slides a hand across my taut deltoids, then up to the base of my neck.
His comfort eases weight off my body in this effortless, seismic way. I smile a bit when I see Ripley hugged close to Farrow’s chest. Eyes shut in a peaceful sleep.
I focus on my sisters and brother.
Kinney unties the box faster than Xander. As soon as the contents become visible, she freezes.
Her eyes well.
She takes a bigger breath before meeting my gaze. “I’m fourteen. I didn’t think…” She huffs a lot to fight tears. “You know.”
My brows furrow. “What does age have to do with it? You’re my sister, Kinney. I want you to be my groomswoman. If that’s something you want.”
“Of course,” she snaps like I’m an idiot. Her chin trembles, and she rubs at the corner of her eye. Smearing dark liner. “This means…everything.” She clutches the box to her chest, careful not to crush the orange tulip inside.
The small card says: Kinney, will you be my groomswoman?
Xander reads his. Less surprised. He already knew I was going to ask him. But I’ve been building myself up for the possibility that he might say no.
Being a groomsman means he has to be in the wedding ceremony. Guests will stare at him, and I can’t change that or make it easier.
But God, I want him up there with me.
He’s my brother.
“Summers? I know it’s a lot—”
“Yeah.” He winces. “I mean, yeah, definitely—I want to be a groomsman. I’m there.” He smiles, a rare one.
My smile overwhelms me, just really happy, and I stand up. I hug my younger brother and sister, and as I go back to my seat again, this next part tenses every muscle in my body. Hurt cascades like pain in my bloodstream.
Luna eyes the two opened boxes with tulips and cards. “You asked Sulli to be your groomswoman already, right?”
“Yeah,” I say tightly.
When Sulli opened her gift box, she gawked. “Fuck…are you fucking serious?”
“I’m dead serious,” I told Sulli.
Her jaw kept unhinging. “Really? Fuck, Moffy. Really?” She started crying, and it choked me up, big time. We were hugging, smiling, and now I’m thinking about Luna.
Because she’s somber and sullen at the dining table. Like she believes that Sulli is more of a sister to me than she is, and it’s cutting me open.
Some of you believe that—out of my siblings—I’m closest to Xander because we’re the guys in the family, and that Luna and Kinney are besties because they’re sisters.
You’d be wrong.
Luna and I have always been the closest, and Xander and Kinney have their own thing. I have memories with Luna that supersede a lot. She was my first sibling, and as a kid, I loved taking care of her. Helping her out of the car seat, giving her my blanket when she was cold. I was so damn protective of her.
Still am.
Watching water gather in her eyes is tearing a crater-sized hole in my chest. But Farrow and I talked a lot, and we knew this was the right choice.
“Luna.” Farrow draws her attention to him. “Hold out your hand.”
Luna scoots forward and extends a hand across the table.
“Palm up,” Farrow adds.
She turns over her hand, and he places the tiny card on her palm, already flipped to his handwriting in black Sharpie.
Be my groomswoman?
Luna wipes her tearful gaze. “Me?”
Farrow smiles softly. “You’re the one holding the card.”
Her eyes drift to me.
“We fought over you,” I tell my sister. “It took hours.”
“I won.” Farrow lifts and lowers his brows in a wave.
Irritation scrunches my face. “I let him win.”
Farrow doesn’t deny.
Him and me—we weren’t even friends way back when. Yet, Luna befriended him. Sought him out and wanted him at her birthday parties. He was 100% not invited to mine.
They have a cool bond, and it only made sense that she’s his groomswoman.
Luna is beaming and rubbing her wet, splotchy face. “Thank you, thank you.” She bounces to her feet, and I take Ripley from Farrow so they can hug her without waking the little guy.
Really, though, Ripley might as well be checked-out. Booked a one-way ticket to Dreamland. I bet it’s better there than most places. Soft snores emit from his parted lips, and I climb upstairs and lay him down for a nap in his crib. On my way back to the dining room, baby monitor in hand, guilt drives into me at fatal speeds.
I didn’t wait for my parents. They missed this.
They knew we were asking Luna, Kinney, and Xander tonight. Fuuuck. And I’m a thousand times more worried about why they’re not here over the fact that they didn’t see their kids’ reactions. Whatever’s keeping them must have been important. Still…
They’re going to be so upset. Not at me. At themselves. And somehow that’s fucking worse.
We’re all back in our seats. Eating meatloaf and mashed potatoes. None of my siblings touch the salad, but we’re in a passionate discussion about the most recent Marvel movie. Everyone shares their opinion. Xander feeds Gotham table scraps, and Kinney asks if she can give Ripley his bottle tomorrow morning.
You’d think as the youngest, Kinney would be the most averse to the baby. But I think she secretly loves anything that belongs to Farrow.
“Do we have to leave potatoes for Mom and Dad?”
Xander asks me as he careens over the table to scrape the bowl clean.
“Go for—” I stop short, hearing the sound of the front door.
Everyone quiets like a bullet just sped by and struck the wall. Farrow’s hand slides to my thigh.
My siblings are all looking at me. The heat of their gazes burns my skin.
Growing up, I was always the spokesperson among the four of us. Now more than ever, being back home throws me into this old role.
The main difference is the guy I love. Sitting right beside me with fortitude and resilience. Carrying half the load.
I’m not alone.
I breathe easier.
Hollow pieces filling to the brim.
Farrow trains an eye on my dad.
He traipses in the dining room with cinched brows and a deep frown. His light brown hair is matted. Like he’s been wrenching his hands through it all night. Dark purple half-moons shadow his gaze, and he scans the unspooled ribbon and unwrapped gift boxes, then offers us a dry quarter-smile. “Why does it look like Hedwig just died a second time?” The Harry Potter reference brings smiles to my siblings’ faces.
“Where have you been?” I ask.
“Work—” He stops short as my mom slowly shuffles into the dining room.
She’s small. She’s always been small, but her black sweater appears about a million-sizes too big for her tonight.
“Sorry, we’re late,” my mom mutters, brown hair hanging in her face. Head dipped a little. She won’t look at me, but her eyes are swollen. Like she’s been crying.
Farrow sweeps her features. “Lily—”
My mom flinches like a skittish bird. She whirls right around to the kitchen. “I’llberightback.” She slurs the words together. About to dart out, but my dad blocks the doorway.
“Lo,” she whisper-hisses.
“Lily.”
I can’t do this anymore. It’s been weeks, and whatever is going on, it’s getting worse. They’re not pushing through like I thought they would, and if I can help, then I shouldn’t be dragging my feet doing nothing.
I scoot my chair back, the legs screeching against hardwood. “Can I talk to you both?” I ask them. “Alone?”
“Yeah, bud.” My dad takes my mom’s hand. They actually look relieved to step out for a minute. Away from their youngest kids.
I glance back at Farrow.
He raises his brows at me. “I’m staying with your brother and sisters.” He motions me closer, and I drop my head. Against my ear, he whispers, “They’ll be okay, wolf scout. Do what you need to do.”
Just like that, pressure ascends off my chest.
I grip the crook of his neck and kiss him on the lips, a tender kiss. Too fleeting, but I’ll be back. And as I leave the dining room, I follow my parents into their home office.
It’s not a stuffy place.
X-Men movie posters hang on the walls, and stained-glass lamps illuminate a desk and some cherry-hued tufted chairs.
My mom plops down on the wheeled office recliner. And my dad—he stands beside a purple filing cabinet, only inches from my mom. He doesn’t touch her. It’s so damn weird.
Usually they’re all over each other.
My muscles are tensed. Burning. I’m fixed and unyielding, even though there’s a part of me that’s afraid to have more answers. Because I’m scared—really fucking scared for them.
I can count on my hand the number of times I’ve felt that. They’re the definition of strength. Always have been. I’ve seen them battle this monster my whole life. They struggle, they fall, but they rise again. Every damn time.
“What the hell is going on with you two?” I ask.
“Nothing’s going on,” my dad says.
It’s a line.
An automation.
“You expect me to believe that?” Anger rumbles inside me. “I can tell when you two aren’t doing well, and usually it’s a blip. But something’s wrong.”
My dad winces, his face contorting. Until he forces out another dry smile. “You don’t need to worry about us, bud.”
“It’s too late for that.”
My mom rubs at her glassy eyes. “Maybe we should just tell him, Lo.”
Pain tries to puncture my lungs, my heart, every organ inside my body. But I just stand straighter. Rigid. Features on total lock-down. Ready to bear everything and anything for them. I’ll do it a million times over.
He’s staring right at me. Not even answering my mom. “You want to know what’s going on?”
“Yes.” I’m practically pleading. “Maybe there’s something I can do to hel—”
“That’s exactly why I don’t want you to know.” He cuts me off, eyes flashing hot. “Because there’s nothing you can do. Do you understand?”
I grind down on my teeth and dagger a glare into the ceiling.
“Look at me.” His voice is the sharpest blade, but the only thing that’s ever really frightened me about him is the demon he locks away.
Alcoholism, addiction—it could kill my dad. Like it killed my grandfather.
I drop my gaze. Looking right at him.
His chest rises and falls heavily. Hand on his heart, he tells me, “There are going to be some things in life that you’re not going to be able to change. Or fix. And I don’t care if you don’t like it, but you’ll have to live with it.”
My pulse jackhammers in my temple. He knows I’m ready to beat against a metal wall until my fists are bloodied. I can’t give up that easily. On any person I love.
“Just tell me, Dad.”
My mom springs off the chair and zips to the door.
“Lily.” My dad is wide-eyed in concern.
“I’m just locking it.” She turns the lock, then shuffles back to him. My dad catches her sleeve and tugs her into his chest. Their arms tangle up together.
That one move eases me a bit. They’re good.
They’re good.
I convince myself—they’re good.
“Is it about Luna?” I wonder. “The sex addict headlines after she was at that club?”
My dad layers on a patented glare. “Those sick fucks can rot in the center circle of hell.”
“We expected it.” My mom nods resolutely. “It’s nothing we weren’t prepared for.”
Right…
So whatever’s getting to them…they weren’t prepared for it. “Why can’t you just tell me?” I point to my chest. “You usually don’t keep shit from me. I don’t understand why this is different.”
“Because you’re going to want to fix it,” my dad says. “And you still haven’t told me you won’t.”
“I won’t.” It’s my automation.
My line.
He stares at me like he knows, but he still speaks anyway. “It’s your grandmother. She’s been throwing a gigantic goddamn fit over not being invited to the wedding. Even before you mailed out the invitations.”
“But we’re dealing with her,” my mom adds quickly.
This…
I didn’t expect.
My muscles solidify. Rusted shut. “That’s it?” I lick my dry lips. “It’s only Grandmother Calloway?” I know she’s the root to a lot of issues in my family. But I hate that this old crotchety woman still has the power to cause such a fucking impact.
My mom nods strongly. “Just her.”
“What is she doing to you?” I ask, eyes flaming. Protective. Wishing I could just slam a door closed and lock her away from my mom forever.
“It’s…” She stares sadly at her hands. “It’s complicated. Words have been passed around, and they’re not-so-kind—but we’re dealing with it. Right, Lo?”
My dad is glaring murderously at the door. He mutters under his breath, “Can she fucking die already.”
“Jesus Christ,” I breathe.
He flashes me a smile. “Kidding.”
“No you weren’t,” I tell him.
He widens his eyes on me. “I forgot a Hufflepuff was in the room. Cover your ears nex
t time.” Silence lingers in place of where we’d normally smile.
Severity strains like a wire threatening to snap.
I walk that taut line and ask, “Why are you letting her affect you that much?”
“You don’t understand.” My dad’s words punch me right in the gut. Hurt swirls with built-up rage—rage towards my grandmother, and I don’t know where to land.
“What don’t I understand?” I ask. “You’ve been MIA every other fucking night. You both look like shit. You’re fighting more than I’ve ever seen. Because of her.”
“Be glad that you don’t get it,” my dad replies. “I’m happy for you. I am, truly.” His words are like razor blades, meant to bypass me, but I’m just a casualty in their wake.
“I want to understand,” I retort. “Where I’m standing, you both have gone through worse.” I look between them. “You have a son who’s tried to commit suicide multiple times. You’ve got a daughter who’s been bullied to hell and back. You’ve got another one who’s so fucking independent, she’s pretending she’s forty-years-old when she’s fourteen. None of that has ever set you back.”
“Our kids make us stronger,” my mom says, confidence emboldening every word. “Even when we doubt ourselves during hard times, raising you all brings us the sort of happiness we never thought we deserved.”
My dad adds, “Our parents make us weaker.”
Make.
Present tense.
Veins pulse in my flexed biceps. “You’ve pretty much kept us at a distance from her for years. If she’s this toxic, isn’t it better to just cut her out completely?”
My mom shrugs, pain in her glassy eyes. “She’s my mom.” She shakes her head, like she’s upset that she’s even crying. “It’s not that simple. She’s apologized, and I have what I have because of my parents. They gave me everything, and in turn, the ability to give you all everything…” Her voice trails off, like she knows the retort to her own words.
Like she’s trying to remember how she defeated the guilt and doubt before.
It seems easy to me. To shovel this rotted, decaying root from the ground and fling it into a fucking ocean a hundred galaxies away from my family.
I’ll do it. Even without a shovel.
I’ll use my hands, my body.
Until she’s long gone.
But I hear my mom’s words: it’s not that simple. And my dad’s: I’m happy for you. I am, truly.
Headstrong Like Us Page 17
