Thrive (37 page)

{ 65 }

2 years : 03 months

November

LOREN HALE

I draw circles on a paper napkin at the kitchen
bar, Ryke on the stool next to me. The girls are huddled in the living room,
tension stretching the air. But it has nothing to do with me. Or Lily. Daisy
has finally let her sisters focus on her for once.

Something happened. Months ago. A year, maybe with Daisy.
It’s bad. I can see it written all over my brother’s face. Connor watches us
from across the counter, drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup.

The mugs are packed in cardboard boxes, all the cupboards
bare. Everyone is moving back to Philly when Lily graduates, but we have no
idea if we’ll be splitting apart from Connor and Rose.

Ryke rests a hand on my shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

“Ask me again when it fucking sinks in,” I say.

“That you’re going to have a kid?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “And I already feel fucking awful for the
thing.”

Ryke pauses. “He may not have addiction problems, Lo.”

“No, it’s not that.” I stop drawing and point my pen at
Connor. “Our kid is going to have to compete with theirs. It’s already fucked
and it’s not even born yet.” I selfishly wish they weren’t having a baby. Then
I’d know, for certain, that we’d have their undivided attention, their help with
every misstep we make. It’s going to be a bigger challenge without that. It’s
going to force Lily and me to take full responsibility. Maybe it’s better this
way, even if it’s harder.

Instead of being sympathetic, Connor grins into the rim of
his cup and Ryke is
smiling
. My
brother says, “Connor’s kid is also going to be a snot, so you can rest assured
that yours won’t be totally fucked.”

I begin to smile too.

Connor is about to reply, but a painful sob emanates from
the living room. We all stiffen, our shoulders pulled back in alarm.

“Should we go in there?” I ask, picturing Lily and her
sisters in tears. But I remember how Lily hugged Daisy in Utah when her little
sister was bawling, how she’s been the shoulder to cry on. My muscles loosen.

“Five more minutes,” Connor says.

Maybe that’ll give my brother enough time to share the cliff
notes version of what happened. I resume drawing boxes around my squares, the
pen bleeding through the napkin. “It has to do with her sleep issues, right?” I
ask, remembering in Paris how Daisy had a night terror. She slapped Ryke in the
face without realizing it. I didn’t even deduce that she might be having them
every time she slept.

“Yeah,” Ryke says softly. He shifts on the stool so we’re
angled towards each other. “It hasn’t been just one major event that triggered
her problems. Most nights, she can’t even fall asleep at all.”

I frown. “Has she seen—”

“Yeah, she’s seen doctors for her sleep disorder, and she’s
been going to therapy for post-traumatic stress.”

I go rigid. “Post-traumatic stress?” I’m beginning to
realize that we only see fragments of people, and the pieces that I’ve been
given create one of the most incomplete pictures of my brother, of Daisy and
their relationship.

In the background, we can hear the faint sounds of Daisy
crying as she talks. Ryke looks so torn up that he has trouble concentrating on
our conversation and not the girls.

“Ryke,” I whisper. I have to know what happened.

He takes a deep breath. “I guess it started after Lily’s sex
addiction became public.” My brows pull together, recognizing how long ago that
actually was. “Daisy was teased a lot by stupid fucking teenagers from her prep
school. On New Year’s Eve, she said some fucking guy kept throwing condoms at
her.”

I glare. “What?”

Ryke’s eyes narrow. “They kept making fucking remarks about
Lily…”

“Because she’s a sex addict?” My voice shakes.

“Yeah,” Ryke says. “Everyone wanted to believe that Daisy
was one, would become one, whatever would fucking create a good story.” Veins
ripple in his forearms, his muscles tense. “And then during the reality show, a
camera guy, not part of production, broke into the townhouse one night, and he
went into her room and started taking pictures.”

I pale. “Where was I?”

“Asleep,” Ryke says.

I glower. “Why did
no
one
tell me about any of this? It’s been over a year.”

Connor interjects, “It all started because of Lily’s
addiction.” Guilt. They were afraid of saddling Lily with more and more guilt.

I recall all the articles that speculated how Daisy would
turn into a little Lily, a future sex addict, but I never saw how it affected
her. She hid it too well from us. “She seemed happy.” I cringe.
Not happy exactly.
Daisy has always been
sad, in a way. Depressed. I’ve known it like everyone else.

“She was miserable,” Ryke confirms. “She had trouble
sleeping almost every night after the fucking guy broke into her room.”

“What about after the show?” I ask, staring off, dazed by
the reality of how much our addictions have truly affected those around us.
It’s a double-edged sword. We need their support, but in being closer to them,
we’ve only made their lives harder.

They probably thought we’d rationalize Daisy’s issues as a
reason to step away from them, to distance ourselves from the people that have
lifted us every time we’ve fallen. Maybe we would have.

“Daisy had to move back home after the show, remember?” Ryke
says, shaking his head at the thought. “I hated it because I saw how bad she
was during
Princesses of Philly
, and
I couldn’t go into that house when her mom was home. So she was largely dealing
with the ridicule by herself.” He pauses. “And then something worse happened
before she graduated.”

Connor sets down his cup, and the confusion on his face
takes me aback. “You don’t know either?” I wonder.

“No,” Connor says, his eyes like pinpoints on Ryke. “You
never told me.”

“It wasn’t my story to tell,” Ryke retorts. He’s been
waiting for Daisy to rehash everything to her sisters. He looks physically ill.
“I hate even thinking about it.”

Connor pours more coffee into his cup, listening intently
with me. I have no clue what
more
could’ve
happened to her. It already feels like too much.

“She had a couple prep school friends named Harper and Cleo,”
Ryke says. I try to prepare for the worst. “On their way back from shopping
with Daisy, the girls stopped the elevator.” He hesitates for a second. “Some
guys had told Harper and Cleo that they wondered how many inches could fit
inside Daisy.”

I flinch back. “
What?
”
I snap angrily.

Connor keeps his expression blank on purpose, which just
irritates me more.

“They had bought a couple dildos,” Ryke continues.

“No.” I shake my head repeatedly, imagining just how this
ends. I have met kids as bored, as cruel and as fucking stupid as ones like
that. I have been the subject of harassment all throughout my adolescence, some
justified, others without reason. I can taste the fear and the hatred that
swallows my youth.

I would never wish that on someone like Daisy.

“She fought them off,” Ryke says, anger swarming his eyes
like he wishes he had been there to stop it all himself. “But only after they
gave her an ultimatum. She could either put it in or they’d torment her until
graduation. She chose the latter.”

No.

I shake my head. No. “She lived in fear for how many fucking
months?” Scared to walk the hallways, afraid that something equally terrible
would occur at any single moment.

“She had six months left,” he says.

I crash forward this time, my elbows on the counter. I bury
my face in my hands. Six months. Post-traumatic stress. “I’m sorry,” I
immediately say. That’s why he wanted Daisy to live in the same apartment
complex as him. That’s why he spent so many days and hours with her.

That’s how they began to fall in love.

“I’m really sorry,” I say again. “I should’ve known that you
were only trying to help her.”

“I could’ve given you something though,” he says. “I was an
ass about it, and I could’ve given you
one
thing to make it seem like my intentions were good. But I didn’t think it
mattered.” He meets my eyes. “It’s not all on you, Lo.”

He rises to his feet at this. The truth carries a lighter
silence, unburdened. I watch him pace in the kitchen, focusing on the girls
through the archway. The pen busts as I draw another circle, staining my palm
black.

That’s about the same time Lily passes through the archway,
the tracks of her tears visible along her cheeks.

I stand up, and she fits in my arms while I lean my back
against the kitchen counter. Her faraway gaze haunts me, the guilt and remorse
flooding through. Her addiction is the source of Daisy’s pain. There is no
other way around that, and it’s a fault that Lily will bear the rest of her
life.

“You okay, love?” I whisper.

Very softly, she says, “I wish that had been me.”

 
I know.
I kiss her temple and draw her even
closer, her heart pounding against my chest. I notice each box in the kitchen,
the bare counters and the emptiness of each room. We’ve lived here for a long
time, and it’s strange shutting another chapter of our lives together. It’s
even stranger thinking that chapter may not include each other.

And it just hits me, right here, the decision to our future.
I look to Connor about ten feet from me. “Does your offer still stand?”

“Which offer?”

“The one where we move in with you guys,” I say. “I was
thinking…” And this just pours through me right now. I let the moment guide me.
“…that we could buy a house with a lot of security. More than this place. And
Daisy could live with all of us. I think she might feel safer than living alone
with Ryke. And when the babies are born, we’ll just…we’ll figure it out then.”

No one affirms aloud—but the look in their eyes say
yes
, a million times over.

{ 66 }

2 years : 04 months

December

LOREN HALE

I sit up on the weight bench and Ryke grabs the
bar out of my hands, setting it back. He tosses me my towel, and he takes a
seat on the end of the bench. We’ve been at the gym for thirty minutes already,
no one here this early in the morning but us. Connor would’ve joined, but Rose
had a doctor’s appointment.

I watch Ryke stare at the towel in his hands. He’s barely
spoken since we started lifting weights.

“What is it?” I ask sharply, picking up my water bottle off
the floor.

He opens his mouth, but he shuts it when the words don’t
come to him.

“Is it Daisy?” I wonder, my back straightening. I comb the
damp strands of hair out of my face.

“No,” he says quickly. “She’s been better since we moved.”

“How much sleep does she get a night?” I ask.

“Five hours most nights, less on bad ones.” He balls his
towel, distant. It takes him a long moment before he blurts it out. “I’m doing
it.”

I frown. “Doing what?” I rest my elbows back on the metal
bar, my legs on either side of the bench.

“I’m going to make a statement to the press.” He can’t look
at me. He just stares up at the fluorescent lights hung across the gym ceiling.

Still, it jolts me back. “About the rumors…” I trail off. I
didn’t expect him to make a statement about the molestation rumors, not even
after we cleared the air in Utah. I could see that he had made a promise to
himself, to never protect our father again, and I didn’t want to force him to
break it. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” he says, nodding. “I should’ve done it months ago.
The hardest things in life are usually the right things. I just hated Dad too
much to do the right thing.” He throws the towel on his gym bag. “When I clear
his name of the allegations, I want you to know that it’s not for him, okay?”
He turns to me. “I’m doing this for
you
,
and for me.”

I pat his back, choked up for a second. I rub my lips as I
process these feelings. It takes me a minute to finally say what’s been inside
of me for years. “Thank you.”

Without my brother, I wouldn’t be sober. I’m not even sure
I’d be alive. His decision to enter my life and never let go was one that saved
me. No
thank you
will repay what he’s
given me. But it’s all I have. And by the smile that begins to lighten his
normally darkened face—something tells me that it’s enough for him.

{ 67 }

2 years : 04 months

December

LILY CALLOWAY

I hug my chunky knit sweater tight around my body,
the wind whipping my hair as I step outside. No vans parked on the street. No
one snaps pictures of me. The gated neighborhood reminds me of our childhood,
not all of it good, but the unease sits beneath these temperate feelings.

It’s a shelter from the media storm.

I pass a fir tree on the lawn, walking down the driveway
towards the mailbox with quick steps. My cheeks rose in the cold, but nothing
stops me from checking the mail every morning. I open the lid with giddy
anticipation, and I spot the long tube and my excitement explodes into
fireworks.

I pull it out like it’s a dream.

“You did it, Lil,” Lo says, heading down the driveway with a
cardboard box labeled
Christmas.
One
of my puffy winter jackets rests on top of it. He sets the box down and joins
me.

“I can’t believe that I didn’t even cheat,” I say, waving
the tube around like a lightsaber. “Towards the end, at least.” Although Connor
caught me scribbling a cheat sheet on my water bottle label my very last
semester. He gave me a lecture about not needing a crutch, and I tossed the
bottle away before the exam. Without his tutoring skills and ethics, I would’ve
never made it this far.

“Open it,” Lo smiles.

I pop the lid off the tube and delicately remove the thin
paper that contains my certificate.

“Now you’re an
official
college graduate, Lily Calloway. How does it feel?” he asks, pride overtaking
his features.

“Good,” I say.
Really,
really good.
It took me a long time to graduate from Princeton, especially
after transferring there. I passed with a very low GPA, but I passed. That’s
all that matters to me. I look up at him. “But it’s not as good as other
accomplishments.” Going through recovery, taking the steps to be a better me,
that achievement surpasses all others.

He tugs my Wampa cap on my head, pulling the flaps over my
ears for warmth. “Are you too good to hang out with me now?” he asks, propping
an arm on the mailbox.

I lose myself to his amber eyes for a moment, and then I
say, “We’re the same.”

His lips slowly rise, dimpling his cheeks. He nods to the
box, telling me to follow him up the driveway. “I got us out of furniture
shopping with Connor and Rose.” He collects my puffy winter jacket and helps me
put it on through each arm.

“How’d you do that?” I ask, watching him lift the cardboard
box, the handwriting looks childish. Like…one of ours when we were little.

“We have to decorate that tree.” He nods to the big ass
Christmas tree in the middle of the yard. I told Rose it was going to look
weird off season, but she shooed me and said that
this
was the house. She stood outside of it, hands on hips, like
she once did with our sisterhood house. The Princeton one where our boyfriends
subsequently joined us.

“Good thinking,” I tell him. I’d much rather decorate a tree
than spend hours listening to Rose and Connor digress from furniture to
Faulkner to Shakespeare and scientific things that hurt my head.

“Want a ride?” he asks me, bending down. I jump on his back
a little haphazardly, Wampa almost flying off.

“Careful, Lil,” he tells me. He has to hold onto the box,
but I have no trouble wrapping my legs around his waist and holding onto his
biceps like a monkey. “Can you feel it?” he asks on the short trek to the tree.
I feel him roll his eyes. “Not
it
but
I mean him or her or whatever.”

It’s weird for me too. “Not really, not yet at least.” The
bump on my belly is a little bigger but not by much. He sets me on my feet, the
giant brick and stone house looming behind us. Eight rooms. Even more
bathrooms.

It reminds me, every day, that we can afford our mistakes.
Sometimes I wonder if that’s why we end up making more.

He squats and opens the flaps of the box. “So I was
thinking,” he says, while I try to peer into it. “If we have a boy, I know what
we should name him.”

My lips part a little in surprise. “You’ve been thinking
about names?”

“I mean, yeah,” he says. His brows crinkle as he looks back
at me. “Haven’t you?”

“Once, maybe twice.” I haven’t let myself revel in the good
parts of being pregnant. But now that Lo has, I think I can begin to.

He rises from the box, holding a bundle of ornaments,
plastic toy action figures with strings on their heads. From our childhood. We
used to play with them during the holidays, plucking them off the Hale family
Christmas tree in the den.

My heart speeds as he sorts through the collection in his
hand and picks out a certain one. He passes it to me, the blue paint chipped on
the X-Men’s costume. This was his favorite superhero when we were little. Not
Hellion, who appeared in comics in our adolescence. And not Scott Summers, who
slowly grew into a man that he admired.

In the beginning of everything, he empathized most with
Quicksilver. For being the son of an undesirable man. For being rebellious and
wishing that life would just hurry up already. He’s not perfect by any means,
but that’s why Lo loves him: every imperfection, every flaw. He is a hero in my
eyes because of each one.

“Maximoff,” he says. My tears brim. I flip the ornament over
and see Lo’s name etched into the back. He draws me closer and rubs his sleeve
below my eyes. “Say something.”

“I love it,” I say with a laugh the produces more tears.
Maximoff. Quicksilver’s last name.
And
then it clicks. “Remember when we said that the best Ravenclaws are the ones
who can cheer for the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs?”

Lo nods.

“Luna,” I say. “For a girl…”

He smiles. “It’s perfect…just don’t tell Rose and Connor
that it’s because of them.” He knows that Luna makes me think of my sister and
his best friend. “It’ll go to their heads.” Very true.

If we have a girl, the origin of her name is a secret that
stays between us.

I stare back at the ornament in my hand. “This isn’t pretend
anymore, is it?” We spent three years playing house together before we became
an official couple. Lines between our relationship and our worlds have always
blurred. Like one foot in an alternate reality and one in Earth-616.

“No, love.” Lo tilts my chin up so I meet his swirling amber
eyes. “This is real.”