“Murder is still illegal in Pennsylvania, right?” Rose asks.
“And the United States, and the world,” I tell her.
“Dammit.”
And then the screen fills with me.
Back in the study room where I sit on a desk chair:
“What do you think of Scott?” Savannah asks.
I stay complacent. “I find him comparable to a little teenager jimmying the lock of my house.” I stare right at Scott in the room, who’s off screen, hovering over Savannah’s shoulder as she films me. I add, “He’s nothing more than a petty thief, trying to take what’s mine. Is that honest enough for you?”
“And what about Rose?”
“What about Rose?” This is where I said what Scott just did. I called her my perfect match, but it’s edited out completely.
“Do you love her?” Savannah asks.
The abrupt cut makes me look more callous than I am. More inhuman and unfeeling than I ever want to be. I stare off for a long time as I gauge my answer, picking my words carefully. To tell the truth. Or to lie.
“Love is irrelative to some.”
Most people let me stop there. They never make me elaborate.
But Savannah says, “And is it to you?”
I have a couple fingers to my jaw, and I smile, something that looks empty and soulless on screen. “Yes,” I say. “Love holds no meaning in my life.”
The show fades to black with that last line. In the full-length interview, I added, “But Rose is at the epicenter of my world, whether I allow myself to love her or not.”
It was all cut.
And as the large crowd claps and talks amongst themselves about the show, Lo and Ryke turn on me with dark scowls. Rose grabs another champagne glass off a tray and leans back into my chest, unaffected by my words like them.
“So was that the real Connor Cobalt?” Lo asks, his arm around Lily who stares at me with the same furrowed brows. She glances at her sister with more concern. They’re on Rose’s side. As they should be.
“I spoke honestly,” I say. “And that wasn’t the first time I’ve done so.”
“So you’ve never loved anyone?” Lo asks. “Not another girlfriend, not your mom, your dad or a friend?”
He wants to know if I think of him more than just a contact like Patrick Nubell. Am I using Loren Hale for his father’s company, the multi-billion dollar baby product franchise? At first, yes. Now, no.
He’s my real friend. Maybe my first one ever.
But have I loved him the way a friend loves another friend? I don’t think I’m wired that way.
“No,” I say. “I’ve never loved anyone, Lo. I’m sorry.”
Rose points to Lo, her champagne glass pinched between her fingers. “Let it go, Loren. I have.”
“Why,” Lo asks, “because you’re both cold androids?”
Rose shoots him a look that would be harsher if she didn’t drink so much tonight. I need to get her to bed before she passes out. “It’s just how he is. If you even understood half of Connor Cobalt’s beliefs, your head would spin.”
“Rose,” I say, worried she’s going to fracture my relationship with Loren. While he doesn’t know me like she does, I’ve never lied to him. I just haven’t shown him all of me. And that shouldn’t be a bad thing. Some people are naturally private. I am.
She tries to defend me, stepping towards Lo and skillfully staying upright. I hold her by the waist to steady her movements. “No, Connor has done nothing wrong.”
“He doesn’t love you,” Lo sneers. “He’s been with you for over a year, Rose.”
“Lo,” Lily warns.
“No,” Lo says, “she needs to fucking hear this.” He points accusingly at me. “What the hell kind of guy stays with a girl for that amount of time without anything in return? If he’s doesn’t love you, then he’s just waiting to fuck you.”
He pokes at the most vulnerable part of my relationship with Rose. “She doesn’t need your protection,” I say to Lo, trying to keep my voice even-tempered, but Rose wavers uneasily in my arms. “She knows who I am.”
“So you’re okay with that then?” Lo asks her. “He’s going to fuck you, and then he’s going to be out of here. Does that make you feel good, Rose? You’ve waited twenty-three goddamn years to lose it, and you’re going to give it to a guy who can’t even fucking admit that he loves you.”
“I’m not going to admit something that I don’t feel,” I tell him. He opens his mouth, but I cut him off, “Would you like me to sit you down and fill your head with numbers and facts and relativities? You can’t stomach what I have to say because you won’t understand it, and I know that hurts you. But there’s nothing I can do to change the way things are. I am a product of a mother as brick-walled as me, and trust me when I say that you won’t ever see more than I give you. In order to be my friend, that has to be enough, Lo.”
He lets this sink in and then he says, “And what about you, Rose, is that enough for you?”
Lily reaches out and touches her hand.
Rose nods stiffly, and she holds Lily’s hand tighter. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. You guys can meet us at the car.” Lily supports her sister with an arm around her waist as they head through the dispersing crowds.
I watch her, making sure she safely leaves, and then I glance back at Lo. The look he gives me—it asphyxiates me for more than a few seconds.
He stares at me like he yanked off my superhero cape and grounded me to the mortal world.
“I just want you to know,” Lo says, “that I lost some respect for you tonight. And you’re not going to get it back so fucking easily.”
Ryke says nothing. He just wears a haunted, dark expression.
“Sure,” I say. “I understand.”
Lo rubs his lips; his jaw clenches, and he nods to Ryke. They head out to the car without me.
I stay still and try to gather my feelings that tangle in a muted mass.
What kind of person needs a therapist to tell them how they feel?
Am I not as smart as I believe or am I just human?
[ 19 ]
ROSE CALLOWAY
I can’t come. I’m so, so, so sorry! Just make sure no lilies, okay? And remember that I like your taste better than mom’s. THANK YOU! – Lily
I receive the text as soon as I arrive at the florist to pick out arrangements for the wedding.
Four months and two days – Mom
It’s like the countdown to the Apocalypse.
I text my sister back, telling her it’s fine. At least she didn’t make up a stupid excuse this time. Her “stomachaches” for the past month have been more about her fear to come face to face with our judgmental mother.
Lily went from being ignored by our mom to being told to close her legs. To wear a lighter pink lip gloss (on the rare day she does wear makeup). To comb her hair so it doesn’t look tangled in a post-sex haze.
She ridicules. And we both know it’s not out of love, but her obligation to protect the reputation of the family.
I look around the flower shop quickly. Brett follows me today with his steadicam, nimbly keeping out of customers’ way as he films me. I arrived twenty minutes early so I could pick out what I liked and so my mother would have a harder time bulldozing my opinion.
First, I choose pink and cream roses for the centerpieces. I wait impatiently while the florist demonstrates an arrangement. She has tinsel sticking out from flowers. “Simpler,” I urge. “Just the flowers. We’ll put them in one long row down the table. No separate vases, so it will look like one extended centerpiece.” I look around and spot the table of white roses. “These for the bouquet. And we can wrap the stems in pearls.” I’m not sure if Lily will approve, but at this point it’s clear she doesn’t care.
The only request for the past two months has been no lilies. Otherwise, I’m walking around blind.
While I wait for my mother, I click onto Twitter and type in #PoPhilly. A list of tweets pops up.
>
@RaderBull595: The Calloway girls are hot, but that tall one is such a bitch. I’d bang Lils though.
@TVDFan70008: Have you seen the way Lo looks at Lily? *swoon*
@thefieryheart: Brb building a shrine for Ryke and Daisy!
@RealityXbites4: I loooove this show!! #TeamScott
@SlightlySpoiled: Can’t wait for Rose to dump Connor. Fry his dick! #please
Lovely.
The reviews for the show have been much better than any of us could ever expect. Even though we’re labeled “foul mouthed, rich, and conceited” most of the articles congratulate us for being real. For not trying to put on fake faces in front of the cameras. Daisy burps, Lily says sexual comments on accident, and I threaten to castrate men. Some people like us for our flaws. Others still see us as caricatures. But I try not to let those comments bother me.
You can’t please everyone.
@Fashion4Goddesses: Just received my Calloway Couture dress! Gorgeous!
My heart swells at that tweet. Soon after the first episode aired, my sales skyrocketed. And they have continued to grow exponentially with each new episode. Fizzle has even seen a spike in its stock. Hopefully the success will last.
The bells on the door clink together, and I quickly pocket my phone in my purse. My mother struts through like she suddenly bought the entire store. Her nose upturns at a vase of half-wilted daisies.
“You’re early,” I tell her. Ten minutes to be exact.
“So are you,” she replies. “Where’s your sister?”
“She’s not coming.” I don’t use the stomachache excuse since I’ve overdone it already. Instead I try the truth. “She doesn’t like how you talk to her.”
“Lily has a voice of her own,” my mother snaps. “If she doesn’t like how I speak then she should tell me herself.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t tell her that she’s not the easiest woman to talk to, and it takes practice and skill—that even I come away feeling more neurotic and unspun.
“I already picked out the flowers,” I tell her.
She doesn’t seem surprised. “Then we have to choose between mine and yours because I already called in arrangements this morning.” Of course. She walks haughtily to a cabinet where white and orange lilies are gathered together with teal ribbon.
“She specifically said no lilies,” I say angrily. “I’ve already told you this ten million times.” Not only that but orange and teal. Really? Maybe for Daisy but Lily is more…subdued.
My mother huffs and fingers the string of pearls on her neck. Her greatest tell. When she’s particularly stressed or annoyed she touches them as though they’re rosary beads, praying to the Holy Father for her argumentative daughter to be docile and content.
“What’s wrong with lilies?” my mother asks. “Olivia Barnes’ daughter had them at her wedding and they were just gorgeous.”
“Her name is Lily,” I say. “She doesn’t find the pun as amusing as you do. And when she sees lilies everywhere, she’ll be upset.” Not to mention that we receive unsolicited bouquets of lilies along with fan mail almost every week. From men that fantasize about my sex addicted sister. Those flowers are tainted in her mind.
“I already ordered them, so what do you want me to do?” she says. “I can’t very well cancel, can I?”
“Yes, you can.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so bent out of shape over the flowers.”
I stand my ground. “I know Lily better than you,” I remind her. “We’re going to accommodate her one and only request.”
My mother mumbles something that sounds like but she’s not even here to voice it herself. Her eyes flit around the room before she huffs again. “What alternatives do you have in mind?”
I show her the white and pink roses I picked out.
She gives me a look. “Don’t make this about you, Rose.”
My lips press into a thin line and I’m sure my nose flares. “My name and the flower are not synonymous, Mother.”
Poppy, my older sister, has never had trouble talking to her. Most of the time she just agrees willingly so that arguments don’t begin. Same with Daisy.
I can’t be agreeable with someone I know is wrong, regardless of her being my mother or not. I’m not sure when I had the courage to say no. But she still doesn’t understand that my opinion isn’t less because I’m her child. I’m twenty-three years old. She may see me as a little girl who stands behind her at dance recitals, who tugs on her arm for advice about other girls in school, but I’m an adult now.
I appreciate her advice, I do, but I also have the right to disagree with it. And yet, this direction only causes arguments and fights. Neither of us can win if we’re in the same room.
My mother stares at the roses with narrowed eyes. I remember Daisy’s advice when I couldn’t get my mother to stop arguing with me. “Tell her you love her,” she said. “That always works for me when I want something.”
I give it a shot. “I love you, Mother—”
“Oh, don’t even start, Rose. I haven’t heard you say that in five years.”
I suppose she’s right. Since I rarely show affection to my mother, it makes sense that Daisy’s I love yous seem like blinding rainbows in comparison.
She spins on her heels and her eyes hit mine. They haven’t softened. “You can cancel the order,” she says. “But I’m not done discussing the flowers or the centerpieces. God knows we both can find something better than an ice swan.”
I try to smile. “That sounds good.”
“How is Daisy doing?” she asks.
“Good.” I don’t elaborate. She talks to Daisy enough. Whenever my sister is on the phone, it’s usually with her. And I have no right to keep Daisy with me after the reality show wraps. There’s nothing I can do but wait until Daisy’s older—to see if she’d like to live with us and distance herself from our mother a little more. To finally breathe the way I know she wants to. It’s going to be a long wait, but I’m willing to suffer through it.
“Good.” She nods.
I pause for the rest of her question, but it never comes. “You’re forgetting your other daughter.”
“Lily is twenty-one,” she refutes. “She’s lying in the bed she made for herself.”
I shouldn’t have said anything.
“How can you plan her wedding if you’re still bitter over the scandal?” I ask in detest.
“Because this wedding is the only thing that will return her reputation, and it’ll wipe the stain she’s set to the Calloway name. It’s more important than my bitterness. It has to be perfect.”
She looks me over, as if reminding me that the perfect element of the wedding is my job. “We need to schedule a venue by the weekend. I’ll send you my top choices. Keep your phone on.” She gives me a tight, rigid hug before leaving the store. And leaving me feeling more overwhelmed than before.
So much shit to do. Like planning a bachelorette party. I would have hired male strippers—but for a recovering sex addict, that’s not the smartest theme. I think Lily and Lo want to have a joint bachelor and bachelorette party anyway.
As I head out the door and find my Escalade on the curb, my mind reverts back to everything that’s been happening with Connor. His thumb. The shower. Love.
Loren may believe that Connor won’t be there for me at the end of the line, but that night at the screening party made me realize how much I do trust him. How much I do know him. Lo was wrong on so many accounts, and that’s only because Connor has let me see more than a couple sides of his life.
Whether Connor says it or not, he loves me enough to let me in more than halfway. And I know it’s time for me to do the same on a different kind of level.
I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Connor.
Bring wine tonight.
Since Lo is sober, we try to keep alcohol out of sight, so I have a trunk in our bedroom that I’ll store our stash in. I pause to think about my choice of alcohol. Wine? I’m pro
bably going to need something stronger.
And tequila.
I take a breath and wait for the text.
Is there a reason we’ll be drinking tonight? – Connor
Surprise. I reply back.
Can’t wait ;) – Connor
[ 20 ]
CONNOR COBALT
Frederick has spent the past ten minutes giving me the silent treatment. He sits behind his desk and pretends to be interested in The New York Times on his computer. He’s pissed that I’m still taking Adderall. But I can’t function without it.
I finish texting Rose and lean back in the leather chair. Frederick hasn’t looked up yet.
“I’m not paying you to ignore me,” I tell him.
His eyes remain on the computer screen. “You’re right. You’re paying for my counsel, which you are clearly not interested in.” He starts typing on his keyboard, the pounding more aggravating than I’ll let on. He has a squared jaw, tousled brown hair and broad-shoulders—in his thirties, fairly good looking, but he never married. His work is his wife.
I press my fingers to my lips in thought. “And you’re not even the slightest bit interested in what Rose texted me?” I try.
His fingers falter as he types, but he regains fluidity. Frederick enjoys talking with me, whether he’ll admit it to himself or not. I’m his most interesting patient.
“She asked me to bring home wine and tequila.” I don’t say anything else.
I watch the curiosity build in Frederick’s eyes until he lets out a sigh and rolls his chair back, his body angled towards me.
“You’re too easy,” I tell him.
“So you’ve told me.” He pauses. “How far have you been with her?”
I hesitate to reveal this, which surprises even me. I’m usually open about everything with Frederick, but being with Rose makes me want to keep every moment close to our chests, so no one can share what happens but us. It takes me about a minute to finally say, “She sucked my cock.”
Frederick’s brows rise in surprise. “You got her to blow you?”
“Rose had the choice.” I don’t want one of us to lose with sex. We both need to come out successful and fulfilled.
Kiss the Sky Page 17