Addicted After All

by Krista Ritchie

  { 45 }

  LILY CALLOWAY

  After the shower, Lo changes into clean clothes, and I take the opportunity to scoop his bourbon-soaked jeans and toss them into a trash bag. I want to eliminate any temptations, and I worry the pungent smell of alcohol will trigger his cravings.

  I clip the baby monitor to the band of my leggings and check that it’s working properly (a constant habit) as I head downstairs. Daisy and Rose are huddled around the kitchen stove, whispering.

  I step on the metal foot of the trashcan. “What are you two gossiping about?” I take an extra-long minute to shove my bag in the overflowing trash, smashing boxes of empty cereal.

  Rose straightens up, her hands perched on her hips. “Retaliation number two.”

  Daisy twists her hemp bracelet, a Ziff bottle under her arm. “They can’t get away with what they did.”

  An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach like a hollow pit. “Retaliation number one ended badly,” I remind them. “I’m not sure if we should do it again.” And I love a good stealth mission.

  “I agree with Lily.” The commanding voice originates from the hallway, Connor’s loafers clapping on the hardwood as he emerges in the kitchen.

  Connor Cobalt just agreed with me.

  This is a monumental occasion. I almost start cheering, but Rose’s yellow-green eyes have penetrated Connor’s incoming six-foot-four body.

  “You don’t have a vote here,” Rose dismisses him easily. “Girls only.”

  He steps nearer. “Are you asking for special privileges because of your gender?” It’s a question that causes Rose to cringe. Her husband faces her, only a few feet apart.

  “So what do you want us to do?” Rose combats. “Nothing? Wait for them to attack again? Next thing you know, they’re going to throw dildos in Lily’s face!”

  “That’s already happened before,” I mumble.

  “Not from your own neighbors.” She makes a good point. No sex toy projectiles have landed my way while around the house. “This is supposed to be a safe place for everyone. It’s why we’re living together. I’m not torturing myself with Ryke’s constant mess and Loren’s presence for nothing.”

  Daisy spins the cap on her Ziff bottle. She claims the flavor is better the longer you suffer through the iron-like taste, but deep down, I know she’s drinking it to be a supportive girlfriend. The Ziff rock climbing event is soon, and Ryke will officially become the face of the sports drink.

  “Can we call the cops? Or file a report?” Daisy wonders.

  “Not without evidence,” Connor explains. “And as soon as one of us makes a claim, it’ll be on the front page of every tabloid.” This is a big reason why I hesitate to run to the police. I ping-pong between protecting Moffy at home—from the teenagers—and then protecting him from the rabid media, which’ll explode with the new headline. They always swarm after a good story.

  The neighborhood teenagers seem harmless compared to the psychological damage that the media can cause. I don’t want my son to be five-years-old, afraid to go outside and be berated with cameras…like I was when we first entered the public eye.

  The doorbell rings, and I jump. “OhmyGod,” I slur “What if it’s them?” Maybe they’ve come to apologize? Yeah, okay, fat chance.

  Rose’s heels clap as she marches to the door.

  “Rose,” I call out, eyes wide. “It could be a trick.” Like another bucket or worse.

  Daisy hops off the stool, but she hesitates and lingers back. My fearless sister is frightened right now. I clasp her hand and watch Connor take a few lengthy strides, his legs much longer than Rose, and before his wife can protest, he’s in the foyer and opening the door.

  Very softly, Daisy whispers, “I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

  Chills prick my arms. “You won’t be…one day.” I nod resolutely at this idea. “It’ll just take time.” From someone who’s battled pieces of her mind, I know this fight. We can wish for it all to be better, but it’s bigger than us. It feels out of our control, but somewhere deep down, it’s in reach.

  I want to express this to my little sister, but the new voice in the foyer extinguishes my thoughts.

  “I should really have my own key. Three of my four daughters live here.” My mom—she shows up unannounced all the time, but never to see me. I usually hide out in my room or the nursery. Maybe that’s my fault too. I should be more sociable.

  “I’ll have one made for you,” Connor says as he returns to the kitchen. Rose looks ready to claw out his eyes. Then again, Connor could be lying to our mom. Trying to win her over.

  In two quick seconds, Samantha Calloway appears: her strand of pearls choked against her neck, her brown hair pulled into a strict bun. She places her white designer purse on the bar counter.

  “To what do we owe this pleasure?” Rose asks unenthusiastically.

  “Don’t be so hostile, Rose,” our mother refutes. “I just wanted to stop by and say hello. It’s Saturday.”

  “So it is,” Rose grumbles.

  Our mom spots Daisy, and her demeanor lightens, like she’s found a purpose for visiting. “Oh honey, I thought you were planning on dying it back to honey-blonde.” She approaches Daisy and inspects the platinum-blonde strands between pinched fingers. “I’ll make an appointment for you at the salon—”

  “No, it’s okay,” Daisy cuts her off quickly. “I’m not sure what color I want yet. But the next time I dye it will be the official color.” She shrugs. “No more changes for a while.”

  Our mom purses her lips, as though concocting ways to convince Daisy of the honey-blonde color. I squeeze my little sister’s hand, supportive of her decisions. Whatever they are, as long as she makes them herself. I’m standing very close to my mom now.

  My chest tightens as I prepare for the inevitable cold shoulder. Very little eye contact. Even less conversation. It’s her go-to with me for the past few years.

  “Where’s Jane?” our mom asks, avoiding my nearby presence. “I’d like to see my granddaughter before I leave.” Her silver bracelets clank together as she fingers her pearls.

  The exclusion of my son rings in my ears like a blow horn. It’s been plaguing me for some time. I can handle the silent treatment directed at me. But I envision a future where Maximoff is ostracized by his own grandmother. I’d rather him be surrounded by love than know that kind of pain.

  My words overflow, too strong to contain. “I have to talk to you.” She startles like I yelled in her ear. My voice is almost a whisper. “In private.”

  Her shoulders constrict, her collarbones jutting out, but she nods anyway. Not shutting me down. It’s a start, I think. I make a point to do this on my own, leading my mom into the bright sunroom without glancing back at my sisters.

  I shut the oak door behind her, the hollow parts of my stomach twisting in real knots. The last time I shared my mom’s company, alone, was years ago. I believed that I wasn’t vocal or strong enough to confront her, but I have a reason to try now.

  She stands uncomfortable and rigid beside the floral-patterned couch.

  “You can sit down if you want,” I instruct.

  She chooses to stay upright. “Are you planning a date for your wedding?” It’s a safe topic. One that I’ve trained myself not to contemplate for long.

  I lick my chapped lips. “No…” Just tell her how you feel. It’s not as easy as it seems.

  She crosses her arms, scrutinizing all of the brass furnishings in the sunroom. “I think you should choose a date in the summer. May or June. It’ll give me plenty of time to plan it.” I follow her to the floor-length window; outside the leaves are dark green in the middle of August.

  I swallow a lump. “I need to know something…”

  She spins around, and her cold, daggered eyes zero in on mine. It’s not like Rose. She carries an air that says: you are not what I wanted you to be. “Yes? Speak.”

  I muster the bits of courage inside of me to ask, “Why are you more interested
in Jane than Maximoff? Is it because he’s my son?” The question is as pained as it sounds.

  Her stoic face hardly fissures. “I’ve never had a boy, Lily. I’m more comfortable with Jane.” She pauses like there’s more, and she touches her dangly pearl earring in thought. My heart beats rapidly, waiting for a slice of the guillotine. “You…and I, we’ve had our differences. I don’t want to cause anymore unnecessary drama.”

  This is partly my fault. I’ve been avoiding her too, and now it’s like we stand on two separate planes of existence. I miss the days where she would stick up for me if Rose was being too harsh. Where she’d cut in during family luncheons and ask me about college. I messed up. So badly.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I blame myself, every day, for what’s happened. And I don’t know what it’ll take for you to forgive me.” My eyes begin to sear with hot tears.

  “Just time,” she says softly.

  I shake my head. “It’s been years.” I stare up at her with glassy eyes, and her impenetrable defenses start to fracture. She can’t look at me anymore. Her gaze is on the shiny hardwood.

  “I’ve forgiven you,” she says quietly, “but I can’t ever forget what your choices have done to this family. You almost collapsed your father’s entire business. And it’s taken a long time to reestablish the reputation we once had. It’s just messy, Lily.” She won’t look up at me. Look up.

  Tears spill down my cheeks. “Mom.” It raises her eyes for a second. And I say, “I’m sick.”

  Her penciled eyebrows twitch, and her lips part at my words. I wait for her defensive nature to arise, but she’s more affected by me than I thought she’d be. Staying silent.

  “When…I was little,” I begin, “I had sex because it made me feel like I was worth something. Because every time I was at home, I felt worthless.” My chin trembles. “I’m not trying to blame you. I take responsibility for everything I’ve done, but there was a piece of me that craved something…more. And I was desperately trying to find it.” I fiddle with my fingers. “Sex…made me feel better. Not whole. But better.”

  I’ve rehearsed this speech a thousand times in my head. I’ve imagined her reaction a million different ways. Some indifferent. Others warm and apologetic. Standing here now, I wonder which one I’ll meet, which reality is mine.

  Her eyes have reddened. “I don’t understand…” Her voice cracks. “I’m sorry.” I can’t tell if she’s apologizing for her confusion or more than that.

  “You used to fawn over Poppy, Rose, and Daisy—”

  “I thought you liked being with your father more,” she says, skimming a finger beneath her eye, skillfully not smudging her mascara. “He loved taking you to Fizzle’s offices, and Loren was your best friend…We gave you so much. It doesn’t make sense to me. I’m sorry, Lily.”

  Water drips down my cheeks. Maybe our perceptions of our lives are too disjointed to ever fit together. Maybe we all think too differently to bridge at a common point. “Do you love me?” I ask.

  She suddenly steps closer. And hugs me. Like a motherly embrace that I’ve seen her share with Daisy all the time. The one where she wraps her arms around me, placing a hand on my back. Her lips are near my ear as she says, “I’ve always loved you, Lily. You’re my daughter.” She draws back and brushes my tears away, careful to not poke me with her manicured nails. “I’m sorry if I didn’t show it in the way you wanted…”

  It’s a backhanded apology, but one I cherish very much. Partly because I know it may be all I ever receive. “Can you stop punishing me for my mistakes?” I ask her, the avalanche of silent tears starting up again. “Please?”

  She’s crying. Her hand falls, and she’s no longer attempting to dam her waterworks. She nods tensely. “You were always so shy when you were little…I thought it was better to let you be.”

  “I just wanted to know that you cared.”

  “I do care about you,” she says strongly, touching her chest. “I’m sorry…for things I may have said in the past. I was hurt…” She has this look in her eye that says: I want things to be different. I do too. For so long I’ve wanted that. But we’ve both just never confronted each other until now.

  Years.

  It took years for this moment to occur.

  She strokes my short hair and asks, “What can we do to make this better?” Her arm is still around me. She sniffs loudly, something unladylike. But I’ve never seen my mother cry this much. I think all this time, we’ve just been viewing the same story through opposite lenses. My picture wasn’t hers. And even now, we’re not seeing exactly the same portrait, but at least it’s in the right frame.

  That has to be enough. “I need to know that you’ll treat my son the way you treat Rose’s daughter. No favoritism.” That’s what I want most of all. “Is that possible?”

  I wait for her answer with more hope in my heart than I’ve ever had before.

  { 46 }

  LOREN HALE

  I press my ear against the oak door, shoving Rose in the shoulder as she tries to wedge past me. I rushed downstairs when Connor told me that Lily was having “the” talk with her mom.

  Their voices have quieted, barely audible through the wood. “Fuck,” Ryke curses as Rose elbows him in the ribs.

  “Shhh, I can’t hear the rest,” Rose hisses.

  “Children,” Connor says from the hallway. He leans against the charcoal-gray painted wall, watching the three of us fight for prime real estate against the door. “Patience is considered a virtue to some.”

  Daisy sits on the ground beside him, eating a cherry popsicle as she watches us. “Just let Rose at the door, and she can translate for all of us.”

  “We already tried that,” I remind Daisy. “She was terrible at it.” Rose delivered cliff notes half the time. And the other half, she didn’t even bother to relay the information.

  Just as Rose opens her mouth to snap back, the door swings open. Samantha Calloway stands poised and rolls her eyes at the sight of us. It reminds me so much of Rose that I have to bite my tongue to swallow a retort. Comparing Rose to her mother, out loud, is a low blow that I’d like to avoid.

  Anyway, I don’t believe Rose is exactly like Samantha. She’s more self-aware for starters. I listened to what Samantha had to say to Lily, and honestly, it was ass-backwards. Samantha should’ve apologized to Lil first. She should’ve admitted to treating her differently than her other daughters. But she just doesn’t get it. I don’t think she ever will.

  There’s one thing I never want to do—and it’s be so blind to my kid’s life because I can’t see my own faults.

  The room silences the longer Samantha lingers in the doorway. Despite seeming strict, her blush is tear-streaked and her eyes are red.

  “Where are the babies?” Samantha asks, skirting past Rose’s body. “I want to see them before I go.”

  Rose pulls away from the door. “They’re in the nursery. You can follow me there.” Rose cautiously glances back at Lily on her way out, but Lil is still hidden in the sunroom.

  My pulse skips, and I force the door open wider. Lily sits on a wicker ottoman, her eyes swollen and her head hanging in exhaustion.

  I slide between the door and Ryke’s chest, trying to enter the room. Lil rubs her eyes by the time I kneel in front of her, collecting her hands in mine. I kiss her cheek and whisper, “You did good, Lil. I’m proud of you.” She needed to confront her mom. The silence had been eating at her for years.

  “She said she’s going to treat him just like Jane.” Lily sniffs before she cries heavily again. I stand and wrap my arms around her thin body, lifting her to her feet. She rests against my chest and stares up at me. “I never thought she’d try, but she said that she wants us to have a better relationship.”

  I nod a couple times. “That’s good, Lil.” I’m always going to be cautious of Samantha. I can’t help it. My barriers will rise if Lil drops hers. And she should try to lower hers some. That’s her mom at the end of the day.

&n
bsp; “I know she doesn’t understand me completely or what happened,” Lily whispers, her hands tightening around me. “But she can have her truth, and I can have mine. It’s better than a lifelong standstill.” She must be thinking of Moffy.

  She’s willing to bury this fight for our son. Closing old wounds.

  Our choices will affect him, and for the rest of our lives, we’ll make decisions in his best interest, not ours. I thought it was going to be hard—being selfless. But when you love someone with the deepest parts of your soul, they become your biggest exception.

  I know he’s ours.

  { 47 }

  LILY CALLOWAY

  My fiancé is the sexiest person on Earth. Fact. It’s a biased fact, but many people would agree with me if they had my view.

  I brace the red sheet to my chest, my back against the headboard, and gawk as Lo walks buck naked to the bathroom. His ass. His muscular back. His lean, toned body. I am in my kinda heaven.

  I’m sure he’s grinning, aware that I’m filing this mental image in my spank bank for eternity. It will remain in a section called naughty things. Granted, that portion of my brain is jam-packed with Loren Hale.

  He disappears behind the wall. All the pictures pop in an instant. “We should go again,” I call out, scooting to the edge of the bed and bringing the heavy champagne-colored comforter with me. “We need to make up for lost time.”

  Today is the day.

  We’ve already had sex once. The kind that slams backs into walls and causes the bed to aggressively shake. I’m ready for a round two. Possibly even a three or a four. If I can control myself. The insatiable beast has to remain locked away, and I’ll need to stop when I have to stop.

  He returns from the bathroom with a glass of water, taking small sips.

  “I’ve overworked you?” I ask with a frown.