Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5) (36 page)

Rose holds onto my bicep, partially for support, I can tell. “She deserves more than a shoebox burial. She’s a Cobalt.” Rose fights tears and raises her chin to combat any waterworks.

“I agree,” I say softly, “but we still have an issue.”

Rose follows my gaze to our daughter, and with one knowing exchange, Rose and I take a seat in front of our four children. I help my wife ease down, and she lets out another long breath.

I don’t ask if she’s okay. Her glare says
don’t talk about it
,
Richard
and I only listen because she leans her weight against me. I wrap my arm around her waist.

“Jane,” Rose says, “what do you think you saw in your closet?”

Jane wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “Sadie…she’s not well. She won’t move.” Jane bursts into tears again.

I bring her onto my lap, and she calms a little. The boys aren’t at a developmental age where they’ll be able to understand what this means, so they take more interest in the way we speak and the picture book.

“Will you make her better?” Jane croaks.

Rose looks pained, but I can say it all. I can speak as bluntly and as honestly as they need to hear. I wouldn’t sugarcoat life for a teenager or a one-year-old. So I don’t start now.

“No,” I say.

Jane’s chin trembles and her sadness flares into tearful anger. “Why not?!”

“She can’t be healed, Jane,” I say. “Sadie has died.”

Jane looks heartbroken, but she argues, “She can return again.”

“Once something or someone has died, it can never return.”

“Liar!” Jane wails like she never has before, tears splotching her cheeks. “You’re lying!”

Rose distracts the boys by sliding between them, lifting Eliot on her stomach.

My voice never changes octaves. “I would never lie to you, Jane, and if you don’t see this now, you will in time.”

Jane exhaustedly falls against my chest. Sobbing, she cries, “…I don’t want Sadie to die.”

In a hushed voice, Rose asks, “How much did you love Sadie, Jane?”

“So terribly much,” she mumbles into my chest.

Rose says, “Sadie felt
all
of your love. She lived with more
affection
because of your kindness and your heart.”

Our daughter’s big tearful eyes drift between her mother and me.

“You can be sad because she’s gone,” I whisper, “but you can also be happy because she existed.”

“You,” Rose says, “Jane Eleanor Cobalt had the honor of meeting Sadie Cobalt while she was still here.” Jane begins to nod, as though she had the good fortune to see Sadie when others didn’t. I tuck a piece of hair behind Jane’s ear.

“When you grow older,” Rose continues, “what will you tell all of your brothers about Sadie?”

Another tear rolls down Jane’s cheek. “How sweet she was.”

Rose and I exchange a look, and I nearly grin. I could call Sadie many things, but
sweet
would be far, far down the list.

Rose mouths,
don’t correct her.

I mouth back,
I won’t.
I adore her opinion, no matter if it differs from mine. Beckett yawns, then Charlie. I say to them, “C'est l'heure d'aller au lit, mes chéris.”
Time for bed, my darlings.

Jane flinches at the idea of returning to her bed, in her room, where Sadie is dead.

Rose is the first to say, “You’ll be sleeping in our bed, little gremlin.”

Jane relaxes at the thought. I stand up and set Jane on her feet. I clasp Rose’s hand and her waist, helping her rise.

Standing, Rose swats her hair out of her face and then plants her hands on her hips. Color suddenly drains from her cheeks and horror flits in her eyes.

Then I notice water gushing between her legs.

“No,” Rose mutters.

Her word doesn’t match the reality.

The world is very much saying
yes.

Yes, Rose is giving birth the same day Sadie died.

We’re prepared. We always are, but the next ten minutes is still mayhem with four kids under four, a dead cat in a closet, and Rose obsessing over the dirtied hallway.

“Call my sisters,” is her first command.

I already called Lo, who then looped Ryke into the conversation. Lo and Lily are coming over to take Jane for the night while Ryke and Daisy take our younger children.

Before Rose tugs towels out of the hall closet, just to wipe the floorboards, I catch her face between my hands and say, “This is happening, Rose.” The edges of her OCD are flaring up.

Rose lets out a breath. “We have time to spare.”

“Not to clean. I promise, the house will be spotless when we return.”

Her shoulders begin to loosen. “Are you ready?”

I grin. “I always am.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Ensemble,” I tell her.
Together.

Rose nearly rises twenty-feet tall. She holds onto my arms as she says, “Ensemble.”

Connor & Rose Cobalt welcome the birth of their baby boy

TOM CARRAWAY COBALT

April 21
st
, 2020

2021

“When you meet me, you’re not going to love me, but maybe in time…hell no, you still won’t.”

- Loren Hale,
We Are Calloway (Season 3 Episode 03 – Ice & Stone)

{
20 }

March 2021

Superheroes & Scones

Philadelphia

LILY HALE

I successfully park my BMW on the street of Superheroes & Scones, but unfortunately, I couldn’t find an open spot near the store. I’m horrible at math and not-so-good at predicting my own life, but I’m thinking I have a five-minute walk in my future.

“Little Luna, little Luna,
beep beep
,” Moffy singsongs and taps her nose at
beep beep
. Their innocence flutters my heart. I have to always take a breath and remember that Lo and I created something pure together.

Moffy is already five and taking the role as big brother to heart. He asked if he could help me with Luna while I unbuckle the one-and-a-half-year-old from her car seat. He’s up on the leather seat, putting Luna’s mini-Wampa cap on her head. The one that used to be his. He wanted her to have “his favorite hat” (his words).

Lo turned to me that day and said, “You and me—we raise superheroes.”

I’m smiling like a dopey fool just thinking about that moment. But it’s a smile I clutch close.

“Moffy!” Luna beams. She tries to imitate her brother by tapping his nose. She pokes his cheek.

He laughs, and I lift her out of the car seat and onto my hip. Just as Moffy climbs out of the BMW, two cameras flash in quick succession, the lens pointed at us.

“Whaa…” I stare wide-eyed.

“LILY CALLOWAY, LOOK HERE!”

“HOW ARE YOU DOING, LILY?”

“LUNA HALE, YOU’RE SO BIG NOW! LOOK HERE.”

My stomach nosedives. I’m one of those sitcom characters where their face reads:
Noooooooo
…

This is when I wish for Garth. My bodyguard was luckier and found a closer parking spot. I think he’s waiting at the front of Superheroes & Scones already.

Moffy clutches onto my hand when I reach for him.

One baby in arm, one five-year-old in hand, and a longer walk than I like to take in my house, let alone a public street.

Don’t freak out
. I chant.
Don’t freak out.

If I freak out about being trailed for five-minutes by paparazzi, Moffy will freak out. I’m withholding my inner-freak for him.

Sexual freak.
That freak too. He will
not
be seeing Lily Sex Freak Hale. Nope. Never. Goodbye.

I shut the door, lock the car, and all the while the paparazzi shout questions. I wave sheepishly to them as I head down the street lined with shops. Around evening on a weekday, people are out for early dinner, so they ogle and gawk.

Some stop and pull out their phones.

Two paparazzi become four, then five.

All within thirty-seconds.

My arm strength is puny, but I’d hold Luna longer than Kate Winslet let Leonardo DiCaprio share a door in
Titanic.
The thought puffs out my chest like I’m invincible.

Luna whips her head up and down the street. Aware of the onlookers. “Luna, over here!” Different cameramen repeat her name and confuse her.

“Don’t be scared, Luna,” Moffy tells his sister during our trek. “They won’t hurt you.”

“What your big brother said.” I nod resolutely.

Luna nods like me. She has chubby baby cheeks that Lo smothers with kisses. I wrap Luna more securely and warmly in my arms and kiss her cheek with a whisper of, “I love you, Luna.”

She kisses her palm and then puts her hand over my…eye.

I smile, but it fades as three paparazzi start walking backwards just to videotape us from the front.

“Hey, Maximoff,” a college-aged cameraman greets, much younger than the other paparazzi. He’s shared info about his personal life with us. Like dropping out of Penn State to make a living filming the Calloway sisters, their men and children. Like how he prefers cargo board shorts and tying his long brown hair in a bun.

Out of all the paparazzi, he’s the least threatening and never aggressive.

Every kid, from all of our families, loves him.

“Robby!” Moffy smiles and lets go of my hand for a second.
Don’t freak out.
Moffy knows not to talk to strangers and paparazzi when we’re not with him and to stay close when we are, but his guard drops around Robby.

Moffy bumps fists with him.

I’m shier and more introverted than a five and one-year-old. This is my weird universe.

“Have you been up to anything cool, Maximoff?” Robby asks as he walks backwards, camera in hand. Lo and I have repeatedly taught Moffy that anything he says
will
be uploaded online or aired on entertainment television. He might only be five, but he does understand that he’s different.

He sees that we’re the
only
people being followed, especially in a city that’s not known for celebrity sightings, tour buses, and camera crews. To them, it feels like they’re the only ones being treated differently.

“Daddy showed me how to skateboard yesterday.” Moffy smiles big, and I catch up to him and clasp his hand again.

“Don’t let go, Moffy. Okay?”

“Sorry, Mommy.” He hugs my side like I’m the one in need of consoling.
Don’t freak out.
He still lets me baby him.
Remember that time where you wiped his shirt after he spilt orange juice?
Yes. Yes, I do. That was yesterday.

I nod.

“So awesome, dude,” Robby says and then swerves the camera up to me. “Anything new, Lily?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

Like he’s mentioning the sunshine, Moffy says, “Mommy had to wear big girl pads because she didn’t feel good.”

OhmyGod. My neck roasts. I started my period—which I try to avoid 85% of the time—and I failed my mission to find a tampon. I did find pads deep within a cupboard, and Moffy asked what I was doing. I just said, “Mommy doesn’t feel that great right now.”

Don’t freak out.

Rose would say that there should be
zero
shame in periods. I blow out an awkward breath and then blurt, “I’m not pregnant.”

I just announced that to a flurry of cameras.
Why?
Why did I just say that?
I wince at myself.

Moffy looks up at me. “What does that have to do with big girl pads?”

I whisper like we’re sharing a secret. “Later.”

He nods like he’s in the loop.

“Maximoff, look here!”

Moffy ignores that cameraman.

Robby says, “You have a joke for me today, Maximoff?”

Superheroes & Scones is in view! We’re in the home stretch. Safety awaits. I didn’t have to abort the mission. We’re alive.

Moffy jumps over a crack in the sidewalk, tugging me forward. “What do you call a woman with four legs?”

“I don’t know? What do you call her?”

“Doggy style!” Moffy shouts.

I’m dead.

My heart is in my throat. “Saybye,” I say so fast and steer Moffy away from the curb and closer to the storefronts.

He just said doggy style.

Does he know what that is?

What if he knows what that is?! Luna says, “Mommy, red.” She pats my cheeks with both hands.
Shit.
I’m a burnt tomato.