Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5) (42 page)

“What’s this fucking called, Sul?” Ryke asks.

“Rope.” She hugs a portion to her chest, as though cuddling with her stuffed starfish. “Can I swing?
Pleeeease
.” She peers up at Ryke with big pleading doe eyes. He has yet to say
no
to this innocent, earnest expression.

He mumbles beneath his breath, “Fuck.” He rakes his hand through his thick hair.

I sway side-to-side, Sulli swaying with me. Ryke meets my gaze, not uncertain. He
knows
we can’t allow her to swing, but he scowls, hating that we have to tell Sullivan
no
to something she might love.

I whisper to him, “Hey, at least she asked.” We didn’t teach Sulli to ask
is it okay if I do this?
but she does more often than she springs towards things.

“
Pleeease
,” she pleads again, gripping the rope in a toddler stronghold.

I kiss her chubby cheek, struggling to say
no
as much as Ryke, but some events can’t be given approval. Regardless, we’re here in Costa Rica with a daughter we thought we might never have. No matter what happens, no matter where we go, we’re living an
awfully
big adventure.

I begin to smile at Ryke, our eyes never drifting, and I murmur, “The danger of it all.”

Towering over me, his dark features break, light streaming through. He messes my hair, the evening sun shining between palm fronds and bathing his bare chest. I watch Ryke carve out this moment, soaking in my features and his daughter’s, almost disbelieving that this is his life. That we’re all together. That we’re here with him.

“Please?” Sulli asks pitifully this time, her brown hair frizzing.

Ryke bends and kisses Sulli’s head. “When you’re fucking older.”

She looks to me for a different answer, but Ryke and I are almost always on the same page when it comes to Sulli. “You’re too little to hold on for long, and you’ll slide
alllll the way
down.” Really, she would fall over twenty-feet, but we try not to instill fear or scare her with talk of
death.

Sulli frowns. “How old?”

I stretch my free arm out wide. “Really,
really
old.”

As though promising us, she says with such conviction, “I’m really,
really
old now.”

“Yeah?” Ryke hangs onto the rope, still standing on the railing. He scratches his ankle with his right foot, acting like he’s grounded when he’s
definitely
not. “How fucking old are you?”

“Seven.” She’s three.

I mock gasp. “You’re seven?”

“I’m old like you and Daddy.” Sulli reaches an arm towards Ryke, but sensing the risk, he refuses to take her from my clutch. Thunder rumbles, dark clouds starting to blanket the sky.

“We’re all seven then?” I distract Sulli, prying the rope out of her fingers. I let the excess hang off so Ryke can swing. He mouths to me,
bed?

I feign confusion and mouth,
sex?

Another change: he would physically push me or maybe playfully kick me if I didn’t have Sulli in my arms. He stops himself and just says, “Cute, Calloway.”

Birds chirp over the echoing thunder, a resplendent quetzal nest nearby. Sulli spent two hours just oohing and awing over their lime-green tail feathers, gorgeous red breast, and constant chirruping yesterday. I think the noise eases her mind away from the rope too.

She rests her cheek on my chest, twisting a strand of my blonde hair around her finger. “Daddy is eight. You’re twenty-somety-two-ey. I’m seven.”

I walk backwards to the door, eyeing Ryke all the way. “Did you hear? Our daughter is already seven.”

“Fuck that.” Ryke grips the rope. “I’m not aging up my three-year-old.”

I’m not aging up my three-year-old.
It’s more than just a declaration. It’s how we’ve lived thus far.

We intake all these moments like they could be our very last. The last time we hold a toddler. The last time she tugs at my hair. The last time she asks us to swing. We take nothing
for granted.

She might even be our one-and-only. We agreed not to open the door to surrogacy until Rose is
certain
she’s ready, and we’re not in any hurry to have another baby.

Rose thinks I’m selfless, but she’d put me before herself in this situation.
I’m your sister
, she’d say, but she doesn’t have to make this sacrifice for me. Rose deserves whatever size family she envisions, and I won’t restrain her from those dreams.

“Who’s three?” Sulli asks.

“You are, silly.” I plant a slobbery, playful kiss against her cheek, and she laughs, kicking her feet. I gently shut the door behind me, and then let Sulli down. Coconut patters closer to us, tail wagging.

Coconut
loves
Sullivan as though she’s the soul of my happiness. She protects the baby, nudges Sulli’s cheek with a wet nose, just until Sulli laughs and hangs onto Coconut’s soft white fur.

While we were packing for Costa Rica, Sulli asked, “Is Coconut coming?”

“Do you want Nutty to fucking come along?” Ryke wondered.

Sulli nodded. “She’s my best friend.”

Sulli kisses the top of Coconut’s head, as she’s seen me do a thousand times before. The white husky is most content when we’re all content, but her ears stay perked and alert. As though keeping us safe is her primary job.

I pat Sulli’s bare butt. “Hop onto bed with Coconut.” I’ll put her in PJs soon. The tiny house is just one room: claw-foot tub, wood-burning stove, wooden bed, little kitchen and four-person round table.

Sulli jumps onto the fluffy white bedding, and she calls after the dog. Coconut follows and lies next to the toddler.

While I clean my feet with a towel, I watch Ryke through the windows. Grasping the rope with only one hand, he steps off the railing. He swings out about fifteen feet, palm fronds brushing his body. I take a large inhale, practically feeling oxygen rush through me as he slices through air.

The rope goes stagnant, and he ascends towards the knot, nearly disappearing in the foliage. Then he shimmies across a thick branch like a monkey bar—until he drops back on the deck.

Crazy.

People attribute that word to me, but it fits Ryke just as much, if not more.

I also lack his incredible upper-body strength, so when I swung yesterday, he had to pull me back to the deck with a broom.

About fifteen minutes later, I finish helping Sulli dress for bed, and I cuddle her beneath an airy white comforter and feather-light pillows. I draw soothing circles along her arm while she scrutinizes a strand of my hair and my features up close.

“Why do people sleep?” Sulli wonders with a soft yawn, fighting slumber that wants to pull her away.

Sleep.
It’s been a foe and a friend, and these days, I welcome sleep. I
need
sleep, just as she does. “Because it replenishes your energy. So when you wake up, you’re ready to play and go to school—”

She makes a grossed-out face at
school.
We haven’t put her in pre-K yet because she recoils at the idea of being stuck inside.
Are there pools? Is there outside? Where will I be all day?

We told her about recess, but she still thinks school is about
work.
Regardless of whether she wants to go or not, school is a requirement, and she has to go at some point.

She talks hushed, rain starting to patter against the windows. “If I don’t sleep, can I skip school?”

I murmur, “No. You’ll just be really,
really
tired at school.”

Coconut perks as Ryke slips inside, a towel wrapped low around his waist. I steal a second to admire his body, one that sleeps pressed up against me every night. I bet he took a shower outside, but the rain drenched him again.

When he catches me staring, his brows rise at mine, and I mime a howl, a true mating call. He flips me off, a smile playing at his lips, as loving of a
fuck you
as Ryke can go.

I concentrate on talking Sulli to sleep while he pulls on boxer-briefs. “You don’t want to sleep?”

Sulli says softly, “I want to stay up with you.”

She’s scared of missing out. “Sleep is one of the greatest things in the world. Guess why.”

Sulli thinks hard, fingers to her lips, then she shakes her head. “Nothing’s good about sleeping.”

“Yes so,” I breathe. “When you sleep, you
dream.
Amazing things happen in dreams, Sulli. You can
fly
and swim forever, and eat all the candy that ever existed. Great, wondrous things happen in your dreams, so every time you shut your eyes, think about all the places you’ll go. All the creatures you’ll meet.”

Sulli’s green eyes flit up and down my face. “Will you be in my dreams?”

“Sometimes,” I whisper.

“What about Daddy?”

“What about me?” Ryke climbs on the bed, lying on the other side of our daughter. Coconut at our feet. He props his head on his hand and stares down at us.

“She wants to know if you’ll be in her dreams.”

He must’ve heard my response because he says, “Sometimes.”

Sulli looks thoughtful. Squished between us, she reaches to my cheek and touches my long scar. I sense Ryke watching Sulli inspect me. It’s not the first time she’s traced the scar, but it’s the first time keenness and questioning blinks in her eyes while she outlines the shape.

The only sound is the pitter-patter of rain and our gentle breaths. Sulli then puts her finger to the scar on Ryke’s brow.
From the Paris riot
. Then her little hand falls to his abs, tracking the thick scar between his ribcage, cutting long and veering to one side.
From his transplant surgery.

Sulli peers to Ryke, then to me, and she whispers, “You need Band-Aids?”

“No,” Ryke says with the shake of his head. “These are really fucking old, sweetie.”

Seven years have passed since Paris.

Sulli studies my cheek once more. “How’d you get that booboo?” She rolls towards Ryke and points up. “And that booboo? And what’s this?” She tenderly skims his transplant scar, not wanting to hurt him.

Ryke stretches his arm around Sulli and me, his palm on my shoulder in comfort. I’ve thought about what I’d tell her before, but all the words flit away. I look to Ryke for help because I just keep thinking about a two-by-four, nail attached, ripping through my face.

“We were in a fucking accident.” His tone is tender, despite cursing. He gestures from my cheek scar to his small brow scar.

Sulli’s face scrunches at the word
accident
. “What’s that?”

I explain, “It’s an unlucky event, but we’re better now.”

“You were unlucky?”

“Very. But guess what?” I nuzzle close.

“What?” she whispers.

“You’ve
brought us
all
the luck in the world.” I kiss her nose. “So there’ll be no more accidents.”

Sulli sits up and plants her little hand on my cheek. She kisses my scar, like she’s seen her dad do before. “Mommy,” she says softly. A moment passes as she gathers her thoughts, but we hold gazes, our eyes the same green hue. “You’re the most beautiful mermaid in the whole wide sea.”

Tears well. I’ve expressed that sentiment to
her
before. “That’s you, Sul.”

“No, it’s you.” Sullivan stares at my scar as if I wouldn’t be
me
without it, and then she looks to Ryke for confirmation.

“You’re both fucking beautiful.” He sits up against the headboard, his knee bent. He messes Sulli’s hair until her smile overtakes her face.

I whisper wistfully to Sulli, “Sleep, dream.”
Peace.

Ryke and I pull the covers up to her shoulders. She’s not ready to sleep, but we watch her, waiting, and she shuts her eyes this time. I replay everything she said, all her love towards us overwhelming me, and I look up to my husband.

He tucks a piece of Sulli’s hair behind her ear, but his hard eyes rest on me.

“I’m alive,” I whisper, “for these kinds of moments.” In Costa Rica, so long ago, he proclaimed this beneath a waterfall.

You’re alive, Daisy Calloway, for these kinds of moments.

Ryke pinches his eyes for a second, and when he drops his hand, emotion surfacing, his overcome smile fills me whole. I rub my face, my own tearful smile bursting through. I’ve never been so happy. I’ve never loved this much, but my bones vibrate with
life
—with every morsel of breath we breathe. With all the joy we scream.

I encapsulate this quiet day, this time, this second, tucking it gently away for safekeeping. I never want to lose this feeling, but if it happens to wane, I’ll remember that I can meet it all again. As long as I’m living.
Just wait.