Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5) (63 page)

“All the other kids can read more than me,” he cries. “It’s not fair.” When we read out loud, we make sure he follows the words in the book, but it’s still really difficult for him to
visually
process them. It’ll take time.

“Just because you can’t read as fast as the other children, it doesn’t mean you’re not smart.”

He rubs his cheeks with his fist.

I wipe the rest of his tears with my thumb. “You just learn in a different way, and your way will make you
incredibly
gifted.”

He starts crying again, this time just overwhelmed at that word.
Gifted.
None of the teachers call him smart, and he’s often compared to his brothers and sister who excelled before him. I once asked him what he sees on a page. He said, “Words all around.” Eliot made a scrambled motion with his hands. If the letters look different in the same book every time, he’d struggle picking out
The Black Cat
from the list of tales.

Rose and I want him tested for dyslexia, but the administration says he’s too young. Children develop motor skills around this age, and they said that they couldn’t conclude whether he has a learning disorder yet.

They think we’re jumping to conclusions since our other children surpassed common milestones far faster. “It’s likely he’s just more normal than your other kids,” the principal said.

We’re not upset that our son isn’t up to par with our other children. And I don’t want to fix him so he can become “normal” or whatever
normal
may mean to the administration. I want Eliot to learn at a rate that doesn’t cause him to cry or feel inferior to the students around him. So he’s not anxious at being called on in class or so frustrated he’d throw his books.

To do this, he needs to focus on his strengths and not be forced to learn the same way as everyone else.

Eliot sniffs, calming down, and then he asks, “How will I learn to read?”

“Here.” I touch his ears. “These are your gift when your eyes fail you.”

If he struggles visually processing words, then he’ll have an easier time learning through sound. Rose and I have already started talking to Dalton Elementary about allowing Eliot to use audiobooks for the first grade curriculum.

I believe almost everyone has value. People have gifts and attributes that I lack, some that I admire. I respect people at their best. Eliot at his best may not involve penmanship, the same way my best isn’t among comic books or rock climbing. For Eliot to find his best, he needs the right tools to learn.

Rose and I will fight to give him every last one.

I start tucking Eliot into bed. “Every night, you’ll put on headphones and listen to books being read to you. You’ll need to follow along on the page the best you can.” We’ll probably give him an index card to block off the other line of words, if it helps.

He might never understand how words look on paper the way that I do. The way that you do. But it doesn’t mean he can’t read. It doesn’t make him unintelligent. It doesn’t mean he can’t love stories just as much, if not more, than everyone else.

“Will you still read to me?” he asks.

I nod. “There’s one more thing.” Sitting next to him, I open up the book and turn to
The Black Cat.
I meet his impish eyes. “Mommy and I decided that it’s better if you stay in kindergarten for one more year. It’ll give you more time to learn the way that’s best for you.”

His mouth falls. “But…?”

“You’ll be in the same grade as Tom—”

“Really?” His face brightens. Eliot and Tom are as close in age as they are in friendship.

“Only if you agree to use this extra time to your benefit. Otherwise, you’ll go to first grade.”

“I will, I will! Can I tell Tom now? Does he know?” He nearly springs out of the bed.

“Tomorrow, you can tell him.” I grin at the sight of his own smile. I tuck the covers back around his small frame and then position the book on my bent legs, angling the pages towards him.

Rose told me earlier,
“The teachers will hate us more than they already do.”
I didn’t disagree. Eliot and Tom together might be mayhem, but he needs more time. It’s easier to grant him extra when he’s this young and when his birthday is in June.

“
The Black Cat
by Edgar Allan Poe,” I begin, my voice smooth and tranquil. Jane says I make her fall asleep. She prefers Rose reading.

I also prefer Rose’s hostile, icy tone, but maybe not over my own.

“‘For the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief.’” I look at Eliot while I read the next line from memory, and he too, remembers it, mouthing all the words, “‘Mad indeed would I be…”

I smile as his lips move.

His memory matches mine. And I never forget anything.

Lily & Loren Hale welcome the birth of their baby girl

KINNEY HALE

October 3
rd
, 2024

{
41 }

December 2024

The Mall

Philadelphia

LILY HALE

In hindsight, we probably should’ve delegated all Christmas shopping to assistants or even bodyguards. (They can do double-duty and run errands for us). But the thought of not picking out my children’s gifts made me sad.

This’ll also be Kinney’s first Christmas and Xander’s second birthday. I won’t half-ass these two monumental moments.

One positive upside of shopping in this particular mall: no paparazzi. They’re barred from entering.

One downside: people still approach continuously for autographs and selfies. I like greeting fans and taking pictures. Seeing their happiness by even a simple wave makes my heart swell. Though I saw two fans whispering about how I brushed them off. I felt bad. It’s not intentional. I’m just frazzled, and the pressure to shop combined with not alienating people who love us—it’s a lot.

Two hours into the shopping extravaganza and I only bought Moffy one gift. A Batman Lego set that he begged us for last month. I also included a Spider-Man one so Lo won’t feel like we’re turning into DC parents.

“I think I’ve taken more photos today than the entire year,” I express, collapsing onto an iron chair adjacent to Rose’s. Roasted Beans Café has open seating and views of the mall’s second floor. Little potted plants mark off the café’s territory, and Rose chose a table in the very corner, shopping bags piled on one of the four chairs.

Five
bodyguards surround Rose. They shoo people away from her area with authoritative looks. I last saw Poppy and Daisy disappear into a sporting goods store to find gifts for their husbands.

Rose cuts her spinach and goat cheese toast with a fork and knife. As though this is any other day. I suppose it is. Crowds gathered just on the other side of the potted plants. Phones point directly at Rose to see her food choice and her pregnant belly. She looks exceptionally regal today, a glittery statement necklace, form-fitting black dress (Calloway Couture), and deep blue matte nails.

Our bodyguards watch the crowds, but they don’t block their view of us. We always tell them not to worry about that. We don’t mind the pictures, especially when they’re of us
without
our kids.

“I told you to stay in this protective
circle
.” Rose gestures around the table with her knife. If icy looks could kill, I’d be buried. “It’s the safe zone.”

Just as Rose finishes her declaration, two teenage girls try to pass the hostess podium, phones in their clutch. They plead for selfies with us, but Garth is telling them
no.

I feel bad, but I have to remember that I spent the past two hours taking photographs. I can’t spend my entire life taking them.

“Rose,” a college-aged girl with dark brown hair calls. She squeezes past Garth and the two teenagers. The other bodyguards let her through. She looks winded like she hustled to the café with all her might. “I found the polka-dot tights for Jane, but I couldn’t find any pink glitter hair clips.”

Rose jots a note in her little spiral-bound pad beside her plate. “I’ll make those clips then.” She rips off a bottom piece of paper and hands it to her assistant. “Here’s more of the list, and I’ll need you to run to a craft store if the mall doesn’t have one.”

She reads the list quickly.

Rose eyes her for a short second. “Hope?”

“Yeah?”

“The last item on the list is serious. You can’t skip it.”

Hope skims the list and then relaxes. “I won’t. Thank you, Rose. I’ll have the rest to you soon.” She skirts away.

Rose sips her water and cuts another piece of toast.

Yes, Rose Calloway Cobalt gave her shopping duties to another person. For someone who not only loves to shop but struggles with delegation, I never thought the day would arrive. The fact that she’s thirty-two-weeks pregnant swayed her decision. Plus in Rose’s mind, missing out on a sisterly excursion is comparable to abandoning Daisy, Poppy, and me in a sinking raft.

“What was that last item?” I ask.

“For Hope to take a break and eat lunch. I had to remind her yesterday that I wouldn’t fire someone over a simple mistake. Do I look like a drill sergeant?” She grips her knife, her yellow-green eyes pierced and cold like the rest of her features.

“Uh…”
Is this a trick question?
“Yes?”

Rose rolls her eyes. “Well, I don’t act it, even if I look it.” This is true. She gives more gifts to her assistants and bodyguards than I remember to give Superhero & Scones employees, and she’s an advocate for vacation time for her staff when they need it.

I just now notice a bowl of chips and dip behind a toy store bag. I put the bag on another chair and dunk a chip into the chunky blue cheese. “The protective circle has chips. I like it.” I munch.

Rose cranes her neck and zones in on my
one
shopping bag. “Make a list. We can send someone to shop for you.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m going to make a second pass. Maybe bring two more bodyguards with me to keep the fans engaged with other things.” This plan actually sounds decent. I dunk two chips at one time.

I miss Lo.

He’d appreciate the chips with me but definitely not the blue cheese dip.

And he’d order tacos. I remember that he’s with Connor, Ryke, Willow, and Garrison and all the kids. They planned to play in the snow and then watch Christmas movies at the Cobalt estate.

Rose’s knife clanks against the plate like she dropped the utensil. I watch her hands rest on her lower abdomen. She blows out a long breath.

My eyes grow. “Are you okay?”

“The little monster won’t stop moving.” She swallows hard, her neck stiff. Then her glare ignites me. “
Stop
looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Blue chees dribbles down my chin and onto my baggy sweater.
Shit.
I wipe it up with a napkin.

“I’m fine.” She waves like she’s brushing off all the worry in the atmosphere. “Fate might want this baby out a little early, and I can handle whatever comes my way.”

I choke on a chip and pat my chest. “Early like
now
?”

“No, not now. I’m
fine
.”

I only believe Rose because I’ve seen her combat contractions. She’d be more rigid than right now, and her collarbone would protrude. “Are you nervous you’ll have another boy?”

This is Rose’s seventh pregnancy and her seventh child, though she technically birthed eight children. One just happens to belong to Ryke and Daisy. I think mentally she might be done after this baby, boy or girl. She’s thirty-five, and she’s told us that she doesn’t want to spend the rest of her thirties birthing babies. Lo said that Connor worries about the strain on Rose’s back, so he’s ready for this to be the last one too.

But if she has a boy, I wonder if she’ll feel like fate is telling her to have an eighth baby.

“No, I’m not
nervous
,” Rose snaps like I shouldn’t apply that word to her. “If it’s a boy, Connor and I agreed to make a pros and cons list and then go from there.”

I bet
fate
would weigh a lot on Rose’s side of things, but
Rose’s health
for Connor just might be the ultimate trump card in determining what happens.

If they have a girl, this all becomes irrelevant anyway.

I dip my napkin in my water glass. Rose gives me a look. Whatever. I rub at the stain on my black sweater. I think I just made the white spot more noticeable. Does it look like jizz?

My cheeks redden.
No one thinks Loren Hale’s cum is on your sweater.

I do.

I’m thinking it.

I point at the spot and ask Rose, “What do you think?”
Cum or not cum?

“I think you should make a list,” Rose replies with an icy, villainess smile. Then she digs in her Chanel purse and tosses me a stain-removal pen. Very un-villain-like.
I love you, Rose.
“And you can keep me company.”