Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters 5)

“Are you still at the fucking teacups?” He adds something else, but his voice is muffled. He must be speaking to Lily and his brother.

“Yeah,” I say, “we’re still here.”

“I’m not that fucking far away.”

I remember how he wanted to spend time with his brother—after Lo had that huge talk with Moffy. Maybe it won’t matter that much. Ryke said that Lo is in a good place mentally, and Lo told us bits and pieces about the conversation. Towards the end of the trip, we’re all going to decide what to do about sharing more information with the kids.

I can barely even process pros and cons and what it all means right now.

“Daisy?”

“What?”

“I asked what you fucking ate this morning.”

I think back. I left the park with my sisters for breakfast while the guys took care of the kids. Rose challenged me to eat something new. My lips part in realization. “Uh-oh.”

Shrimp omelet.

“Food poisoning?” Ryke asks now.

“I think…so.” I shut my eyes. Don’t puke.

“Daddy!” Winona shouts but stays upside-down.

I spin around the same exact time that his hands clasp my face. Ryke absorbs my state of being which is sickly sick sick.

“Fuck, Dais.” He looks over his shoulder and waves to Price like we’re fucking leaving.

And then it just all comes up.

I tear out of his arms and puke into the closest bush. Cameras flash. Vomit is my new accessory. Yee-haw.

“Ew, Mommy.” Winona wears a face like I’m stinky and deathly ill all at once. Then I puke again, and she slowly starts crying. “Mommy?” Afraid. She’s really afraid.

It twists my stomach.

Ryke tries to approach me, and I push him away. “Nona,” I tell him.

Ryke curses beneath his breath, but he listens and crouches to our daughter. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. He calms down Winona by hugging her to his chest, and then his dark eyes pin to mine.

“Bed, Calloway.”

I can’t even wag my brows and say, you want to sleep with me? I just nod thankfully. Bed.

I’d like that.

July 2027

Disneyland

California

RYKE MEADOWS

I lie on a lounge chair at a hotel pool, phone to my ear. “Text me if you feel good enough to fucking eat something. I can bring up whatever you want.”

Daisy has been in bed for four hours. I hate that she fucking feels like this. “Winona said she wants a big stinking smelly sandwich.”

My lips tic up. I imagine Winona snuggling against Daisy. They’ve been together all day. “Yeah? Ask her where I’m supposed to find that fucking sandwich.”

“The stinky smelly place!” Winona shouts over the phone.

“I’ll get the fuck on that then.” I glance at my brother, who’s on a lounge chair next to me. Lo mouths, everything good? He was worried about Dais too.

I nod at him.

“Take pictures and videos?” Daisy asks, hoping I will.

“I already took a fucking ton of Sulli diving, so I’ll send those to you.” The hotel has two pools, and they let us rent the smaller one for the day. It’s the only place our kids can relax (besides the rooms) without being hounded by people they don’t know—or even just recorded on someone else’s phone.

Daisy and I say short see you laters. I scroll through my phone and start sending her some videos. Ten minutes pass and I set my phone aside, lower my Ray Bans. Sun beating down on my bare chest. My worn paperback open and splayed on my leg.

Lo seems content, his dark sunglasses on and listening to music in his earbuds. If I strain, I can distinguish the heavy bass and pulsating electronics. Sweat glistens on his abs, and he brings one of his fucking knees up. I find myself scrutinizing him a second longer.

I fucking worry about my little brother, but he doesn’t always need my worry. That fact won’t change how much I care.

“I’ve got an idea,” eight-year-old Eliot Cobalt whispers to Tom, thinking we can’t fucking hear. They dragged a lounge chair towards the edge of the pool, but it’s closest to Lo and me.

Their parents are far across from us, hidden inside a shaded cabana. Lily joined Rose and Connor with the youngest girls: Kinney and Audrey.

Truth is, Lo and I stay under the sun just to keep an eye on the rest of the fucking kids. We don’t trust some of them to be on their own.

My head tilts to Lo at the sound of I’ve got an idea. His head tilts right to me, and he pulls out one of his earbuds, listening with me.

“What?” Tom asks his brother.

Maybe they think we’re sleeping. We’ve both been pretty fucking motionless on the lounge chairs.

“Swim to the deep-end,” Eliot continues his plan. “Then pretend to drown. Don’t actually drown, but stay beneath the water so it looks it.”

What the fuck.

Lo and I sit up some.

Skinny little kids, Eliot has straighter brown hair, but not as golden-brown as Tom’s and not as lazily slumped on the fucking lounge chair. Eliot sits straight, his feet skimming the pool.

“If you do that, he’ll jump in to save you.” Eliot briefly glances at the lifeguard, a teenage boy in red swim trunks. “Then keep your eyes closed and pretend like you’re dead. He’ll use mouth-to-mouth for CPR…and go for the kiss.”

“Dude,” Tom counters, “you just described Sandlot.”

Eliot extends an arm. “And it worked.”

Tom mulls this over, eyeing the lifeguard, and then he whispers, “Okay, I’m in.”

Fucking A. Their chairs creak, and I immediately start standing to physically keep them from pretending to drown.

My brother is faster with his words. “You two, sit down.”

Eliot and Tom swing their heads to us, not startled by being caught, but they both look seconds from jumping into the water. “We were just about to swim,” Eliot says innocently.

It’s in his eyes. The twinkle of deception. I fucking see it. My brother sees it. Everyone sees it.

“Bullshit,” I say, still standing.

They laugh at my swear word and then they sit their asses down. I do one further and drag their lounge chair closer to ours. Their laughs morph into groans of dejection.

“Uncle Ryke,” they complain.

My brother straddles his chair and lifts his sunglasses to his head. Their focus veers to him while I return to my seat.

“First of all, you should be afraid of me.” Lo points to his chest.

Eliot and Tom smile like they’re afraid of no one.

Lo holds up two fingers. “Second of all, you’re not fake-drowning to get the attention of someone.”

Tom takes a peek at the lifeguard stand. “What if he’s really cute?”

We’re not suddenly surprised that Tom is attracted to boys and not girls. Rose and Connor cultivated this safe space for their children. Inclusive of just about everything and fucking anything. So when Tom started feeling an attraction towards guys, he didn’t make a speech. He didn’t worry his parents would disown him or fucking hate him or try to convince him to love someone he can’t.

After a while, with casual, everyday mentions of crushing on a boy at school, we all just knew he liked guys.

And it never fucking changed a thing.

Lo squints at the lifeguard and grimaces. “Thirdly.” Lo raises three fingers at Tom. “He’s too goddamn old for you.”

“You owe me a dollar,” Eliot says since Lo has been put on swear jar this week by Lily. He’s said “goddamn” more times at Disneyland than he has in five months.

Lo glares at me like it’s completely unfair. I can swear as much as I want, and no one gives a shit.

I tell him the consequences. “You want a nine-year-old girl who has lunch detention all week for saying fucking fuck?” That’s Sulli.

Lo winces. “Yeah, no.”

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nbsp; The boys whisper quietly, their foreheads nearly pressed together.

“Hey,” I shout and then kick their chair, jolting them awake.

Tom crosses his arms. “You and Aunt Daisy have an age-gap.”