Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters 5)
“Okay, okay,” I immediately concede on this front. “So I have my favorites, just like you.” I have my fingers in his belt loops, staring up at him.
His arms are already around me. “My best friend is not Batman or Superman.”
“Then what is he?”
“Connor Cobalt,” Lo answers without hesitation. “He’s Connor fucking Cobalt, and whatever powers he has, they’re all his own.”
I smile. This feels more accurate than anything else. My gaze drifts to that tabloid behind Lo, and my smile quickly fades. “What is…” I snatch the tabloid before Lo realizes where my mind wandered. In the right margin, Celebrity Crush fit tiny script that says: [POLL] Which Calloway sister has the cutest baby?
My jaw drops.
They did not pit our babies against each other.
Lo rips the tabloid out of my hands.
“They polled our babies by cuteness,” I exclaim. “They can’t do that.”
He gives me a look. “They can do whatever they want.”
“I just wish there were some ethical limitations,” I say while he flips to the page. I try to push his hands together to stop him. “Don’t! What if Moffy is ranked the ugliest.” I lower my voice at that. “We’ll know and we’ll feel bad and it’ll give him a complex.”
He pauses long enough to say, “That’s not going to happen. We have an adorable baby.”
“So do Rose and Daisy.”
Lo is so biased. He doesn’t see it. “You don’t have to look.” But he’s still going to.
I back away to distance myself from the tabloid. It’s a bomb. He’s holding a bomb. I still hate Celebrity Crush. At one point, I felt as compulsive towards reading them as I did towards sex.
“How’d that end up here?” I ask. Ryke hates them more than anyone. I look to Garrison but he shrugs, out of the loop with me.
Lo keeps flipping the glossy pages. “Just found out that Ryke bought Sullivan something online—a pajama set or bath robe, I can’t remember. He forgot to uncheck the 30-day free subscription to Celebrity Crush during checkout.”
Makes sense.
Lo pauses on a page, and he begins to read. When his eyes lift to mine, I ask, “Is it bad?”
“I thought you didn’t want to know.”
“I don’t.” This is a test, and I’m going to pass.
{ 10 }
January 2019
The Meadows Cottage
Philadelphia
LOREN HALE
[POLL] Which Calloway sister has the cutest baby?
It’s really dumb. They’re all sisters, and so they share similar features, which means that our kids do too. It’s like asking who’s the prettiest sibling in a giant family. I know I’m an asshole, but this shit from Celebrity Crush is Grade A assholery.
Familiar bitterness slides down my throat like acid. Let’s see what we have here.
A recent picture of Jane. Dressed in a pale yellow tutu and zebra-print sweater, she reaches for a sequined purse in the Calloway Couture boutique store, the one across the street from Superheroes & Scones. Huh. It looks like someone in the store snapped the photo instead of paparazzi from outside. Most likely a shopper.
I could just shut the tabloid. It wouldn’t be hard to throw it out, but I keep reading. If this one poll about our kids gets to me, then I’m not goddamn ready for the future. Because I know it’s going to be a hell of a lot crueler than this.
Moffy doesn’t need a drunken, apathetic father. I know that he needs someone better. Even if I’m scared, even if I lack that same conceited optimism my friends might have, I have to persist and be aware. I never want to be blind to Moffy’s battles or what might hurt him. I want to understand his struggle the same way my brother tried to understand mine.
I glance at Lily one more time. She drifts towards Garrison, and they chat quietly about movies. As much as I want to read about this poll, I’m grateful she doesn’t. In the past, tabloids consumed Lily, and I see that pull. I know that pull.
To trade one vice with another.
I’m glad she doesn’t.
I return to the article that first details the children being polled.
Jane Eleanor Cobalt, daughter of Rose and Connor Cobalt, can best be described as a mini Rose Calloway.
I shake my head at that line, and I can feel my jaw clench. I grew up with young Rose Calloway, horns and seven hells beneath a pleated skirt, tucked-in blouse, and crisp, ironed collar.
Jane isn’t neat like Rose. She sits upright, but she’ll also roll around on the floor. And she’s definitely not fashionable. I don’t know much about fashion, besides a brief stint as a model, but I don’t need to be a designer to know that this girl is not stylish.
Jane is a goof. She wore striped blue and yellow stockings and a bonnet with plastic butterflies to a ballet. (We all went; it was Greg Calloway’s idea of a giant family outing.)
I glaze over part of the article that says Jane is following Rose’s footsteps.
Next up: a photo of my son. They chose a picture of Moffy in red Vans, jeans, a backwards baseball cap, and a Spider-Man shirt. Holding my hand and Lily’s, he crosses the intersection with us. We’re headed to Lucky’s Diner.
Maximoff Hale, son of Lily and Loren Hale, is nothing but cool.
Lily would love that line.
Last picture: a blurry baby. A blanket partially shrouds Sulli as Ryke carries her against his chest. My brother—he does a good job at keeping his daughter out of magazines. Bitterness drips further down my throat. Let it go.
I do, much easier than I used to.
I remember that it’s easier for him. That it’d be nearly impossible if I mimicked his steps. The result wouldn’t be the same. He’s just not as famous as me, and Ryke would tell me, “You’re a good fucking dad, Lo.”
I can’t compare myself to him. Not about fatherhood, athletics, alcoholism—we may be cut from the same fucked-up cloth, but we’re not shaped the same. I’m different.
I will always be different from Ryke Meadows. I love him way too much to resent him. The malicious bone in my body that attacked him, that screamed at him, that bit him until he bled—it’s gone. Part of me is ashamed that I hated him that much when I met him, but the other part is just happy that I’m no longer living with that person inside of me.
Self-hatred is exhausting.
Ryke sits on the back of his couch. Jane and Moffy clutch his calves like koalas, and he swings his legs upwards and side-
to-side while making an airplane noise. I don’t think I’ve ever met a better person in this entire goddamn world than my older brother.
I’m proud that I know him and that my son will know him.
I look at Sulli’s description in the article. Sullivan Minnie Meadows, daughter of Daisy and Ryke Meadows, is always caught smiling. That’s true. I rarely see Sulli cry.
I skim the rest and hone in on the actual poll results.
23% Sullivan
41% Jane
36% Maximoff
No matter which way the numbers go, it’s still the same shit. I roll up the magazine and ditch that for the bowl of salsa. “Little ‘puff.” I come up behind my wife, and she startles only for a second.
I set my chin on her shoulder, having to hunch since she’s much shorter. “What are we talking about?”
“Nothing,” she says too quickly and spins towards me.
I have to stand straighter, my hands full with chips and salsa. I stuff the bag underneath my arm. “Nothing?”
“That’s what I said,” she snaps.
“Christ, when’d you get so sassy?”
Lily crinkles her nose. Adorable. I stick my chip between my teeth, freeing up my hand, and I pinch her nose.
Lily pounds her fist into my arm.
I feign a wince and mumble, “Ouch, love.” I tilt my head back, chip falling into my mouth.
Garrison must be irritated or trying to pick a fight with me because he says, “We were talking about Justice League 2.” Which isn’t coming out for some time, but it still makes me grimace and glare.
People don’t get it.
I have enemies, even fictional enemies. My shit list extends far beyond reality. I get what that says about me: I’m petty.
So what? I’m petty. My name is also Loren Hale.
I flash a half-smile at Garrison. “Why don’t you go talk about that down the street, turn right, approach a mailbox that says Abbey, walk up the driveway, slam the door—goodbye.” I wave curtly.
I’m also mean.
Lily is right about that.
Garrison spins an unlit cigarette between his fingers. I thought Willow said he quit. I know he won’t smoke in the house, but why would he have cigarettes at all?