WE’RE TEN MINUTES LATE, but we’re not the only ones.
My father missed his flight from New York back to Philly because his personal pilot had the flu. He had to arrange a new one to fly his private jet. The whole ordeal shouldn’t take long, but my father requires a background check on all his drivers. The new pilot will probably have to prove his competence with at least an hour of test flights. My mother always meets him when he lands, so she’s also MIA from this supposedly important luncheon.
But I’m not complaining. The extra time will help Lo become a bit more responsive. We sit on the patio with a view of a large infinity pool and yellow rose bushes. The mid-morning sun glints against champagne glasses, filled with mimosas. Berries, cheeses, crackers and petite sandwiches systematically line a white-linen tablecloth. Everything stays in its proper place, on tiered platters or doilies.
My stomach gurgles, and thankfully no one waits for our parents to chow down. Jonathan Hale hasn’t arrived either, and he claims he’s caught in traffic, but I have a suspicion he’s waiting in his car, not wanting to be at the luncheon without my father present.
Lo keeps his arm on the back of my chair, settling into the charade. His closeness makes my body tense, and I end up sitting on the edge of my seat, as far away from that hand as I can be. Hopefully my distance is not too obvious. I ache to be touched more sinfully, but I know I shouldn’t at this inappropriate time. And realize I should be near my supposed boyfriend. It’s all so complicated.
“Pass the book over here,” Poppy says, holding out her hand. Like the rest of the Calloway girls, my eldest sister stands out among crowds. A small mole on her upper lip screams Marilyn Monroe sexiness, and her skin looks far more tanned than the rest of ours, like a sun-kissed brunette. When I meet Poppy at malls or outlet stores, she turns heads. Sometimes I do too, but I think it has more to do with my chicken legs—so skinny they could crack like a wishbone. Not attractive, I know, my mother usually reminds me.
Daisy slides her modeling book to Sam, who passes it to his wife. Poppy grins as she flips the pages. “These are gorgeous, Dais.”
The compliment doesn’t faze my youngest sister. She’s too busy munching on tiny sandwiches like she hasn’t eaten in the past month.
“How was Fashion Week? Meet any cute boys?” I bat my lashes, trying to be funny but probably looking goofy and awkward.
Daisy snorts. “I think Mom ruined any kind of game I could have.” She ties her brown hair into a pony, making her unblemished skin and narrow face look all the more striking.
“Wait? Mom went with you?” I shouldn’t be too surprised. Our mother tagged along to every single ballet rehearsal Rose had, even skipping family meals to watch her practice. She could have easily joined the cast of Dance Moms.
“Uh, yeah,” Daisy says. “I’m fifteen, remember? Hell would freeze over before she let me do Fashion Week by myself. How did you not know that?”
“I’m kind of out of the loop.”
“That is the understatement of the century,” Rose says.
Poppy smiles. “Don’t be mean, Rose. You’re going to scare Lily off for another two months.” We all know who the nice sister is. Still, I can’t help but love Rose more. Maybe because we’re the closest in age or because she actively tries to be a part of my life. I see her more than I do anyone else.
Rose sips her mimosa with tight lips.
Daisy points an accusing finger at me. “You haven’t been to Sunday luncheon for two months?” She scrutinizes me, as if searching for any visible wounds. “How are you not dead?”
“I ask the same question all the time,” Rose cuts in, “seeing as how I get crucified if I miss one.”
“The perks of dating a Hale,” Poppy says, this time sounding bitter too.
Lo’s fingers tighten on the notch of my chair at the sound of his name.
My throat tightens. Poppy spent years convincing our parents to accept her boyfriend and welcome him into the Calloway brood. Since Sam had barely six figures to his name, my parents feared he wanted Poppy for her inheritance. So my father hired him at Fizzle even though Sam only had a high school diploma and a resume with Dairy Queen as his sole employment. Eventually, my father learned Sam’s benevolent intentions and approved of their marriage. And subsequently my mother did too.
Now a small munchkin with Sam’s dark hair and bright blue eyes runs somewhere around here. Poppy smiles often and has more maternal affection than our own mother, but she won’t ever forget the judgment they cast on Sam or all the hassle, even if their intent was pure.
Her resent ricochets back to me since they swiftly embraced my relationship with Lo.
“If I could change my name I would,” Lo says, the room blanketing with even more uncomfortable tension.
Poppy says, “Which one?” And the mood begins to lighten. The girls laugh at Lo’s expense, but laughter is better than taut muscles and furtive glances. Lo has never been too keen on his full name. One reason why Rose always calls him Loren.
“When did you get so funny, Poppy?” Lo asks, tossing a grape in her lap. I’m surprised he chooses not to banter back with a flower insult, considering my mother named all four of us after a plant. It’s only embarrassing when we’re all together in public, so I can deal.
“Resorting to food fights already, Loren?” Rose interjects. “The luncheon hasn’t even officially begun.”
“Now you know why they don’t care if we bail for months,” he tells her. “Mystery solved.”
“Can I see Daisy’s book?” I ask Poppy.
She hands it to me across the table and it knocks into the stem of my champagne glass. I curse under my breath and jump up before the orange juice stains my dress.
Lo quickly grabs a napkin, standing with me. He rests a hand on my arm and dabs the spill around my chest, thinking nothing of it. I guess no one else would either because we’re together (not really), and my mind has begun a serious free-fall. A server enters with more towels, and I am burning too much to actually move.
“I’m sorry.” Who am I apologizing to? Myself for being clumsy?
“Ohh, Lily is turning into a rose,” Poppy teases.
Rose shoots her a glare at mentioning her name within a slight insult, and I only redden further.
Lo sets the napkin on the table, and whispers in my ear, “Be cool, love. It’s just a little spill.” He smiles in amusement and his breath tickles my skin. I practically ooze into his arms. He kisses me on the lips, so light, that after his mouth has separated from mine, all I can think about are them returning.
The staff zips in and out of the patio, cleaning the mess around us like worker bees.
When everyone settles and I reattach my head to my body, I stiffly sit back down, and flip open Daisy’s book. Lo leans into me to peek at the pictures, his thigh meshing against mine. The photos. Yes. I blink, focusing. In most of them, Daisy stands against a white backdrop without any makeup. Beauty shots, I suppose. I turn another page and my mouth falls.
She’s naked! Or nearly naked. She stands with five-inch heels and wears a men’s suit jacket. Nothing else. The shot focuses on her long bare legs and the sides of her breasts. She has slicked-back hair into a tight ponytail, and her makeup makes her look twenty-seven, not fifteen. Daisy’s hips bend awkwardly in the pose, the only indication that it’s high fashion and not Penthouse.
Lo whistles a long note, sounding as shocked as I feel.
“What’s wrong?” Daisy asks, careening her head to try and see the photo.
“You’re not wearing anything.” I hold up the book so she can see which photo we’re discussing. She stays perfectly calm, not even embarrassed. “I have underwear on. It’s nude though.”
“Did Mom see this?”
“Yeah, she suggested I try to book mature photo shoots. It’ll increase my value.”
Her value. As though she’s a pig up for auction. “Do you like modeling?”
“It’s fine. I’m good at it.” Okaaay. That is not the answer I wanted to hear, but I’m not her mother. I skip these weekly events for a reason, and attaching myself to situations won’t help me ease out of the Calloway household unseen.
Lo rubs his mouth, finding the right words. “You’re fifteen, Daisy. You shouldn’t be taking off your clothes for cameras.” His fingers brush against my shoulder, and he whispers in my ear, “You didn’t even do that.”
As if I’ve set the sexual standard. I gape and pinch his thigh. He cups my hand, intertwining my fingers in his, and even if I should pull away, I don’t want to.
Rose cuts in, “Don’t big brother her when you can’t even remember her birthday, Loren.”
Lo’s jaw locks, his cheekbones sharpening. He reaches for his mimosa and then grabs my purse, searching the handbag for his thin flask.
My mind goes suddenly blank as the staff starts shuffling inside. I tap Lo on the arm, and he follows my gaze, stiffening to stone.
Our parents have arrived.
For the past twenty minutes, Lo and I have avoided our parents’ focused attention. My mother fixates on Poppy’s toddler who busted her front tooth last Wednesday on the sidewalk. If I have to hear the words plastic surgeon one more time, I may need four mimosas and an attractive male server.
Jonathan Hale and my father whisper at the head of the table, enjoying their own private conversation. If their isolation bothers my mother, she doesn’t let on. She fingers a string of pearls on her bony collar and listens intently to Poppy.
“How is Penn?”
I jolt at the question, immediately reanimating from my stupor. Since Rose attends Princeton, it’s safe to say my father is speaking to Lo and me.
“Hard, lots of studying,” Lo says briefly. His arm curls around my waist. I’m too nervous to be lusting after him.
“Same,” I murmur. In my family, I’m “the quiet one” so it’s easy to get away with monosyllabic answers.
My mother perks at the start of a new conversation. “Lily, my little pansy, how have you been?”
I grimace, glad she didn’t actually name me Pansy. I can’t believe that was even an option. “Fine.”
“Are you two taking any classes together this semester?” She fingers her champagne glass, red lipstick staining the rim.
“Just one. Managerial Economics and Game Theory.” As Business Majors, Lo and I are bound to share some classes, but we try to sparse those as much as possible. There is such a thing as too much Loren Hale.
Jonathan sets down his glass of whiskey. The irony is not lost upon me. “How are you doing in it?” he cuts to the point, eyes right on his son. Both Jonathan and my father look dapper in Armani suits, their hair not yet grayed and their strong jaws cleanly shaven. The difference lies in their features. Jonathan stares like he could rip out your heart. My father looks open enough to run in for a hug.
“I have an A,” Lo says. My brows shoot up in surprise. An A? I’m barely passing, but Lo’s naturally smart, almost never needing to study.
Jonathan glances at me, and I immediately start sinking in my chair—as though his pupils are too powerful to make contact with. “You look shocked. Is he lying?”
“What? No, I-I,” I sputter. “We don’t talk about grades…”
“You don’t believe me, Dad?” He touches his chest. “I’m wounded.”
Jonathan settles back in his chair. “Hmm.” Hmm? What does that even mean?!
My father tries to lighten the suffocating atmosphere. “I’m sure Lily is keeping you focused on the important things.”
Lo grins. “Oh, she definitely is.”
“Gross,” Rose deadpans. If only she knew he was talking about booze and not sex. My mother gives a circle of disapproving looks, full of the same ice that Rose inherited.
“Any graduation plans yet?” my father asks.
I think about Lo’s future again, wearing a tight suit, working for his father, his lips pulled into a perpetual frown.
“We still have a year to decide,” Lo answers.
“You both need to start formulating a plan,” my father says, sounding critical.
A plan. I’ve been so focused on Lo that I haven’t even begun to imagine my life past college. Where will I be? What will I be? White empty space fills the void, unsure of what picture to paint.
“We just want to give school our full attention. Grades are really important to us.” Yeah right.
My father folds his napkin on the table, about to switch topics. “Jonathan and I were discussing the upcoming Christmas Charity Gala sponsored by Fizzle and Hale Co. The press has been buzzing about the event for weeks, and it’s important that everyone is present to show support.”
“We’ll be there,” Lo says, raising his glass.
“Any news on a ring?” Poppy asks with a teasing smile.
“I’m still twenty,” I remind her, shrinking. My mother missed the opportunity to call me Violet.
“You don’t have any news?” Rose questions, her face sharpening.
I frown in confusion and shake my head. What is she getting on about?
Her lips tighten in a thin line and she whispers to Poppy, who quickly whispers back.
“Ladies,” my mother chides. “Don’t be rude.”
Rose straightens and sets her frosty gaze on me. “I think it’s odd that you’ve been drinking orange juice and water.”
“I’m driving,” I tell her. What is with everyone and my choice to be sober? When did it become abnormal to refuse alcohol at a meal?
My mother huffs. “That’s what Nola is for, Lily.”
“Anderson as well,” Jonathan adds.
Anderson the Nark. Never.
“Well, I have a reason to believe your choice of drink has nothing to do with driving,” Rose says. What?!
“What are you insinuating?” My heart beats wildly. Please don’t let it be what I think. Please, please, please. Lo squeezes my hip to reassure me, but whatever is coming, is bad.
“Yes, Rose, what are you insinuating?” My mother comes to my defense.
“I have a friend who goes to Penn. She saw Lily walking out of the pregnancy center last month.”
Last month…oh, jeez. I cover my eyes with a hand, and slouch so low in my seat, I’m practically eye-level with the table.
My father chokes on his drink, and Jonathan has gone very, very pale, a feat I didn’t think possible for his Irish skin.
“Is this true?” my mother asks.
Yes.
I open my mouth. I can’t say the real answer. Yeah, I went there. I visit the health clinic to check for STDs every couple days, okay? And I take pregnancy tests. I am safe and I know it. Most people can’t say that.
Or the whole truth, one afternoon the pink plus sign actually haunted me. They sent me to the pregnancy center for an ultrasound. False alarm, thankfully.
“Lily, explain,” my mother nearly shrieks.
Lo stares at me for a long moment before he realizes I’m in no capacity to form words, let alone lies.
“It was just a scare,” he says and turns his attention to Rose. “It’s funny how you choose now to bring this up when you’ve known for a whole month.”
“I was waiting for Lily to tell me herself. I thought we were closer than this.”
My lungs collapse.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” my mother asks.
I swallow hard.
“Or me,” Poppy says.
Daisy raises her hand and points to herself. “Me too!”
I press my fingers to my eyes before waterworks kick in. “It-it was nothing.”
My mother’s nose flares. “Nothing? An unplanned pregnancy is not nothing.”
Dad cuts in, “You have your entire future ahead of you, and children will change the way your life works forever. You can’t undo that.” Yeah, I’m pretty positive a kid would hinder our lifestyles, a reason why I’ve been so careful thus far. I don’t have the heart or strength to tell them everything. That if the pink plus sign stuck around, the kid wouldn’t even belong to Lo.
I stand up quickly, my head pumping with helium. It floats but I still manage words. “I need some air.”
“We’re outside,” Rose says.
Lo rises from his seat. “Air that you don’t breathe.” He places his palm on the small of my back.
“Loren,” Jonathan growls.
“What?” he growls back, his gaze falling to his father’s whiskey, envy and bitterness clouding his amber irises.
“It’s been a long afternoon,” my father says. “Lily looks pale. Take her inside, Loren.”
Before anyone changes their mind, Lo ushers me through the French glass doors and into the nearest bathroom. I collapse on the toilet seat.
“Why would she do that?” My chest constricts with each breath. I tug at the tight fabric of my dress that suctions to my ribs. What if her friend saw me walk out of the sexual health clinic instead? How do I explain checking for STDs?
Lo kneels in front of me and presses a warm wash cloth to my forehead. A flashback hits me—of doing the same to him. In less than a few hours, we’ve switched places.
“Rose can be cruel,” Lo reminds me.
I shake my head. “She was hurt.” And this is how Rose Calloway retaliates against someone who’s affected her. “She wanted me to tell her first.” I rub my eyes, trembling. How will Rose take the knowledge that I sleep around? Will she hate me afterwards? I have no clue. Predicting her reaction has caused restless nights, and so I decided it’s safe to just keep my nighttime activities to myself. I thought it would be easier on everyone.
“Breathe, Lil,” he whispers. When I inhale and exhale in synchronization, he deserts the washcloth for his flask. After a couple swigs, he wipes his mouth with his hand and rests against the sink cabinets.
“This is getting harder.” I stare at my hands, as though they hold my intangible lies.
“I know,” he breathes. I wait for him to say the words, I’m done pretending.
Instead, we eat the silence. The swish of his alcohol and my sniffles are the only music to our misery.
Someone knocks on the door, and Lo stuffs the flask back into my purse.
“Lily? Can I talk to you?” Poppy asks.
Lo glances at me for what to do. I nod. And he goes to the sink, putting his mouth underneath the faucet. He spits water back into the bowl and then opens the door.
Poppy gives him a warm, maternal smile. “Your father wants to talk with you. He’s waiting in the parlor.”
Lo practically slams the door on his way out.
Poppy fiddles with her fingers while I stare at the black marble floor. “I didn’t know Rose was going to say anything. She told me this morning, and I thought we’d have a chance to talk to you before announcing anything to Mom and Dad.”
I unclip my heels and set my toes on the cool marble, not strong enough for words.
Poppy fills the void. “Rose is going through a tough time. She sees Daisy with her modeling career, you have Loren, and I’m busy with my daughter.” She pauses. “You know Calloway Couture was just dropped by Saks?”
I frown deeply, not realizing.
Rose built Calloway Couture with our mother as a little side business when she turned fifteen. Years later, it’s grown into a profitable fashion line that Rose can call her own. I never ask about her months or her life. Yet, she always finds the time to ask about mine.
“I’ve tried to call you,” Poppy continues. “For two months, and you haven’t answered. Lo hasn’t answered. If Rose doesn’t stop by and assure me that you’re alive, sometimes I wonder…” Her voice turns grave. “I can’t help but think you’ve eliminated us from your life.”
I don’t dare look at her. Tears prick my eyes, burning, but I hold them back. It’s easier this way, I remind myself. It’s easier if they know nothing. It’s easier to disappear.
“I was in college too, and I know your social life and studies can take precedent over family, but you don’t have to cut us out completely.” She pauses again. “Maria is three. I’d love for you to be a part of her life. You’re good with her—whenever you’re around.” She takes an unsure step forward and reaches out for me. “I’m here for you. I need you to know that.”
I rise on two shaky legs and let her wrap her arms around my shoulders, squeezing me tightly. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. She sniffs, her tears falling on my back. After pulling away, I inhale. “Thanks, Poppy.”
Her words defeated me, tearing down any ounce of resilience. I have nothing left to give, no comfort to spare. I feel like a shell, waiting for the hermit to return home.
