Kiss the Sky (23 page)

He stares at me like he yanked off my superhero cape and
grounded me to the mortal world.

“I just want you to know,” Lo says, “that I lost some
respect for you tonight. And you’re not going to get it back so fucking
easily.”

Ryke
says nothing. He just wears a
haunted, dark expression.

“Sure,” I say. “I understand.”

Lo rubs his lips; his jaw clenches, and he nods to
Ryke
. They head out to the car without me.

I stay still and try to gather my feelings that tangle in a
muted mass.

What kind of person needs a therapist to tell them how they
feel?

Am I not as smart as I believe or am I just human?
 

[ 19 ]

ROSE CALLOWAY

I can’t
come. I’m so, so, so sorry! Just make sure no lilies, okay? And remember that I
like your taste better than mom’s. THANK YOU!
– Lily

I receive the text as soon as I arrive at the florist to
pick out arrangements for the wedding.

Four months and two
days
– Mom

It’s like the countdown to the Apocalypse.

I text my sister back, telling her it’s fine. At least she
didn’t make up a stupid excuse this time. Her “stomachaches” for the past month
have been more about her fear to come face to face with our judgmental mother.

Lily went from being ignored by our mom to being told to
close her legs. To wear a lighter pink lip gloss (on the rare day she does wear
makeup). To comb her hair so it doesn’t look tangled in a post-sex haze.

She ridicules. And we both know it’s not out of love, but
her obligation to protect the reputation of the family.

I look around the flower shop quickly. Brett follows me
today with his
steadicam
, nimbly keeping out of
customers’ way as he films me. I arrived twenty minutes early so I could pick
out what I liked and so my mother would have a harder time bulldozing my
opinion.

First, I choose pink and cream roses for the centerpieces. I
wait impatiently while the florist demonstrates an arrangement. She has tinsel
sticking out from flowers. “Simpler,” I urge. “Just the flowers. We’ll put them
in one long row down the table. No separate vases, so it will look like one
extended centerpiece.” I look around and spot the table of white roses. “These
for the bouquet. And we can wrap the stems in pearls.” I’m not sure if Lily
will approve, but at this point it’s clear she doesn’t care.

The only request for the past two months has been
no lilies
. Otherwise, I’m walking around
blind.

While I wait for my mother, I click onto Twitter and type in
#
PoPhilly
. A list of tweets pops up.

@RaderBull595:
The
Calloway girls are hot, but that tall one is such a bitch. I’d bang
Lils
though.

@TVDFan70008:
Have you
seen the way Lo looks at Lily? *swoon*

@
thefieryheart
:
Brb
building a shrine for
Ryke
and Daisy!

@RealityXbites4:
I
loooove
this show!! #
TeamScott

@
SlightlySpoiled
:
Can’t wait for Rose to dump Connor. Fry his
dick! #please

Lovely.

The reviews for the show have been much better than any of
us could ever expect. Even though we’re labeled “foul mouthed, rich, and
conceited” most of the articles congratulate us for being real. For not trying
to put on fake faces in front of the cameras. Daisy burps, Lily says sexual
comments on accident, and I threaten to castrate men. Some people like us for
our flaws. Others still see us as caricatures. But I try not to let those
comments bother me.

You can’t please everyone.

@Fashion4Goddesses:
Just
received my Calloway Couture dress! Gorgeous!

My heart swells at that tweet. Soon after the first episode
aired, my sales skyrocketed. And they have continued to grow exponentially with
each new episode. Fizzle has even seen a spike in its stock. Hopefully the
success will last.

The bells on the door clink together, and I quickly pocket
my phone in my purse. My mother struts through like she suddenly bought the
entire store. Her nose upturns at a vase of half-wilted daisies.

“You’re early,” I tell her. Ten minutes to be exact.

“So are you,” she replies. “Where’s your sister?”

“She’s not coming.” I don’t use the stomachache excuse since
I’ve overdone it already. Instead I try the truth. “She doesn’t like how you
talk to her.”

“Lily has a voice of her own,” my mother snaps. “If she
doesn’t like how I speak then she should tell me herself.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t tell her that she’s not the
easiest woman to talk to, and it takes practice and skill—that even I come away
feeling more neurotic and unspun.

“I already picked out the flowers,” I tell her.

She doesn’t seem surprised. “Then we have to choose between
mine and yours because I already called in arrangements this morning.”
Of course
. She walks haughtily to a
cabinet where white and orange lilies are gathered together with teal ribbon.

“She specifically said
no
lilies,” I say angrily. “I’ve already told you this ten million times.” Not
only that but
orange
and
teal
. Really? Maybe for Daisy but Lily
is more…subdued.

My mother huffs and fingers the string of pearls on her
neck. Her greatest tell. When she’s particularly stressed or annoyed she
touches them as though they’re rosary beads, praying to the Holy Father for her
argumentative daughter to be docile and content.

“What’s wrong with lilies?” my mother asks. “Olivia Barnes’
daughter had them at her wedding and they were just gorgeous.”

“Her name is Lily,” I say. “She doesn’t find the pun as
amusing as you do. And when she sees lilies everywhere, she’ll be upset.” Not
to mention that we receive unsolicited bouquets of lilies along with fan mail
almost every week. From men that fantasize about my sex addicted sister. Those
flowers are tainted in her mind.

“I already ordered them, so what do you want me to do?” she
says. “I can’t very well cancel, can I?”

“Yes, you can.”

 
“I don’t understand
why you’re so bent out of shape over the flowers.”

I stand my ground. “I know Lily better than you,” I remind
her. “We’re going to accommodate her one and only request.”

My mother mumbles something that sounds like
but she’s not even here to voice it herself.
Her eyes flit around the room before she huffs again. “What alternatives do
you have in mind?”

I show her the white and pink roses I picked out.

She gives me a look. “Don’t make this about you, Rose.”

My lips press into a thin line and I’m sure my nose flares.
“My name and the flower are not synonymous, Mother.”

Poppy, my older sister, has never had trouble talking to
her. Most of the time she just agrees willingly so that arguments don’t begin.
Same with Daisy.

I can’t be agreeable with someone I know is wrong, regardless
of her being my mother or not. I’m not sure when I had the courage to say no. But
she still doesn’t understand that my opinion isn’t less because I’m her child.
I’m twenty-three years old. She may see me as a little girl who stands behind
her at dance recitals, who tugs on her arm for advice about other girls in
school, but I’m an adult now.

I appreciate her advice, I do, but I also have the right to
disagree with it. And yet, this direction only causes arguments and fights.
Neither of us can win if we’re in the same room.

My mother stares at the roses with narrowed eyes. I remember
Daisy’s advice when I couldn’t get my mother to stop arguing with me. “
Tell her you love her
,” she said. “
That always works for me when I want
something
.”

I give it a shot. “I love you, Mother—”

“Oh, don’t even start, Rose. I haven’t heard you say that in
five years.”

I suppose she’s right. Since I rarely show affection to my
mother, it makes sense that Daisy’s
I
love
yous
seem like blinding rainbows in
comparison.

She spins on her heels and her eyes hit mine. They haven’t
softened. “You can cancel the order,” she says. “But I’m not done discussing
the flowers or the centerpieces. God knows we both can find something better
than an ice swan.”

I try to smile. “That sounds good.”

“How is Daisy doing?” she asks.

“Good.” I don’t elaborate. She talks to Daisy enough.
Whenever my sister is on the phone, it’s usually with her. And I have no right
to keep Daisy with me after the reality show wraps. There’s nothing I can do
but wait until Daisy’s older—to see if she’d like to live with us and distance
herself from our mother a little more. To finally breathe the way I know she
wants to. It’s going to be a long wait, but I’m willing to suffer through it.

“Good.” She nods.

I pause for the rest of her question, but it never comes.
“You’re forgetting your other daughter.”

“Lily is twenty-one,” she refutes. “She’s lying in the bed
she made for herself.”

I shouldn’t have said anything.

“How can you plan her wedding if you’re still bitter over
the scandal?” I ask in detest.

“Because this wedding is the only thing that will return her
reputation, and it’ll wipe the stain she’s set to the Calloway name. It’s more
important than my bitterness. It has to be perfect.”

She looks me over, as if reminding me that the
perfect
element of the wedding is my
job. “We need to schedule a venue by the weekend. I’ll send you my top choices.
Keep your phone on.” She gives me a tight, rigid hug before leaving the store.
And leaving me feeling more overwhelmed than before.

So much shit to do. Like planning a bachelorette party. I
would have hired male strippers—but for a recovering sex addict, that’s not the
smartest theme. I think Lily and Lo want to have a joint bachelor and
bachelorette party anyway.

As I head out the door and find my Escalade on the curb, my
mind reverts back to everything that’s been happening with Connor. His thumb.
The shower. Love.

Loren may believe that Connor won’t be there for me at the
end of the line, but that night at the screening party made me realize how much
I do trust him. How much I do know him. Lo was wrong on so many accounts, and
that’s only because Connor has let me see more than a couple sides of his life.

Whether Connor says it or not, he loves me enough to let me
in more than halfway. And I know it’s time for me to do the same on a different
kind of level.

I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Connor.

Bring wine tonight.

Since Lo is sober, we try to keep alcohol out of sight, so I
have a trunk in our bedroom that I’ll store our stash in. I pause to think
about my choice of alcohol. Wine? I’m probably going to need something
stronger.

And tequila.

I take a breath and wait for the text.

Is there a reason we’ll
be drinking tonight?
– Connor

Surprise
. I reply
back.

Can’t wait
;)
– Connor

[ 20 ]

CONNOR COBALT

Frederick has spent the past ten minutes giving me
the silent treatment. He sits behind his desk and pretends to be interested in
The New York Times
on his computer. He’s
pissed that I’m still taking Adderall. But I can’t function without it.

I finish texting Rose and lean back in the leather chair.
Frederick hasn’t looked up yet.

“I’m not paying you to ignore me,” I tell him.

His eyes remain on the computer screen. “You’re right.
You’re paying for my counsel, which you are clearly not interested in.” He
starts typing on his keyboard, the pounding more aggravating than I’ll let on.
He has a squared jaw, tousled brown hair and broad-shoulders—in his thirties,
fairly good looking, but he never married. His work is his wife.

I press my fingers to my lips in thought. “And you’re not
even the slightest bit interested in what Rose texted me?” I try.

His fingers falter as he types, but he regains fluidity.
Frederick enjoys talking with me, whether he’ll admit it to himself or not. I’m
his most interesting patient.

“She asked me to bring home wine and tequila.” I don’t say
anything else.

I watch the curiosity build in Frederick’s eyes until he
lets out a sigh and rolls his chair back, his body angled towards me.

“You’re too easy,” I tell him.

 
“So you’ve told me.”
He pauses. “How far have you been with her?”

I hesitate to reveal this, which surprises even me. I’m
usually open about everything with Frederick, but being with Rose makes me want
to keep every moment close to our chests, so no one can share what happens but
us. It takes me about a minute to finally say, “She sucked my cock.”

Frederick’s brows rise in surprise. “You got her to blow
you?”

“Rose had the choice.” I don’t want one of us to lose with
sex. We both need to come out successful and fulfilled.

“How kinky?” Frederick asks.

I let out a mock sigh and stare at the ceiling. “We’re not
there yet.” I tilt my head. “Give her time, Rick. She’s a virgin.”

“I’m surprised you’re not pushing her harder. For years,
you’ve talked about how you want to—”

“I’m going to push her as far as I think she can go without having
her run out on me. She’s packed a suitcase before, remember? She stayed in a
hotel in the Hamptons for a week just to prove a point. And we weren’t even
living together then.”

Frederick laughs. “I remember. You were both fighting about
the Theory of Relativity.”