“It’s in the fucking freezer.”
Lo thought it’d be funny to give him a vanilla ice cream cake. Out of irony. If we had to deem anyone “vanilla” out of all of us, Connor Cobalt would be the last on the list. And you know what? I highly doubt Connor will shit on Lo’s vanilla fucking cake because it’s coming from Lo.
I’m not bitter. If anything, I’m glad that one part of Connor’s birthday might go right because of my brother. Connor may hate celebrating his own birthday, but there’s a part of all of us—even me—that wants him to enjoy today.
How, why, do I fucking care about him? In one breath, I want to see him struggle for once. In the other, I want him to be as happy as the rest of us—because anything else just feels wrong.
“Dada!” Sulli exclaims, in the midst of teetering towards us on two feet. She already succeeded at walking last week (we videotaped the event), but her legs still tremble beneath her with each wobbly step.
Daisy and I angle towards our daughter. There’s nothing fucking cuter than this baby in a green onesie and her dark brown hair in tiny pigtails. I have thick hair, so it wasn’t a surprise that hers grew in fast.
Daisy crouches and waves and cheers Sulli on.
As I stare between them, guilt gnaws at me. Just tell your wife what fucking happened yesterday. I can’t.
I lean an elbow on the bar counter.
I can’t break Daisy’s heart. It’s the last fucking thing I ever want to do in my lifetime. She doesn’t have to know.
Sullivan skirts past Daisy, laughing as though she’s in a race against her mom. Then our baby starts to climb up the rungs of the wooden barstool.
“Hey there,” Daisy calls out. She has a hard time telling Sulli outright no.
So do I.
I’ll get her. I pry Sulli away from her fucking adventure, holding her in my arms. When she looks at me, I make a scrunched face.
Sulli tries to mimic me, brows attempting to bunch.
This is my fucking baby. I still can’t believe it, not even eleven-months in.
Daisy stands up. “Sullivan Minnie Meadows, climber extraordinaire.” She nuzzles Sulli’s nose with her own.
I’d never want a fucking baby with anyone but Daisy.
My wife scans the first floor. “Hey, look, we’re pretty good at party-planning.”
We wound gold streamers around our staircase banisters, and we blew up a few black and gold balloons. We bought most of the decorations from the New Year’s Eve themed aisle, so it looks less like a birthday party. Daisy and I thought Connor would like that. We’re lucky he’s even going to show up. Ever since his twenty-seventh birthday party, he’s let us actually celebrate with him, and he doesn’t fly off to some other country anymore.
The decoration that just won’t stop fucking giving: a cardboard cutout of Connor Cobalt.
I’m serious.
A life-sized version of Connor—with his conceited grin, single arched brow, tailored suit, and a photoshopped crown on his wavy hair—stands a few feet from the front door. It’ll either severely piss him off or amuse him.
Either one is fucking fine with me.
“Ten bucks he throws himself into the trash,” Daisy says.
I hold Sulli with one arm. “Fuck no. He wouldn’t defile a picture of himself.”
Daisy tilts her head. “I think he might show up, look around impassively, and just walk right out the door.” I see a pang of disappointment behind her green eyes.
“He won’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I know where he fucking lives,” I snap. I’m not throwing him a party just so he can walk on out. No fucking way.
Daisy twists the ties of her white sweatshirt that says: sunshine mixed with a little hurricane. “You know, you’re the only two guys that have ever understood me. Like really gotten to know me in a way that no one else has, and I’m not saying that I like Connor the same way that I like you. Obviously.”
“I fucking hope not.”
She tries to hide a smile. I wish she wouldn’t hide it, even for my sake.
“You can fucking smile, sweetheart.”
And so she does. “I know I don’t owe him anything. The way that you said I never owed you anything for being there for me, but I just hope my friendship with him holds the same understanding both ways. If that makes sense?”
“Yeah, but the guy isn’t a normal fucking guy. He views the rest of us as food in his animal kingdom.”
Her smile stretches. “But I only want you to eat me.”
Fuck. I give her the slowest once-over, and she rises and falls on the balls of her feet.
Then the door swings open.
“Which one of you crazies ordered a subscription to Celebrity Crush?” My sharp-jawed brother barrels into the cottage, a bright pink tabloid in hand.
“Why the fuck are you going through our mail?” I retort.
Daisy clutches my arm like she sees an incoming car crash. “Watch out, L—”
Lo collides with the cardboard Connor Cobalt and trips on top of him, simultaneously trying to upright the cutout and not fall. “Jesus…Christ,” he curses.
I start to laugh with Daisy.
My brother straddles a life-sized image of Connor, and he just now registers what he ran into. He gives me a look. “Bro…what is this even doing here?”
Daisy answers, “Just in case he doesn’t show up, we have this version.” I never thought that was the real fucking reason, but subconsciously maybe it was always there.
Before Lo can shift the cardboard, Rose appears in the open doorway. She snorts at the sight, her hands perched on her hips, a small baby bump noticeable from her tight black dress.
“Really, Loren? You’re that starved for time with him?”
Lo fixes the cardboard, no longer tangled with it. “You’re just jealous I get the fake thing and the real thing.”
“Jealous? Please.” She waves at him. “The fake Connor Cobalt is all yours.” She flips her hair off her shoulder and then watches something outside behind her. “Careful over that stone, Moffy.”
The toddlers usually have trouble walking up the cobblestone path.
“And you two”—Rose retrains her gaze on Dais and me—“shouldn’t be padding his ego. It might be his birthday, but he’ll carry this fact into next year.” She glares at the cardboard. “I can hear it now, ‘I’m so important, you all tried to replicate me.’”
“He wouldn’t be wrong,” Lo says.
I groan.
Rose scoffs.
Daisy smiles.
“Let’s just hope it won’t scare him off,” Rose notes as Moffy and Jane enter the cottage.
As fast as they can—which isn’t fast since they’re fucking toddlers—they rush to a mini basketball hoop near the window nook. I drilled it into the wall, so both of them have something different to do when they come over. They dig in a wicker basket for bouncy balls.
Lo forces his attention away from his son. He walks towards me, but I have a feeling he just wants something in the kitchen. “Connor loves himself. I bet this’ll be his favorite thing all year. Besides being friends with me.” He flashes a dry smile.
Rose glares. “His favorite thing is me. Your friendship is in the lower third tier.”
Lo wears mock surprise. “That’s not what he said.”
Rose rolls her eyes but also keeps watch out the door. “You’re right, Loren, he loves himself, but that doesn’t extend to an inferior duplication.” She doesn’t give anyone time to respond. “Beckett and Charlie are in the car, do you mind helping me, Daisy?”
“Sure thing.” She gives a soldier’s salute before leaving my side and exiting with her sister.
Sulli squirms in my arms. She’d rather be crawling around on the floor, so I set her back by her kiddie keyboard.
Lo rummages through my kitchen cupboards, opening and closing half of them.
I follow and notice the tabloid near the sink. I don’t remember ordering a subscription, and I doubt Daisy would. I scowl at our address printed on the front with my name.
Lo slams another cupboard, a bag of chips beneath his arm, but he’s now searching through the pantry.