Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5) (30 page)

I gape at my brother-in-law, the one with the self-righteous Captain America complex. “Look at that, Sammy, you were included in our circle of weirdness.”

Sam smiles. “But I’m the normal one.”

“Normality is relative,” Connor says. “To someone somewhere, you’re as strange as the rest of us.”

2020

“Being away is difficult, but the hardest part is the physical act of leaving.”

- Willow Hale,
We Are Calloway (Season 2 Episode 06 – Probabilities & Whatevers)

< 17 >

January 2020

Frederick’s Office

New York City

DAISY MEADOWS

I stare at the breathtaking views of New York City from Frederick’s office, my fingers on the glass like I could step right off and fly. Weightless—but then maybe I’d fall.

I back away and drift towards the figurines on a bookcase, a porcelain ballerina next to a swan. Frederick watches from his leather chair, adjacent to a matching couch. I spend most of my time wandering around instead of sitting down, but he never seems to mind. I don’t think Frederick has many patients besides Connor and me.

Just a theory.

“Did you ever think Connor would be famous?” I wonder, my fingers skimming the bookshelf as I amble past.

“Not in the same sense that he is now,” Frederick says truthfully. “I thought he’d be revered among people in his profession, not the entire world.” He only ever answers these opinionated-based questions about Connor, never anything about his personal history or topics they discuss in his sessions.

I’ve grown to understand what I can and can’t ask. I also like when the focus shifts off of me for a while.

Anyway, Frederick has to know what happened yesterday. It was all over the news.

I never slept last night. Not one hour. Pressure refuses to leave my chest. I want to sink to the floor but then I want to run through every door and
never
come back.

“What kept you up at night?” he asks me the first hard question.

“I wasn’t scared.” It had nothing to do with PTSD, which hasn’t plagued me in a long while. I drift and drift, examining his nameplate on his desk. “People, the media—they can’t hurt me anymore, but she’s just a baby. And then she’ll be a kid. Then a teenager. Like I was. Sometimes I wonder if I’m meant to watch her go through
every
thing
I went through.”

“What happened yesterday isn’t a prelude to your worst fears for Sullivan.”

I face Frederick from across the room. “We didn’t want the tabloids to have tons of photos of her. I knew eventually she’d have some, but not like this—and not because of
me
.”

I
took Sulli to her swim lesson, and I don’t know who was hiding and where they were, but they captured
ten
photos. She went from having blurry, crappy images online to being in high-res, picking a wedgie. And in the span of two hours, she became an internet meme. All before she turns two next month.

Sullivan Minnie Meadows First High-Res Baby Pictures!
People photoshopped…well, it doesn’t matter does it? People can be creative without realizing a real person is on the other side of the picture.

#RaisyBaby is still trending, and so are all the jokes attached.

“It’s not your fault,” Frederick says, “but you’ve heard that already. Haven’t you?”

I think about my support system. Ryke, he didn’t blame me. Not a single time. He was more upset that I was upset. Rose, Lily, Lo, Connor, and even Garrison all came over last night to be there. Willow also dropped in via Skype.

I nod, my eyes glassing. I walk towards a potted fern.

“Your daughter will have the same support system, Daisy. She has people her own age in the same boat all around her.”

Moffy. Jane. Beckett. Charlie. Eliot. Luna.

“She’s not destined to be you,” he continues. “She’s going to be Sullivan Minnie Meadows, and she’ll experience the world in a different way and in a different time.”

I draw closer to the center of the room, facing him again. “Rose told me it’s always been easier when the tabloids focused on her and not Jane, but I never really understood the feeling until now.” I rock on my feet and set my hands on my head. “I’d give
anything
to have them yell at me.”

We Are Calloway
helps, every day, with the venom and violence directed towards us, but like all things, there’ll always be cynics. Thankfully nothing like the flour-bombers era.

“What would they yell?” Frederick asks.

I see what he’s doing. Every weighted word on my chest screams to be released.

“Daisy Calloway is
too stupid to live
.
” I stare at him strongly, hearing all the voices I’ve heard. All the ones I squashed before. All the ones I could stomp out again. “An annoying brat. Attention seeker!” I shout it. “She never acts her age! How could Ryke love someone like that? WHAT AN IDIOT!!” I yell so loud that something heavy explodes inside of me, obliterating. Less cumbersome.

What if she can’t fight back like this? What if she’s sad and lonely? What if she cries herself to sleep? What if she
can’t
sleep?

Frederick must read the questions in my eyes because he rises to his feet, power in his stance. When he becomes this wise yet unrelenting figure—just by posture alone—I can see why Connor chose him as his therapist. Why he’s known him for so long.

Frederick tells me, “No one would ever wish your experiences on another person, and we all hope she won’t have them, but if she’s ever sad, Daisy, she has a mother who has experienced pain beyond some human comprehension and who has continued to persevere. A mother who has the ability to empathize with lows that appear for no reason at all. Lows that some will never understand.
You
understand them.”

I take a deep inhale like my ribs have been blocking airflow to my lungs. And just now, I breathe.

“The greatest medicine on Earth isn’t a pill. It’s
compassion.
The ability to make someone feel less alone. Someone very close has been this for you.”

This is where I start crying. “Ryke.” I rub my watery eyes. Sometimes the world looks bleak. Like every road is barricaded. Like pounding through walls to reach a happy future takes too much effort. Like it’s not in the cards for me. Then I remember it’s not impossible.

This is temporary.

This feeling will go away soon.
Just wait.

The walls will dissolve.
Just wait.

The sun will rise again.

Just wait.

We can wait in the arms of the people we love. That’s what I’ll tell Sulli. It’s what I’ll do when she’s upset.

“She’ll be okay,” I breathe, coming to this simple but freeing realization.
She will be okay.

Frederick sinks back in his chair, and I drift towards the couch. I end up lying down, hanging my shoulders and head over the back. I wipe off the wet streaks on my face.

“My sister would totally call you magic.”

“Lily?” he asks, but he already knows she’s the truest believer of us all.

“Do you ever bring up magic with Connor just to annoy him?” Suddenly, the door cracks open, and I stare at the incomer upside-down. “Speak of the genius.”

Connor arches a brow. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because you never are,” I answer with the wag of
my
brows. I think he’s referring to us discussing him and me being upside-down.

“She’s one of the smart ones,” Connor says, shutting the door behind him and walking further into Frederick’s office, closer to the couch. “But not smarter than me.”

Frederick checks his watch. “You’re an hour early, Connor.”

“I don’t have to check my watch to know I’m only fifty-two minutes early. You’re not playing your best game, Rick.”

“Or maybe I’m just not playing the same game.”

Connor eyes our therapist with more agitation than he lets most people see in a week. “Then tell me why I’m here.”

Is this what it’s like between them? I’ve never really been with Frederick and Connor at the same time. Frederick assesses Connor as fast as Connor assesses him.

“I’d rather not discuss your motivations in front of another patient, especially one that’s a part of your family.”

“Hey there, brother-in-law,” I say with a weak smile.

Connor pockets his cellphone in his slacks. He says nothing in response to either of us yet. He just waits for me to move my feet off the leather cushion. Ryke would’ve just picked up my legs. Lo would’ve said
move your goddamn body.
Connor—he just stares at me like it’s expected. Like the couch is his.

The floor is his.

The air, the water, all of life’s necessities.
His.

And for some crazy reason, I don’t question it. I just scrunch towards half the couch, sitting up more, and he takes a seat beside me.

“Does that always work?” I ask, knowing he’ll understand what I mean.

“Only if you’re me.” He rests his elbow on the leather armrest, his fingers casually to his temple. “Daisy, would you mind if I joined your session?”

My curiosity piques. “Not at all.”

Frederick sighs in slight annoyance, but this seems like the kind of invite you’d never reject.

“You do joint sessions all the time,” Connor says. “You shouldn’t be disgruntled by this one.”

“You purposefully showed up early to crash her session. That calls for a stronger emotion than discontent, but this isn’t about my feelings. If she’s agreeing to this, then we’ll do it, but Daisy, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It’s okay. I feel better.”

Connor studies the dried tears on my face.

Frederick reluctantly rises off the chair, grabs a second folder from a filing cabinet, and returns to his seat. He flips through the papers, a few falling to his lap. He tries to stuff them back inside.

Connor watches intently, and a smile snakes across his face. “Did I catch you off guard, Rick? Do you need more time to prep?”

Our therapist lets out a tight breath. “Why don’t we start with a commonality between the two of you?” He plants his gaze on Connor. “Scott Van Wright.”

Boom.

I haven’t heard that name in our sessions in a couple years. The whole “Scott Van Wright illegally filmed you blowing your previous boyfriend, lied about destroying the tapes and then continued to watch them” was a segment of my life that I’ve snipped away and filed under
Super Shitty Shit
.

I’m curious to see how Connor handles this topic, though. Since his privacy was also invaded by Scott. Only difference: his sex tapes were blasted out to the entire world. Mine aren’t online because it’s child pornography. Scott never uploaded it.

But there’s something else that strings us together, I know this.

Connor was the one who discovered the tapes of me. They were in Scott’s house, and Connor somehow befriended Scott in a way that only Connor Cobalt could do. He found the tapes. I’m not sure if he watched them. I never asked.

My suspicions point to
no
, since Pennsylvania law prohibits even
watching
child pornography (I was seventeen in the videos), and Connor is sitting here and not in jail. Though, I wouldn’t have pressed charges if he did. I’d understand if it was something that had to happen to catch Scott in the act.

“We have many commonalities,” Connor counters with barely a blink. “Why choose this one?”

Frederick
leans back in a comfortable position, no longer stressed that we’re here together. “You both have been violated by Scott—”

Connor doesn’t wait for him to finish. He grimaces strongly and says, “
Violated
is a grossly exaggerated term to describe what Scott did. He
pissed
on my front yard. He’s the equivalent of a rodent scurrying from a nearby tree and urinating on my property. That’s it, Rick.”

My eyes slowly grow. I’m watching an unfiltered version of Connor, something only seen in a director’s cut edition, and I shouldn’t really be privy to it.

My brother-in-law glances at me, as if reminding himself of my existence, but he doesn’t sweat it or bat an eye. “That word, I’m sure, belongs to Daisy. Let’s talk about that.”

I smile. “But I’d rather talk about rodents urinating on lawns.”

Frederick cuts in, “Daisy, what do you think about the word
violated
? Do you think it pertains to you?”

So we’re going here? I take a deeper breath. “Yes,” I say. “Because what Scott did was awful and unconsented.” My skin crawls just picturing Scott and his friends watching me on tapes that I never knew existed.

“
Awful
is too kind,” Connor says.