Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #4.5) (66 page)

Connor kisses my forehead and then he kisses hers and whispers soft French. A rare tear slides down his cheek.

When he looks back at me, I say quietly, “What’s this feeling that screams inside of me?”

His glassy eyes carry their own extraordinary grin. Sparkling like cut diamonds. “
Love
,” he tells me with such certainty.

His single tear dries faster than the waterfall my ducts let through. Connor brushes beneath my eyes with his thumb, and we watch our daughter coo peacefully.

I stroke her soft, tiny arm.

Years.

I wanted another girl for
years.
There was even a possibility that we wouldn’t try again after our seventh child, but we had her.

I smile. “Fate was kind to us after all.”

“Chromosomes,” Connor says. “Science. Not fate, darling.”

I shoot him a glare, my energy rising a little, even after intense labor. I rub my eyes once more and hone in on our newborn’s thin hair.

“She has red hair?” No one on my side of the family has red hair, but Connor’s mother did. “I thought your mother dyed her hair.”

“She did dye it a deeper red. Naturally, her hue was more orange.”

My lips inch upwards at our baby. I feel her heart patter against my chest, her little mouth opening in a breath. “Audrey,” I say the name I’ve had picked out for years. After Audrey Hepburn.

Tears fall again.

I’m a tsunami today. More water than rage.

Connor pulls his chair close and sits beside me. “Audrey Virginia Cobalt.” After Virginia Woolf.

I sweep up more tears with my fingertips. “Ugh. Audrey, I’m so sorry, little gremlin.” I wipe my nose with a tissue that Connor hands me. “This is
not
a good representation of me.”

“On the contrary.” Connor captures my gaze; his unrestrained emotion could power the world. “This is a good representation of both of us.”

Vulnerable and in love.

So in love.

He laces his hand with mine. I see Richard Connor Cobalt in nearly every frame of my life, and as his lips upturn with arrogant satisfaction, I know the greatest pieces of us have always remained the same.

“Mommy!”

The door whips open, and an excited two-year-old bounds forth, Jane clasps onto his shoulders, tugging him to her legs.

“Stay very still, Pippy,” Jane whispers to him, the nickname a play off of his middle name
Pirrip.

Ben stands at attention as the rest of our children slip into the hospital room. Seven-year-old twins: Charlie and Beckett. Five-year-old Eliot. Four-year-old Tom.

Audrey on my chest.

Seven children.

Seven healthy, beautiful little gremlins.

Lily hangs by the door since she brought all of them to the hospital. Tears cloud her eyes, a smile illuminating her round face. She catches my gaze and mouths
see you later.
She gives me time alone with my family, and I nod in reply, the movement stiff.

I’d like all my sisters here, emotionally, but she closes the door to one sentiment just to make room for a thousand more.

“Come closer,” I tell our children.

Connor stands and gestures all of them towards his side. They collect in front of his legs by the hospital bed. I sit up a little more, and I look to each of them as I say their names, “Jane, Charlie, Beckett, Eliot, Tom, and Ben.”

They radiate, and the room teems with power and vivacity.

“We’d like you all to meet your new sister. Audrey Virgina Cobalt.” I have the baby in my arms to show them.

Jane’s hands fly to her mouth, tears brimming. “A sister?”

Over the years, she’s seen me with her aunts, the support and love we share for one another. Over the years, she’s waited, like us, to see if we’d have a girl.

“Yes, a sister.”

Jane cries into a smile.

Connor sees our daughter and has to shift his head, angling his body more towards me. Away from our children. The sheer emotion on his face—I’ll never forget that either.

While the children speak softly to Audrey, I say to Connor, “We did it.”

“We did all of it,” he clarifies.

This room.

This love.

Our future.

Our dynasty.

His hand strokes my cheek. I hold onto that hand, and his fingers thread mine.

Connor & Rose Cobalt welcome the birth of their baby girl

AUDREY VIRGINIA COBALT

January 27
th
, 2025

< 43 >

May 2025

Philly Aquatic Club

Philadelphia

DAISY MEADOWS

At a crammed indoor pool, parents cheer for the 9 & older swimmers at a competitive meet. Lily and I are squeezed in between our husbands on the packed bleachers, all of us trying to ignore the onslaught of shouts, but hey, at least they’re not at
us
for once.

“Come on, Sydney!”

“Go, Michelle!”

“You got this, Jenn!”

Moffy and Sulli aren’t in this female 100-meter backstroke race. For one, Sulli is only seven and a part of the 8 & under category, which will race in about ten minutes. Moffy will be up first since he’s already nine.

Lily bites her nails. “OhmyGod, I see him. Does he look nervous, Lo?”

As I crane my neck Moffy stands totally chill by the blue-tiled wall. Swim cap on, ready to go, he just adjusts his goggles a bit.

Lo feigns fright and clutches Lily’s shoulder. “Christ, I think he’s about to
hyperventilate
. Oh wait…that’s just you.” He flashes a half-smile at his wife.

Lily gapes and almost goes to slug his arm, but she sees little baby Kinney in a gray woven wrap on his chest, sleeping peacefully.

Two-thumbs up for earplugs. I just wished one-year-old Winona liked them as much as Kinney. She picked hers out three times already, and she wiggles on Ryke’s lap, much squirmier than Sullivan ever was.

“You need CPR, love?” Lo teases, clutching the back of her head.

Lily tries hard not to smile. “Lo…” She kisses him before he even has a chance to kiss her.

I search the crowds for Sullivan and pick at the fray on my jean shorts. “I hope she’s not stressing.”
Wherever she is.
Ryke hears me over the mix of disappointed and delighted cheers from parents. His hard, darkened eyes fall down to mine.

I never had ambition and drive like Sulli. Ryke did. He still
does.
Every day he climbs, he sets new heights to reach. Sulli takes after him, and he can relate to her competitive spirit more than me. Once upon a time, Ryke was the
captain
of a collegiate track team.

“She’s going to fucking stress because it means something to her, but she’s also having fun, Dais.” He knows I’m worried that she’s not enjoying the sport. He always tells me not to mistake her frustration for hate. Overcoming challenges and roadblocks is part of the allure in sports.

I lift the brim of my green baseball cap higher, seeing more of him. “How much fun? Like
scream off the rooftops of the world
fun or
howl at the moon
kinda fun?”

Ryke taps the brim down, covering my eyes. A total flirt.

I smile wide, my world dark beneath the hat. “So
that
kind of fun?”

He leans close, lifting the hat, and says, “If you’re implying what I think you’re fucking implying,
no.
”

“You don’t want someone to tap her baseball cap?” We’ve always been physical with one another, but it’s not always sexual, even when it appears to be.

He spins my baseball hat backwards. “I don’t want someone to fucking tap her anything. She’s a baby.”

“She’s seven.” I don’t restrain my smile.

Ryke tosses the only thing he can at me—a half-bitten chocolate turtle that I tried to share with him earlier. I try to catch the snack in my mouth, but it thuds to the bleacher.

I put my hand to my forehead. “The disaster.” The wasted chocolate at my feet.

It’s a sad sight, indeed.

Suddenly, the bleacher vibrates underneath us. Nine-year-old Jane drums her feet in excitement, smiling big, her brown hair in a low, loose pony. She sits between Lily and me, a Tupperware container of chocolate turtles on her lap. She always brings her favorite snack to meets, and she savors every single bite. I’m really the only other one who appreciates the chocolate pecan dessert.

As seen by Ryke who barely bit into it. He’ll also be the first to start any food fight.

A chocolate turtle drops out of Jane’s hand and into the container. “There he is!” She points and searches for the two pompoms she fashioned with their favorite colors.

Orange for Moffy.

Turquoise for Sulli.

Finding them by her feet, she waves the pompoms as the boys start gearing up for the 200-meter individual medley. Moffy’s best stroke is the butterfly—which apparently most kids hate—and Sulli’s is freestyle, but they both like the medley the most.

The referee blows a whistle over the intercom, signally for the competitors in the heat to remove all clothing except for swimwear. I’m more relaxed at these events than Lo, Ryke, and Lily. The two brothers suddenly go deathly still. Their jaws lock as the swimmers take their positions at the sound of a
long
whistle.

Moffy false started at the biggest meet last year, and he cried on the ride home. So the beginning is a big deal.

“Is that a Hale kid?” I hear the loud voices about two rows behind us, only because others join in and talk about him.

“Maximoff. He’s the oldest one!”

Two little girls, right below us, point at Moffy. “He’s so cute.”

“I can’t believe he’s right there!”

Jane sets her snack container down and then springs to a stance with her pompoms. I can’t tell whether or not she notices the chatter. “Destroy and conquer, Moffy!”

“Quiet in the stands,” the referee tells everyone. The bleachers fall semi-hushed, most still whispering. Jane shakes the orange pompom like maracas.

Moffy puts one foot at the front of his starting platform.
This is it.

“Take your mark.”

Beep.

He’s in the water with the other swimmers. Lo and Ryke exhale, and we all start cheering. He stays beneath the water for a while before surfacing and kicking.

“He’s in the lead!” Jane shouts. Her next exclamation is in French. Lily beams, reminded that Moffy understands the foreign language like the Cobalts.

Moffy slows down during the backstroke, falling behind.

Jane still cheers like he’s number one.

Lane three tags the edge.

Moffy is lane five, and when he reaches the finish, he pulls up his goggles and checks his time.

2:46.12 – 2
nd

“Is he upset?” Lily asks Lo.

It’s all we care about at these meets, not whether they win or lose but just how they
are.
Happy or sad. Angry or distraught.

Lo shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

Moffy climbs out of the pool, wiping water off his face, and he hears Jane whistle loudly by putting her fingers in her mouth. She asked me to teach her last year. I join in and Moffy waves big at us, his smile returning.

“Good job, Mof!” Lo shouts.

He gives a thumbs-up to his dad and then to Lily who claps with such vigor, her pride overwhelming her round face. She wipes the corners of her eyes, tearing up.

“There’s Sulli,” Ryke tells me.

I spot her waiting at the back of a long line. Moffy does too. Towel in hand, he approaches his cousin, and they start talking.

Jane places her pompoms aside, her posture straight, ankles crossed. I notice how she stares off towards the pool, and then she quickly swings her head to Lo and Lily. “Did he mention it to you? He was desperately upset last night. I, for one, told him that he should tell you.” She takes a short pause. “Did he tell you?”

Uh-oh.

We all tense. Our pasts are riddled with some bad, just plain mortifying and
never speak of it again!
events. Unfortunately for us, Google can surface 88% of these. Parental-blockers help, but kids gossip at school.

Rose and Connor warned us about this. They said that there’d be a time where all of our children stop opening up to us, and we won’t know
how much
they really know. We’ve been in big
arguments with the resident geniuses. The four of us are firmly against them for once.

Wait until they’re older
, we say.

Tell them everything now
, Rose and Connor rebut.