Page 9 of Wherever You Are

All of their children are front and center in Ryke and Daisy’s quaint “cottage”—it’s definitely not a mansion or as regal as the Cobalt Estate. But it’s four-bedrooms. Not a shoebox either. The outside is all gray stone with a stone-stacked chimney like they live on a pastoral English countryside and not in a Philly suburb.

The décor is like Urban Outfitters threw up in here. Boho chic or whatever. I’m not an interior designer.

One-year-old fraternal twins, Charlie and Beckett Cobalt have their own buckets of confetti, and three-year-old Maximoff Hale makes confetti angels on the hardwood, little legs and arms moving about. Daisy kneels on the ground beside her almost-one-year-old daughter, helping Sulli throw the strips of colorful paper.

Ryke, Loren, and Rose stand off to the side, letting their kids “surprise” Connor.

I feel like I’m intruding.

But they wanted me around. So I’m here.

Still, I need air for a second. I slip out before anyone notices me and head towards the first-floor bathroom. I’ve been here enough with Willow to know where it is. Gold balloons litter the ground, and I push aside a black streamer, hanging from the ceiling. They went all out for a not-really-surprise “surprise” party.

I lock the bathroom door and immediately splash water on my face. Taking out my phone, I check my messages.

None.

I’m about to text Willow, but loud laughter echoes from the living room. I want to be around them. I shouldn’t want that.

Get it together. You’re already here.

I swallow hard and wipe water off my face before returning to the living room. The first thing I notice is the life-sized cardboard cutout of Connor standing in the middle of the hall.

Jesus…

They really went there.

Like he doesn’t already have an ego the size of a galaxy? I tilt my head, examining more. It looks so much like Connor. One of them must have bought the cutout on a celebrity site. I’ve seen them before. The only reason I even check out those sites is to make sure Willow and I don’t have our faces on T-shirts. We’re not that famous, and honestly, I hope it never happens.

I prefer the periphery where people don’t have a life-sized cardboard version of me in their bedroom. It creeps me out, but I see how Lily and everyone else are laughing about it. How they try to turn this into something fun. Because it’s better than dwelling on the shitty aspects of fame. It’s not all bad. And I guess, it’s kind of a good gift.

Which reminds me: I didn’t get Connor anything. And I’m at his birthday party.

Well, whatever. He knows I didn’t actually want to come.

I head to the kitchen, passing a banner that readsHappy 30thBirthday, Connor!The only other people that pack the place besides the “core six” are their children. I’m literally the interloper.

Awesome.

Jane Cobalt giggles on the ground, covered in confetti. A photo of this child just smiling in celebratory streamers would be worth thousands of dollars, sold to any magazine in New York.

She’s just a baby.I feel bad for her and Moffy. What kind of life are they going to have under this invasive microscope? Their parents got twenty-some years of peace before the spotlight roasted them.

They getnothing.

Sucks.

I shrug the thought off and slip further in the sunny kitchen, sunshine streaming through windows.

Loren pops a chip into his mouth, a jar of salsa next to him. His wife has her legs around his waist and arms around his neck in a piggyback. Lily is thin and bony and can’t weigh much. He hands her a chip over his shoulder, and he’s really the only person I care to greet right now.

“Hey,” I nod to him and then hop up on the kitchen counter. I catch sight of a tiny potted basil plant next to the sink, and my chest tightens.

“You made it,” Lo says, not surprised that I was invited.

I focus back on him. “Yeah.”

He scoops a hunk of chunky salsa. “Was groveling involved to get your ass here?”