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Bubble-wrapped frames. I pull a stack of them out and then as carefully as I fucking can, unfurl the bubble-wrap.
As soon as the first photo comes into view, it almost knocks me back. I rub my jaw for a second. It’s of us. On the bow of a yacht in Mexico, I have her on my shoulders, and we’re both caught mid-laugh. That was during her nineteenth birthday.
I pull out another. I’m sleeping on a hammock in Costa Rica. She’s kissing my nose.
My chest lifts fucking high in a deep inhale, and I want to see more. So I unwrap another moment.
At a bowling alley. I’m holding her upside-down, only clutching one of her calves, and her smile has overtaken her entire fucking face. I’m staring at her like I couldn’t be happier that she’s happy.
Another. We’re doing backflips off a roof into a pool at the same fucking time.
Another. She’s on her red Ducati. I’m on my black one. I’m flipping her off as she speeds ahead of me. Lo and Lily, in the car behind us, captured the shot. I remember catching up to her that day, flirting the whole way to New York with our bikes.
Another. Cancun. Our bungee jump photo.
I pinch my eyes. I go through more. Wedding pictures. The time where Daisy stood on a fucking skateboard five-months pregnant. I was holding her waist. The moment I handed Sullivan to Daisy, when she woke up after surgery.
I have to stop myself, my eyes reddening at our lives spent together. I shut the flaps. Fragile but amazing. Be careful with these. I don’t want to lose them.
So much fucking happiness exists inside this box. I have no doubt there’ll be hundreds just like this one, all overflowing.
Nutty suddenly appears by my side, sitting down. I scratch behind her ears, wondering why she’s not with Daisy. I stand, thinking maybe she’s still asleep, but the chances of that are slim. Her routine sleep pattern—which was already shit—went to hell when Sulli was born.
It might take another few months to return to something better, but I know eventually we’ll both get there.
“You want to find Daisy?” I ask Nutty.
She rises too but waits for me to move. I’ll look in our fucking room, on the rare occasion that she’s sleeping. I climb the carpeted stairs, and as soon as I reach the small second floor, something inside of me tugs my gaze.
My eyes drift out of the window. Like I just know. That’s where she’ll be.
With the side of my fist, I rub the morning fog off the glass. A tree house is perched between two fully-grown maples. Battery-powered lights emit an orange glow through the tree house windows, and I see the outline of Daisy and our daughter.
I don’t fucking move. I just watch for a second.
The strands of her hair tangle around her face, Sullivan’s head rested on her shoulder. Daisy waves this homemade wand. She said that she made it herself when she was a little girl. I’ve seen it: blue and green streamers and purple string hanging off a wooden stick.
Lo doesn’t have to be here to tell me.
I have love on my face.
Daisy often talked about living in the wild with me. About being stranded on an island. Just the two of us. Having a baby alone in the rainforest together.
I always thought her fantasies were cute, but it’s not until later in our lives that I see her and me and what she imagined and I think, we fucking have that, Calloway.
No matter where we are. No matter what we do.
It’s who we are.
Fucking primal. And this wild, untamable spirit lives within us.
DAISY MEADOWS
“And then the fairy disembarked for the sea to grant all the mermaids their wishes.” I wave my makeshift wand side-to-side, Sulli’s cheek on my bare shoulder. I may be topless, but I’ve run out of seashells! In actuality, I just fed her about ten minutes ago. It’s much easier (and more fun) to just take everything off.
Sulli giggles this high-pitched sound of pure glee, her eyes following the blue and green streamers. She tries to reach out for the purple string but timidly retracts her hand.
“It won’t bite you, my peanut butter cupcake.” I tickle her nose with the streamer, and she giggles twice as exuberantly, kicking her feet. “Ah, yes, this little mermaid wishes for sweet things.” I nuzzle her cheek with my nose.
I’m in love with my daughter.
Like pure, soul-bearing I want to hold you always and forever kind of love. It’s brand new for me, and I won’t let it go.
I haven’t managed to decorate much of our new home yet, but the tree house was the first to get a real makeover. I spread out quilts, fuzzy pillows, hung battery lanterns and multicolored cloth tapestries, and I brought an old toy chest up as a table. Actually Ryke and Lo heaved it together. Ryke had to climb up the tree trunk’s ladder (there are three-ways to reach the top). Afterwards, Lo gave me the classic Loren Hale brutal glare, followed by “you’re goddamn crazy.”
Totally worth it.
I set my baby on her round koala pillow, fitting her three-month-old teeny body. I dangle the wand above her head, and I gasp as I flit it away from her hold.
She observes with big round eyes, the color beginning to morph into my deep green.
“Can you believe,” I whisper to her, “that you’re a part of Ryke and me?”
Ryke and Daisy’s baby.
I don’t think many people believed we’d ever procreate. Besides my fertility troubles, we live life in the fast lane. I think they expected us to slow down, but we both just wanted another companion to ride along with us.
I smile as she does and fix her fox socks, her orange cotton bodysuit snapping below her diaper, short-sleeves and legless. Dark gray cursive across the front says: stay curious.
Ryke picked it out. When we went shopping for baby things, Ryke basically filled the entire cart. He was totally into it.
I comb her soft brown hair, the strands growing in. “He’s already spoiling you like crazy.”
Ryke is the kind of dad who will no doubt bring her cookies in bed, wish her goodnight, read her a story, tuck her in—and even sit in the hallway when she’s scared.
He’ll protect her with every fiber of his being. We’ll teach her to rise above and to love herself so much that other people’s hate won’t drag her down.
We’ll be ready for laughter. For tears. For the happiness and the sadness.
We’ll bask in every small moment together. Just as I do now.
I wave the wand a little more, her gaze drifting right and left with the waft of the streamers. Not long after, the wooden rope ladder creaks. Like someone is climbing up.
I’m pretty certain it’s Ryke, so I’m not nervous. I crawl over to the toy chest, pulling the koala pillow with me. Sulli makes an excited noise as she goes for a short ride.
I hear feet on the wraparound porch, and then the door begins to open. I whip my wand towards the entry. “Ryke Meadows of the House of Meadows,” I introduce, watching him emerge. “House motto: to play and protect like fucking wolves do.”
He has to duck, but his lips rise as my words reach his ears. His hair is a little wet from his long run, his muscles rippling down his body, toned abs and arms. His shorts even hang low on his waist.
When my eyes meet his, he raises his brows at me. Knowing how much I’m checking him out. His hot gaze then rakes my body, honing in on my topless state.
His attraction seeps into me, rousing dormant hungers. My pulse thumps, and I stretch my arms behind me, giving him a better view.
His jaw muscle clenches, tension spooling.
We don’t have to exchange many words. He shuts the door behind him, taking a seat in front of me. I pull Sulli closer to both of us. When he strokes her cheek, she clasps his finger and giggles enthusiastically again, almost in a fit of happiness.
“The fairy just granted this mermaid her very best wish,” I tell him, Sulli’s eyes sparkling with delight.
“And what was her fucking wish?”
“You.” I flick the
wand again. “Ta-da! He’s here. Right in front of me.”
Ryke looks to Sulli. “Mommy thinks she’s a fucking fairy.”
Sullivan kicks out her legs with another elated baby noise, grinning fully.
“Yeah, sweetie? You think she’s one too?” Ryke sets his darkened eyes on me, but I see the light beneath them. “We’re all in fucking agreement then.”
I press my wand to my chest. “I also have the ability to grant wishes before you even know you want them.” While he watches me with more intrigue, I procure a box of granola cereal, a half-gallon of milk, a bowl and spoon from behind the toy chest. I brought them up earlier this morning.
After I finish pouring cereal and milk, I scoot closer to Ryke, stretching my legs on either side of his waist.
My eyes flit up to his, passing the bowl his way, and his expression is absolutely priceless.
“You knew I’d fucking follow you here,” he realizes, the bowl cupped in his large hands.
“You’re the only person who will go where I go.” He’s the only one who ever physically chased after me. Ryke never hesitated to run towards my shadow, as I tried to reignite something that faded away.
He barely takes his hardened gaze off me, not even as he spoons a heap of granola. “Thanks, Calloway.” He eats the spoonful and then passes the bowl to me.
I scoop soggy granola in my mouth. Watching him while he watches me.
I hand the bowl back, entranced by each other, just eating breakfast in a tree house. Our daughter by our sides.
In the next few minutes, the bowl travels back and forth. The quiet is tenser, and my smile expands, second by second. His stoic features have yet to shift past his darkened state. Like sharing company with a feral wolf.
