“She chose someone with a rocky past, but with a good heart. It’d be different if she’d chosen an ex-convict—well. Hang on. She kind of did.” Dad shook his head. “My point, though, is thatbad boyis just a label. Harry refused to live by it. And with Beck coming home… I’ve got a feeling he’s trying to refuse it, too.”
For half of my life, I’d tried everything I could to be exactly like Destelle. I tried to dress like her, tried to talk like her, and dreamed of growing up to be just like her. The other half of my life, I’d done everything in my powernotto be like her. I forced myself to like the things she didn’t, forced myself to do the things she hated, and forced myself to act the way she never did.
I thought you were better than your sister, Mrs. Johnson had said.Better than kissing bad boys.
Four years ago, I didn’t choose Beck because I did not want to be like Destelle.
But now, whatever choice I would make wouldn’t be choosing it because of her, or choosing it for my parents.
I’d be choosing it for me.
I looked up at Dad, and for the first time in a long time, my head felt clear. There were no words spelling out frantically in my mind. Just calmness. “Can I have my phone back early?”
Dad arched a brow. “Why?”
“I have plans to make.” My lips twitched. “And I have a car to steer.”
I didn’t want your mother and I to steer your car, Nellie. I want you to steer it yourself.And I would.
Dad just gave a small chuckle, reaching around his desk to pull my phone from his main drawer. “Don’t forget a seatbelt,” he said as he stretched it out to me. “And don’t crash it into a tree.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I said, grabbing my phone, but neither one of us pulled back for a moment. We stoodthere, bridging a gap that’d felt too large for too long. “Maybe let’s just leave the metaphors to Jamie.”
And for the first time in what felt like a long time, Dad and I shared a grin.
CHAPTER 20
L-I-V-E-L-Y.
The perfect word to describe Daisy’s house.
We sat on the couch in her living room, the central hub of the house. I could see almost the entire ground floor from where we sat, and had a clear view of the stairs, where half of the kids had raced up. Toys were scattered in different places, like little Theo had grabbed one toy, changed his mind, and went to choose another.
And upstairs, someone let out a shriek.
“Penn!” Daisy shouted, looking at the stairs. She sat at the opposite end of the couch, and pushed up so quickly that she nearly dumped the bag of cheese puffs in her lap. “Who was that?”
From the second floor, the second oldest Carmichael, Penn, shouted back, “Ivy!”
Daisy frowned. “What was she?—”
Penn cut her off, “She’s fine!”
“I’m sorry,” Daisy said for what felt like the millionth time, her face screwed up. “They’re part banshee, I swear. I think Dad had a secret lineage that he never told us about.”
I snorted, reaching into the bag and taking a cheese puff. “That’d makeyoupart banshee.”
“I take after my mom.”
“Do not,” the third eldest Carmichael, Junie, said from the kitchen, where she was twisting pipe cleaners into what looked like a flower. Her strawberry blonde hair was loose around her shoulders and slightly tangled. “Mom is cooler than you.”
Daisy ignored her.
I hugged my knees closer to my chest, looking over at my best friend. She was focused on me, but I could tell half of her attention was still on the staircase, listening in case she heard something that needed checking. It was strange to see her playing the parent role, because the personality shift made her seem like almost a different person entirely.
“Theo’s been quiet,” she said, mostly to herself, and then turned. “Junie, go check on him, would you?”
The ten-year-old was all sass. “Why can’t you?”
