I try not to think about the girl. The spider. The fact that I almost volunteered, because I don't want her to be scared. I drive home, and think about her all the way there.
5
LILY
The King-Edwards compound is absurd. Rome designed the whole thing. The main house is Poppy and Ramsey's. Sprawling, light-filled, more rooms than two people could ever use. The kitchen island alone is the size of a small apartment.
The second house belongs to Gran and Beth, smaller but equally beautiful, tucked closer to the tree line like it wanted privacy but not too much.
The third is Vera's. Set slightly apart, smaller than the others because that's what she asked for.
The running joke is that Ramsey doesn't care about material things. Still drives the same old truck, still wears flannels that have seen better decades, but somewhere along the way, he decided the people he loved deserved the best of what he could give. That turned out to be quite a lot.
Mid-March is still too cold for the porch, so we're gathered around the kitchen island instead. Poppy hassomething in the oven that smells like cinnamon and butter and too many calories I'm absolutely going to eat anyway.
Ramsey is out somewhere with Callahan. Rome and Erin are at home doing whatever disgustingly domestic thing they do on weekends now.
This house always smells like something baking. This is what I didn't know I was longing for until I found it. The feel and smell of home and family, wrapped up in a kitchen that's too big and just right at the same time.
"Estrogen Council incoming," Poppy announces, clinking her glass against mine as the kitchen door swings open.
Gran leads the charge. Tiny and silver-haired, moving like someone who's been running things so long she's forgotten other people think they're in charge.
Behind her is Beth, Poppy's mom, wearing a cardigan that's probably older than I am. And Vera, Ramsey's mom, tall and elegant, already scanning the counter for the cinnamon rolls not finished yet.
I met all three of them last summer, the night Erin brought me to dinner, back when I was still just Rome's little sister visiting from across the country. They took one look at me, decided I was theirs, and that was that.
Gran fed me until I physically could not move. Beth and Vera asked about school with genuine interest. By the end of the night, I'd felt more mothered than I had in years, maybe ever. I went home and cried myself to sleep like a child.
Since moving to Harbor Hill, I've been back for dinner more times than I can count. Each time, the ache gets a little smaller. Or maybe a little bigger. I can't tell anymore.
Gran reaches the island and grabs my face with both hands. Right on schedule.
"Still gorgeous." She turns my head left, then right, like she's inspecting produce at a farmer's market. "Unacceptable."
"Hi, Gran," I grin as I let her do what she pleases.
"Are you eating? You look thin."
"You say that every time."
"Because it's true every time." She kisses my forehead, releases me, and turns to accept wine from Poppy like it's her God-given right. Which, in this house, it probably is.
Harbor Hill has a specific way of complimenting you. Beautiful and inconvenient. Stunning and suspicious. Like your face is something you'd done to them personally. An act of aggression they're choosing to forgive. I love it.
Vera squeezes my arm as she passes.
"How's the apartment now that you've settled, sweetheart?" she asks, sliding onto the stool beside me.
"Perfect. Rome did a good job." I pause. "But he cannot get rid of spiders."
I'd found two this week. Called Rome about both. Texted him roughly nineteen times about the first one alone. Detailed texts. Photographs. A voice memo that was mostly just me saying Rome in increasingly desperate tones. He'd sent Erin, which was practical and deeply disloyal.
"Didn't you grow up on dig sites?" Poppy asks, pulling cinnamon rolls from the oven. God, I love her. "In the dirt? In foreign countries? With actual wildlife?"
"Yes."
"So you were probably surrounded by spiders your entire childhood."
