I open my mouth to retort, but snap it shut. The bastard has me and he knows it.
Lily comes back from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. "All done. What did I miss?"
"Nothing," I say quickly.
"Cal was just telling me how much he enjoys your visits," Dad offers, casual as ever.
"I was not..."
"He said they're the highlight of his week."
"Dad. Stop it. Right now."
Lily glances between us, clearly amused.
"Is that right, Callahan?"
I really wish she would stop saying my full name like that. Every time she does, I forget how to act like a normal person. I'm already shifting in my seat, grabbing a pillow and clutching it like a goddamn teddy bear before I realize what I'm doing and toss it aside.
"He's making things up. It's the pain medication."
"I'm not on pain medication anymore," Dad says, and I could kill him.
"Clearly you should be," I mutter.
She giggles, low and bright and so genuinely delighted that I have to turn away to hide the smile it pulls out of me.
She leaves around nine. I drive her home because it's dark and because that's apparently what we do now. That's the routine. She comes over, she argues with my father, she makes my house feel less empty, and then I drive her homeand pretend I'm not counting the minutes until she comes back.
On the way, she tells me about a client at the flower shop who ordered forty sunflowers for his wife and came back an hour later to add forty more because, quote, "she looked at me like I should have done eighty from the start."
When I laugh, the corner of her mouth turns up. I'm trying very hard not to keep track of that.
I pull up in front of her building, but don't put the car in park. I leave the engine running, hands on the wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead. Willing her to get out so I can finally take a deep breath. Knowing I'll miss her the second she does.
I hear the click of her seatbelt unhooking.
"Thanks for the ride, Callahan."
The sigh comes out before I can stop it, long and suffering.
She bites her lip, eyes bright. She knows exactly what she's doing. She's been doing it for weeks, using my full name like a weapon, watching me react every single time.
"Goodnight, Lily."
She climbs out and walks toward her building. I sit there like an idiot watching her go, not pulling away until her light comes on in the third-floor window.
The house is quiet when I get back. Dad's already in bed, the living room still smells faintly like her perfume. I stand in the doorway for a long moment, taking in the spot on the floor where she sat. This is fine, I tell myself. This is under control.
9
LILY
Ruth's Diner has the best pancakes in Harbor Hill, the worst coffee, and booths deep enough to disappear into.
Which is exactly what we need after three hours of shopping that somehow left Poppy with six bags, Erin with one sensible dress, and me with a lip gloss I don't need and a dress I have no occasion for. Poppy talked me into both. She has a gift.
We're crammed into the corner booth now, the one with the cracked vinyl and the view of the whole diner, surrounded by fries and coffee cups and the kind of chaotic energy that happens when we still haven't run out of things to say.
