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It wasn’t a stupid question. It was an instinctual one. I swallowed. “All right, I guess.”
She took that for what it was, framing my face. She looked around. “Where’s your dad?”
“In the car. Yelling at someone. It sounds like he’s mad at the funeral hall.”
This made her face screw up, her expression souring. I didn’t want to say she hated my dad since that was such a strong word, but when Mom died and he so easily gave me up to live with her, she hadn’t been happy. She wanted him to step up back then, be a dad to me and Paige. He hadn’t really been one to my sister either, regardless of the fact that Paige lived in his house, and Aunt Celeste knew that too. She nodded. “Typical of him. Where are your bags?”
After explaining how Dad had us s
taying at an Airbnb and not with my mom’s only sister, I got another “typical” directed my dad’s way and found myself happy he stayed outside for the moment. I had a feeling there’d be a lot of this back-and-forth.
“Well, we’re going to talk about that,” she finished with, then rubbed my shoulders. “And what’s going to happen after all this? I can imagine you’re staying here? With me? Your room’s just how you left it.”
Since I hadn’t decided that yet, I couldn’t tell her, and it seemed she didn’t need an answer right away because my dad decided to grace us with his presence. Phone in hand, he’d at least wrapped up his call, but that was only before getting another upon passing the threshold of my aunt’s place.
“Celeste,” he murmured, covering up his line.
She grimaced. “Rowan. I see you’re involved in everything but actually helping your grieving daughter inside. You plan on being present while you’re here or…?”
He grunted, mumbling something about not needing all this “during this time,” and when my aunt left my side to step up to him, I figured that was my signal to get the fuck out. I went down the hall, avoiding all the bullshit, but even after I slammed the door to my room, I only heard more.
“Well, now you’ve done it,” I heard from my aunt, my ear pressed to the door. “Father of the year.”
“And you’re definitely helping, Celeste.”
“Rowan—”
I cut off the noise when I opened my window, then climbed out. On my belly, my phone buzzed from inside my pocket. Touching ground, I pulled my phone out, and I sagged against the house, relieved when I saw who texted.
Royal: You make it to LA okay?
I closed my eyes, more tears for some reason. I think I was just emotional with all this, all the tension just too much on top of it all. He had a way of somehow making perfect timing, and I lowered to the ground, sitting in the grass.
Me: Yeah, just got in. My aunt and dad are going at it.
Royal: I’m sorry it’s like that. I’m sorry for all this.
Maybe sorrys were things people just said when things were shitty, something of an obligation. For whatever reason, he couldn’t stop.
Me: Stop apologizing. This isn’t your fault.
Royal: We were out there together. It is my fault.
Me: She was drunk, and we both know Paige Lindquist can’t be controlled.
Royal: I could have controlled her. I could have if I tried harder.
Me: I don’t think so. This isn’t your fault, so just stop.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, and I almost texted him again until I saw the text message bubble hit.
Royal: I’m coming down soon, but I won’t be able to make the memorial service. Probably just the reception.
My heart sank. He’d been invited, something I made sure my dad did along with his plans.
Me: Why?
Royal: I want to be there, but I have to handle something. It came up suddenly, and the timing just won’t work out.
