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“Really, really.” I stare off in thought. “Except,mediais a different kinda enemy.” I glance back at my phone. “One that I would’ve never knowingly created.”
My dad and Donnelly finally beginning to mend their hostile relationship? Great. The cannons have been stowed away.
My dad and Donnelly about to be sensationalized in the press for hating one another? Awful. New cannons have been brought on board, and these ones are powered by media andfans.
“What’s worse,” I say aloud, “is Donnelly might have zero chance. My dad, your grandpa, has years upon years of beingbeloved.”
For standing devotedly at my mom’s side.
For his sobriety.
For raising four children—the oldest of which is treated like a national treasure.
Donnelly is known for his thirst trap videos on social media, which…yeah, they’rehot.So hot I might’ve watched them to death and used them for writing inspo, but him lip-syncing to hit songs while shirtless isn’t the kinda coverage that’ll win over the world. And I hate that they’ll likely be pitted against one another to begin with. I hate that people will take sides and there’ll be a crusade against Donnelly, just to uplift my dad.
It’s not real.
“It’s not real,” I mutter, more to myself this time.
Normally, I love fantasies. Other realities.
But this alternate reality we’re living in is the absolute worst. I want to shut the cover and return it to the library.
And I feel partly to blame. He wouldn’t have to do any of this if he didn’t want to be with me. I hate that there’s nothingIcan do. Which feels eons worse. I want to help. I want to be a part of the schemes. I can scheme!
I sigh out, “I don’t even know the depth ofwhathe’s doing with his dad.” He hasn’t explained the security situation. Maybe because I haven’t asked outright yet. It’s just felt like a tender subject, and I’m a little afraid of detonating a bomb that’ll crack a crater between us.
He said he’d tell me everything.Or at least, he’d try. Then why am I so timid about asking?
The same reason why I’m nervous he won’t reply to my DM. What if things have changed so much that it’s uncomfortable between us now?
I reread his DM. “He wouldn’t have bought tickets if he didn’t want me to join, right?”
“Nope,” Ripley says.
My gut drops. “You think he’ll take someone else?”
“Nope.”
Definitive signs that I shouldn’t be taking advice from an almost-two-year-old, but Ripley is too cute to just ignore. “Is that your new favorite word?” I ask and tickle beneath his armpit.
He giggles, then nods profusely. More baby giggles, until he settles down and munches into the fruit. “I love strawberries, Awnie Loonie.”
I eat a goldfish cracker. “What else do you love?”
“Cars!” He makes avroomnoise. “Doggies.” He wipes his mouth with his hand. “Daddy. Papa.You.” He suddenly flings his soft arms around my waist, and my clenched heart untwists.
I hug my baby nephew back. “I love you too.” Ripley is the perfect distraction to my mopey afternoon blues, and soon, we find ourselves on the floor. He’s leap-frogging with me from one side of the living room to the other.
“Jump!” he says, preparing for the biggest jump of his life. His tiny feet barely lift off the ground, but I make sure I jump the same short distance.
“Jump!” we say together.
He catapults a half inch.
“Whoaaaa, you jumped so far!” I high-five him.
Ripley beams. “Again! Jump!” Just as we hop another step, Donnelly enters the living room, and my heart has leapt another five yards without the rest of me.
