Chapter 42 Brighton
“Hellcat, I don’t think this is a good idea.
” I stand outside her family home — dusty blue paneling, white rose bushes framing the stone steps — completely filled with dread.
Daisy is still sitting in the back of the truck, playing on her phone, completely ignorant of our conversation as Rhea fixes her hair in the mirror of the passenger door.
A week ago, we told Daisy about what was happening, transparency was important to Rhea, and that made it important to me. She’s just as much a part of Daisy’s life as I am, and we didn’t want to sneak around behind her back.
“Why?” She stands up straight in her wrestling shirt and ripped jean shorts with a confused look on her face. I wore one of the three button-down shirts I have and feel extremely overdressed next to her, but she doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest.
“We can just be friends in there. Roommates. If that’s what you’re worried about.” She says it so casually, and it bothers me. Because you aren’t friends anymore. Idiot.
“It’s your family,” I stress to her.
“Oh. Okay, well… family means something different to you than it does to me.” She looks from me to the house and back again, “Be more afraid of making it out alive and less of what they think of you, and if Mom tries to show you a single baby picture, respectfully decline.”
“You’re out of your mind. My only reward for going in there is baby pictures. I’m not passing that up.” I say to her, and she rolls her eyes. I also don’t want to spend two hours around you being respectful when all I wanna do is be in bed, where the world is quiet.
“It’s just dinner, Brighton. Gabe will make pasta, Reid will ignore you, Rue will give you the ‘you hurt my sister’ speech, all while Mom yells.
” She explains. “Just don’t leave your wallet anywhere because Toby has sticky fingers, and oh my god, don’t sit on anything unless you wanna stain your pants. ”
“At least you come by being a raccoon honestly,” I say to her.
“I’m taking that as a compliment,” she coos as Daisy finally slides from the truck.
“Sorry, Mom called for a weekly update and wouldn’t stop asking questions,” she says, pulling out her headphones.
“Did you tell her about your boyfriend?” I ask.
“She loves Auggie,” Daisy says.
Something about that gets under my skin, my jaw clenches, but I nod. “That’s good.” I offer. Daisy doesn’t notice the clipped tone, but Rhea definitely does. She raises an eyebrow at me with a tiny smirk, but it helps calm the frustration that swims beneath.
We all head inside, and Rhea enters without knocking but kicks off her boots at the front door, which I find odd considering she stomps around our apartment in her dirty shoes every day.
We follow suit and are immediately accosted by a small boy with fiery red hair and a wild look in his eyes, who I can only assume is Toby.
He stares me down before his eyes flicker to Daisy, and a smile creeps on his face.
“This is Toby,” Rhea says. “And that little wildin’ is Shana.
” A tiny girl, similar to Toby, waves from her spot on the long, messy couch, barely breaking her focus on the book she’s coloring in.
Rhea moves on through the house, picking up toys and clothing as she goes, and Daisy gets distracted by Toby, leaving me standing alone in the hallway. Since when does she clean?
The wall opposite the staircase is scattered with pictures, all in different-sized frames, and clearly span decades of their lives.
Rhea’s graduation picture is adorable; her hair is cut short around her face, and she’s still losing some of her stubborn baby fat from her cheeks.
The one next to it is smaller, and it’s obviously been ripped on the left side and tucked back into the frame without much care.
“I hate that one,” she says. I look over at her, not realizing that she’s backtracked to find me.
“She’s got a hundred other pictures of our family, but she refuses to take that down.
” Rhea points to it. “She says it’s the only one of her and us she likes because Reid is actually smiling, but that’s bullshit. ”
I frown, my eyes turning back to the picture.
“She keeps it up because she likes to cry about it,” Rhea whispers. “This one is better.” She points to a picture of the seven of them at Disneyland. “They took us to Disneyland for their honeymoon.”
“Romantic,” I say to her, and tangle my hand into hers with a thoughtful squeeze because her eyes are still locked on the ripped family photo. “Was he in it?”
“Once upon a time,” she says. “Tearing him out means he doesn’t exist.” She means it to be a joke, but I can hear the sadness in her voice.
“I like this one,” I point to one that’s higher on the wall of her, and an older man, I’m guessing, is Gabe at an event. She’s decked out in wrestling gear, couldn’t be more than seventeen, and she’s wearing a smile I’ve never seen before.
“That was the best day ever,” she says.
“Alright, where are the embarrassing ones?” I tickle her side gently as she swats me away.
I sneak a kiss on the top of her head as a girl comes around the corner.
She's exactly how I picture Rhea, about ten years younger.
I look between the two of them and extend my hand, “Remi?” I ask, and she nods.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are because Rhea doesn’t talk about her life…” Rue hisses uncomfortably.
“This is Brighton,” she says, making a face at her younger sister. “Don’t be rude.”
“You can call me Bright,” I say. “I work with Rhea.”
“Work?” Rue raises an eyebrow, “You’re a teacher?”
“No,” I chuckle. “I’m a bartender.”
“Owner. He’s an owner.” Rhea is quick to correct me.
“Whatever he is, Reid’s gonna be pissed he didn’t know about it.” Rue looks me up and down and disappears into the other parts of the house.
“What does that mean?” I tug on her hand as she goes to follow her sister.
“Reid doesn’t trust very many men,” she answers. “He’ll be fine. She’s being dramatic.”
“You should have told me that,” I say.
“It doesn’t change anything,” Rhea says. “He’s going to be an ass either way, Brighton. You’re just going to have to eat it.”
“I would like tonight to go well.” I stop her from walking away from me again with a gentle squeeze.
“Why? Are you trying to impress someone?” She teases, her humor sinking into the cracks of the tense situation.
“Rhea.” I drop my tone. Her favorite form of deflection is when she’s uncomfortable. I open my mouth to offer some kind of encouragement, but Daisy starts laughing from the living room at the top of her lungs, and Rhea smiles.
“It’s already going well,” she says.
For now.
“Come meet Gabe.” She continues to tidy as we go, which is strange because I’ve never seen her clean a day in her life at the apartment. But she moves around the house silently, never disturbing anyone or causing a fuss. She exists between all her family members like a ghost.
As we enter the kitchen, I realize that they live the majority of their lives in this space.
The round kitchen table is tucked into the corner booth style with a few spare chairs that don’t match the rest of the set.
It’s covered in art, homework, and tools…
everything is actually. The island, the chairs, there are piles of chaos in boxes here and there.
It’s like everything is set down and forgotten about.
Rhea never stops moving, and it’s no wonder why. There’s a pile of crap everywhere I look. Gabe looks exactly like he does in the pictures — short, round, and smiling.
He cleans his hands on a towel and extends one to me, “Gabe, you must be Brighton.”
“Bright, and at least she told one of you I was coming.” I tease, and Gabe laughs.
“Oh no, Rue just stomped through here.” He laughs. “But that’s Rhea,” he nods, “little communication, lots of chaos. I hope you like vodka sauce!” He turns back to what he was focusing on.
“Sounds amazing,” I say, keeping one eye on Rhea as she stops, arms full of stuff, and points to something that her sister is showing her. Her brows furrow, and she shifts the laundry in her arms so she can take the paper and read it properly. “Can I help with anything?” I ask.
Gabe turns, clearly surprised by the question, and points to a loaf of bread.
“Rhea’s favorite is garlic bread; if we forget about it, there will be hell to pay.
” He laughs and hands me a bowl of what looks like butter, spices, and herbs.
It smells amazing, and once I get around him in the small kitchen, I set to work without another word, content to watch Rhea in her natural habitat.
It’s like she’s a totally different person, a well-oiled machine keeping the threads of her family securely together in any way she can.
After a little while, the front door opens and slams shut again.
The whole house seems to go still around us, even the long-winded conversation about construction that Gabe is locked in on dies down.
Rhea’s mother flies into the kitchen, throwing her purse on the floor by the island and instantly proving why I was warned.
“Amber,” Gabe says. “We have a guest.”
She spins on her heels, and I’m met with what I can only describe as a toxic ball of energy.
It’s like she sucks out all the air in the room and consumes it for nefarious purposes.
It’s instantly clear to me—this is the woman who makes Rhea feel small.
I clean my hands and extend one to her, which she takes, but the shake is weak and quick before she crosses her arms.
“This is Bright,” Gabe introduces me. “Rhea has been renting his spare bedroom,” he explains. “He and his daughter Daisy came for dinner.”
Before she can say anything, someone clears their throat from behind us. A kid, no older than seventeen maybe, stands in the narrow archway with a dirty look on his very familiar face. I swallow tightly as Rhea slides back into the kitchen just in time for everything to go to shit.
“Reid,” she says, walking toward her brother. “This is—”
“Bright,” he cuts her off. “Dad spilled the beans.” His jaw tightens, but his eyes never leave mine. I recognize those eyes, I just can’t put my finger on why. He looks to Rhea quickly, and his hands flex at his side. “Can I talk to you?” he asks her.
“I’ll be right back,” she says to me and follows her brother up the stairs and out of sight.
“Reid is a tough nut to crack, don’t be offended,” Gabe offers reassurance, but it means nothing to me because of the nervous sadness that had filled Rhea’s face.
“How did Rhea come about renting your room?” Amber asks, cutting the tension with a hot knife.
“My younger sister is Sunday,” I tell her.
“Who?” Amber raises an eyebrow at me, and it is very clear that Rhea either doesn’t tell them anything or her mother just doesn’t care to remember. Both rub me the wrong way.
“One of the girls that Rhea plays rugby with…” I see now why Rhea doesn’t talk about her mother very much; she’s squirrely and rude.
“Oh yes, yes. The little blonde one!” Gabe snaps as he remembers. “She’s a sweetheart.” So it’s not Rhea’s fault you don’t know.
“That would be her.” I nod and cross my arms over my chest, itching for Rhea to return and save me from this conversation.
“Sorry about that.” Rhea appears in the kitchen doorway like my thoughts summoned her.
Her mood has shifted; she’s back to being tense, but she’s doing a good job of hiding it to keep the peace.
I’d question it, but this is the woman who would eat tomatoes so she didn’t hurt Boone’s feelings.
“Reid is going to take his dinner in his room. I’m starving.
Is it ready?” she asks, pushing to her tippy-toes to look over the group of us.
Daisy’s screams pierce through the house, and my whole body tenses.
“Daisy?” I call out, aiming to move toward the source.
“I’m alright…” Her voice is shaky.
“I found Lady Gaga!” Toby screams from the living room, and Rhea starts to laugh awkwardly.
“Who is Lady Gaga?” I look around as Toby runs past Amber.
“Uh, that,” Rhea snorts as Toby thrusts a massive snake into the air as high as he can.
“Touch it,” Toby demands.
“No, thank you,” I say.
“Chicken,” he teases. There’s a first for everything, and today might be the day I hit a little kid.
“You'd better touch the snake,” Rhea says, stifling more laughter.
“I really don’t want to touch the snake.” It’s taking everything in me not to step back from it as it wiggles between the kid's fingers.
“Touch. It.”
“Fine.” I reach out and pet the snake with one finger.