Page 32 of Reign

Lynda adjusts one of her nightgown’s straps as she straightens and notices me. “Callie! You’re here!”

My eyes widen at her excited shout at the same time Dad’s face pales.

“Relax, Pete,” Lynda says as she envelopes me in a fragrant hug filled with baby powder and … something sewer-like I can’t identify. Baby poop? “Blair rivals an alcohol-induced fraternity hazing once she’s down. It’s so good to see you, honey.”

“You, too,” I say while squished against her suddenly voluminous breasts. Our relationship, while cloudy, seems to have cleared into a light fog since Blair was born, and I accept her embrace.

Her Briarcliff roots don’t escape my thoughts, nor her high school connection to my mother, but mustering the strength to confront her while she’s in day-old pajamas with her normally sleek blonde hair in a sagging topknot doesn’t seem like the best time to create stormy skies again.

Plus, I’m fucking exhausted. Like traumatically, face-down-in-the-dirt, knocked out.

Lynda must sense the direction of my thoughts. “You look so piqued, honey. Long day? You can meet Blair when she’s awake in the morning. Or in two hours. How was your last exam this morning? Oh—there’s dinner waiting for you downstairs. A crown roast of some sort. Lamb? Help me out here, Pete.”

“We’ve now reached the time of night where my wife is inexplicably ripe—with energy.” Pete smiles tightly, his eyes a little wild as he rests his attention on her. “I mean blooming with energy. She’s filled with chatter. Might I leave you two to it?”

“Sure, Dad.” I give him the exit he so desperately needs. “I’ll hang with Lynda for a while.”

“But not too long,” he admonishes. “Lynda’s right—you look as tired as we do.”

“Exams were … a lot.”

“I bet. Briarcliff doesn’t pride itself on poor test-taking. Glad you survived. I’ll see you in a few.”

His word-choice beats against my skull. Survived.

Barely, Dad.

As my dad escapes to the fourth floor of the brownstone to face-plant somewhere, Lynda latches onto my hand and drags me down to the first, where the dining room and a re-heated crown roast await.

“Are you hungry? I’m starving.” Lynda hops a few steps in front of me. “I’ll eat the whole lamb if they let me. They don’t teach you in breastfeeding school how dang starved you become.”

“Breastfeeding school?”

“Oh yeah. I made Pete attend three of them with me. And swaddling, baby massage, pregnancy yoga…”

As she prattles on, my lips pull into what I hope is a smile as I follow her into the expansive, nineteenth-century dining area, with gold trimmed panel walls and priceless murals dating back to Lynda’s ancestors.

I take a seat next to her at the head of the table, Sophia bursting in just as we sit down.

“Calla Lily! You’ve arrived!”

Another full-bosomed hug encases me, but as Sophia’s heartbeat thrums in my ears, I think this is the closest I’ve ever come to home since Mom.

“Let me get the roast and all the veggies. Good Lord.” Sophie pinches my arm as she draws back, clucking. “What are you, an emo hipster? You need meat on these bones.”

Sophia heads through the doors to collect our plates. To give myself something to do, I grab the intricately folded napkin from the place setting and smooth it across my lap.

“A little lost?”

I glance up at Lynda’s quiet question, surprised to see her red-rimmed but bright blue gaze on me. “I mean no offense—I always feel out of place in crazy-rich rooms.”

“Does that discomfort include Briarcliff’s rooms?” she asks.

My hands still on my napkin.

“I realize I’m in a newborn bubble, but I haven’t forgotten our phone conversation.” Lynda reaches toward me, then lays her hand on the table, palm up.

I stare at her open hand. Watch as her fingers slowly close over her empty palm, a space I was supposed to fill.

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