Page 35 of Reign

“I have a baby, you turd!”

Something bumps my shoulder—the rude guy waiting behind me. “You fuckin’ spunk tissue, that’s a motha you nearly ran over! A motha! What’s wrong with you? You got a problem with a lady trying to walk her child across the road? You wanna go? You wanna go with me?”

And just like that, an asshole becomes my savior. Typical New York. I scamper away with an oblivious Blair, appreciative of the Brooklyn man for coming to my rescue but schooled in the art of disappearing in the midst of a driver-pedestrian throwdown in the city.

The smell of freshly roasted coffee attracts my sense of smell as the men’s voices fade into the background. A hot chocolate sounds like the perfect ending to my stroll with Blair, even if it comes at a mere $12 a pop. She bounces along with my picked up speed, happily dreaming with pursed, rosebud lips, and I wrestle the door open into the warm interior, the sudden burst of lighting and belting of Christmas music doing nothing to disturb her sleep.

I think I like newborns.

The line isn’t that long, and I take my place, putting one hand to my hip as the other rests on the stroller and stare out the storefront window.

There.

Another burst of hair the color of dry sand popping up among sharp grays, serious blacks, and hopeful whites of NYC fashion.

It’s not possible. I can’t be wishing for Chase’s presence on Christmas Eve. Not after what he’s done and what I allowed myself to do with him. Too much has come between us. Avenging Ivy. Finding justice for my mother. Nuking Sabine. This holiday reprieve with the Meyer-Spencers is nice, but every time I glance down at my sister, I’m reminded of innocence and how easily it can be smothered by evil.

So much more important than love.

There it is again: that stupid feeling that creeps into my mind at the most unwanted times. I don’t love Chase Stone. I don’t care about him. I don’t.

Disgusted with myself, I swivel to the front.

“Callie?”

I blink at the girl in front of me, dressed in a boyfriend blazer and pleather leggings, her shins hugged by gray, sheepskin boots with a crisscross of endless laces. Her features solidify, familiarize, and I swallow a small gasp. “Sylvie?”

“My God, I thought it was you, but the stroller threw me.” Sylvie tucks a long, mermaid-length strand of silvery blonde hair behind her ear as she stares down at Blair, her stack of gold bracelets jangling. “She’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah,” I say, latching on to the wonderful distraction of Blair rather than ponder the impact of seeing Sylvie for the first time since her overdose. “She is.”

Sylvia giggles when she reaches down to tickle one of Blair’s exposed palms and Blair clamps around her finger. “She has your lips for sure.”

“Oh—Jesus, no.” I laugh too loudly. “She’s not mine. She’s, uh … she’s my sister.”

Sylvie’s eyes, anime-large on a normal day, stretch wide when she meets mine again. “Wow. A sister?”

“Yeah. Dad remarried.” Shit, this is awkward. I wish for the line to go faster, but this is an artisan coffee shop on Madison Ave. On Christmas Eve. Even their drip coffee is a crazy pour-over method requiring at least ten minutes.

Why did I choose to come here again? Oh, right. Nearly being hit by a car and seeing the Ghost of Chase Present everywhere.

Next thing you know, I’ll be seeing Sabine’s malicious reflection in mirrors.

The thought of her face haunting me on Christmas Eve, with Blair mere inches away, causes a deep-seated shudder to crawl from the base of my spine. My grip clenches on the stroller.

“You okay?”

“Totally great.” I rub my temple, smearing Sabine’s image and looking for a pressure-point that could ease my headache. “You? What are you doing on Madison? This doesn’t seem like your—I mean, I’m not trying to presume. Maybe you love coming here now, shopping at Saks and sampling rare hot chocolate beans…”

I’m rambling. And I’m also here. With a baby snoozing lavishly in the latest $1000 stroller.

Sylvie tucks her hair behind her ear again, a nervous habit she must have picked up after we stopped talking to each other. “Matt and I were looking at the window decorations, and like the little girl he is, he had to pee after we walked five blocks. So, you’re still hanging out with Pete as your dad, huh?”

Since I don’t know Sylvie well enough anymore to understand if that’s a jibe, I respond, “Yep. We’ve reached a sort of understanding. He’s tried to be there for me.” It feels like a well-versed script on my tongue, but I keep my expression controlled. Solid.

Sylvie raises her brows. “It’s really cool, you know. I love how you still call him ‘Dad,’ even after…” Sylvie trails off, chewing her lower lip but keeping her focus pinned on me. “I totally thought after losing your mom, you’d want nothing to do with him anymore.”

“It surprised me, too,” I say honestly. “But, he’s all I had left.”

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