Page 59 of Songbird
“It’s a great dupe,” I comment, touching the sequins sewn into the fabric cinching Daisy’s waist. “Where’d you find it?”
“A costume store I found online,” Daisy admits. “Where’d you get yours?”
“Dior.”
“Ah.” Daisy shifts her feet. “Of course.”
I pick up her hand to admire the delicate charm bracelet on her wrist. “This is gorgeous. You’ll have to tell me where I can get one just like it.”
She smoothly removes her hand from mine and shifts her weight to one foot, then the other. “I’m not sure. Sorry. It was a gift.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this flustered,” Finn says, his tone a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Think you can pull yourself together enough to enjoy your night?”
Daisy suddenly stands taller, rolls her shoulders back, and glares at her brother. “If you’d given me a little warning that you were bringingRosalie Thorneto dinner, maybe I wouldn’t have made a complete ass of myself.”
Finn chuckles but has the good sense to rub his neck with chagrin. “Maybe you’re right, but this moment will go down as a highlight of Davenport family night.”
I warm to the idea that I’ve somehow made it into Finn’s family history, but Daisy smacks his chest, hard enough that Finn at least pretends to flinch. Satisfied, Daisy turns to me.
“I’m going to change,” she says, “but before I do, let me complete my humiliation by confessing that I am, most probably, your biggest fan. I know every word to every song you’ve ever released. I went to three of your shows last year, and I paid way too much for a piece of trash that you may or may not have dropped coming out of a hair salon in 2022.” She finishes with a flourish and a bow. “Make of that what you will. I’m off to find an open window.”
I laugh and stop her from leaving with a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t change your clothes on my account. You look fantastic.”
“Thanks, but I can’t possibly share air and food and karaoke with you dressed as you. It’s too shameful.”
Even though Daisy is the one that’s made our introduction one of the most unusual I’ve experienced, I’m the person anxious to rescue it. I want Finn’s siblings to like me. “I’ll save you a seat at the table?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
With a final scowl for Finn that only makes him laugh, Daisy disappears upstairs. I watch her retreat until Finn scoops me up in his arms and kisses me tenderly enough to make my knees weak. I have to grip his upper arms to keep myself from swooning.
“I hope she’s okay,” I say.
“Who? Daisy?” Finn grins. “She’s fine. Trust me. My baby sister’s tough enough to get over a little unexpected embarrassment, and as soon as she is, she’ll be telling this story for the rest of her life.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” He kisses the frown from my mouth with a series of soft kisses, and I take a relaxing breath. “I promise you there’s no need to worry. Tonight might already be the best family night ever.”
twenty
Finn
There’sashortgameof musical chairs when it’s time for us to sit at the table. Izzy begs for a seat beside Rosie, and Rosie stands by her promise to save the chair on her other side for Daisy. I’m bumped to the seat directly opposite, and while at first I’m disappointed that I’m not close enough to slip a sneaky palm on Rosie’s thigh or wipe the spot of sauce from the corner of her mouth before she gets it with her napkin, there’s the small consolation that from this vantage point, I can keep my eyes on her for the hour we’re sitting down to dinner.
It’s a lesson in all the ways Rosie shines.
I’ve thought before that even stripped of professional makeup, designer clothes, and a celebrity spotlight, Rosie is the brightest star in any room. If I had any doubt about how right I was, this dinner with my family puts it to rest. She’s dazzling, yes, and it takes me a little study to figure out why. Finally, in a moment that hits me like a blow to the stomach, I realize she’s a reflection of people lighting up around her. Rosie steers the discussion away from herself by asking the people I love abouttheirlives,theirpassions,theirdreams. You’d think they’d betoo starstruck to respond with anything real, but there’s no mistaking how curious Rosie is or her genuine interest in other people’s stories. In a surprisingly short span of time, everyone’s opening up and relaxing and sharing stories that make her laugh and cry and reach across the table to clink her glass, exchange a tortilla chip, or offer a hug.
Rosie is perfect in a way I didn’t know a person could be perfect, and it makes me forget all the reasons she shouldn’t belong here.
Sometime after the last round of tacos, while Dylan’s dishing up slices of caramel flan, I catch Rosie’s eye across the table. Her face is framed with wild tendrils of curls that have escaped her ponytail, and her creamy cheeks are flushed from one and a half margaritas and the rush of laughter and conversation. When she notices me staring, her smile falters, and she drops her head to one side. I can read her unspoken question.
What’s that you’re hiding behind your eyes?
And the answer.I don’t know how to let you go.
When our plates are stacked in the sink and Poppy has washed Izzy’s face to remove the last traces of caramel, my buzzing six-year-old niece herds us into the living room.
