Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(2)

Fuck me, right?

Oscar keeps chatting. “I have ten minutes before I go chase Charlie around Manhattan with my husband.” I heard Jack is filming some kind of travel project for Charlie while We Are Calloway is in post-production. Editors are tweaking the Summer Olympic footage for the newest season.

The docuseries is fire—the kind of television that makes you think a bit harder. I do love those shows as much as the ones that just entertain and help you escape for a second. Just gotta be in the right mood for each one.

Oscar and I used to have a bet to see how many times our faces appear on We Are Calloway, but I put a halt on that ever since he married into production and became more than background filler. I didn’t have a hundred bucks to lose. Not when I was giving my paycheck to Scottie.

I still am.

But Akara offered all of Security Force Omega a raise. So now I do have some cash on hand. It’s not all going down the Scottie drain. I appreciate what Akara did, knowing he upped everyone’s pay to help me out, but I wish I could’ve proved that I had this under control myself.

That I didn’t need to take in order to give.

“I’ve got less than ten minutes,” I tell Oscar while I linger in the foyer. “I’m picking up Xander for school.” My eyes graze the Hale family photos on the hallway table, and I tear my gaze away before I see her face. “You hear rumors about a wedding ceremony?”

“That’s one of the things I was calling about, bro. Did you know?”

“Nah. If it’s true, it must’ve been a spontaneous thing after their proposal. Certified Meadows.”

“I’m not shocked they flew all the way to motherfucking Fiji or that they would tie the knot early, just that Kitsuwon didn’t ask for my help in keeping that shit under wraps. Stealth was at an all-time low. There’s like a hundred pics of them frolicking in the ocean.”

I laugh.

Banks Moretti and Akara Kitsuwon most likely married Sullivan Meadows in Fiji. They were all wearing the same kind of braided twine on their ring finger. Pictures surfaced maybe an hour ago. Two or three? With the time difference (nighttime in Fiji, morning in Philly) and the photo leak, it’s sorta hard to pinpoint the exact moment it all happened. No one else is there. Just the three of them in what I’m thinking was a private ceremony. Except for the paparazzi.

They caught everything.

I’m still grinning. “Guess they didn’t care if the whole world saw.”

I imagine Oscar grinning right back. “Good for them.”

“Stamp,” I say, stamping my name all over that statement in agreement. I’m wondering if Oscar already saw my tweet early this morning.

Three thumbs up for the happy triad ?? ?? ?? #KitsullettiForever #polyawesome





I didn’t want to confirm a wedding happened because A.) they might want to hold off on a public statement since they most often ignore press, and B.) no one in security has confirmed if it’s real or rumor yet, even if it looks real to me.

My one tweet ignited a bunch of comments.

@callowayzrulz: Three thumbs down! Sulli is such a disappointment. She should’ve chosen ONE guy. It’s gross she’s with two.





@GorrforEternity01: stop advocating for Sulli to be with two men. It’s not right.





@Jer_Bear78: we were all rooting for her and then Sulli goes and does this. #KitsullettiNever #polyawful





@love-beam8: Evidence that the Meadows are the worst family. Cobalts & Hales would never. Fight me.





Akara isn’t in my time zone or on the same continent to suspend me from Twitter. So I told love-beam8 to go eat a cupcake. Find their happy place.

People who hate on Kitsulletti think it’s their 9-5 job to burn anything happy. And I’m always hoping to preserve good, joyous things.

“Second thing I wanted to talk to you about,” Oscar says while I’m in the cozy living room. Quiet and still. No one is awake yet, maybe. Xander’s parents are usually late risers like he is.

“What’s that?” I whisper.

“The triple date.”

I hold in a sigh. Not this again. “Triple Date? Never heard of her.” I swig my coffee. “What’s she look like?”

“You’d know if your ass stopped bailing on us. Farrow and I invited you to a triple date, not a two-hour mass. What’s the issue, bro?”

“Been busy.”

I’m not busy enough where I can’t make time for my friends.

“Not busy enough to bail on us,” Oscar retorts. He knows me well. “You were never averse to double dates with Redford, so a triple one shouldn’t be complicated.”

It shouldn’t be, yeah.

I’m quiet.

Oscar fills the silence. “Two weeks from now. I have the night off. We’re going out. Come out with us. Me, you, Redford, his husband, my husband, and whatever date you want to brin—”

“Shhseee.” I make a static crackling noise. “You’re…break…sorry—”

“Donnel—”

“You’re…break…up—”

“You motherfucker—”

“Can’t hear…got…go.” I drop the phone off my shoulder, letting the cell thump onto the top of the couch. After setting down one of the coffees on the floor to free a hand, I hang up on Oscar.