4
BROOKE
Travel is nothing unusual for me. Though getting from one place to another via various airports is tedious as all get-out, it’s just something to endure. It’s not panic-inducing, for chrissake. Even so, my flight leaves in three hours, and every time I think about landing in Austin, I feel like I’m going to puke.
One wheeled Louis Vuitton bag waits by the front door, and in ten minutes the other will join it, ready for the car service to transport me to LAX. I’ve put off calling Reid back, still unused to voluntarily sharing information with him. Doing so borders on trust – something altogether unnatural in conjunction with Reid Alexander. But I said I’d keep him posted, so I dial his number, fully expecting to go to voicemail.
Instead, he answers, annoyingly cheerful. ‘Hey, I was just about to call you.’
Balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear, I sweep a load of cosmetics from the vanity counter into a travel bag and zip it shut. ‘You know this is Brooke, right?’
‘I looked this time. Aren’t you proud?’
What right does he have to be so f*cking happy? Oh, yeah. Because he’s Reid Alexander, who checks out of any sense of responsibility over anything ever. ‘Glancing at your screen before answering your phone is a debatable source of pride, Reid, though I guess you have to take it where you find it.’
He ignores the barb. ‘So what did you find out?’
Am I actually talking to Reid, or has some alien taken over his body? He’s too happy to be ill. Though I sure as hell know crazy people can be irrationally happy. ‘Uh, well, Bethany brought a photo of him –’
‘Really? Wow.’
‘– and like I told you, he’s in foster care. Long-term foster care.’
‘What do you mean – “long-term”?’
‘The parental rights of his adoptive mother were officially terminated months ago. Her husband died a couple of years ago – Bethany’s checking on how, not that it matters. It looks like she started using meth after that and didn’t care who she took down with her. She’s been through court-ordered treatment twice and blew it both times, so she’s never getting him back.’ I think about a two-year-old River, left with no father and a drug-zombie of a mother – and I stuff two pairs of jeans into my case with more force than necessary. ‘I don’t know where she is now – jail, crack house, on the streets hooking for daily hits – and I don’t care.’
‘Jesus. Wow.’
I roll my eyes at his second wow. I’m so not in the mood for his incredulity. Not when I’m damned sure he’s going to drop this cold as soon as he knows what I’m about to do.
‘I’m going to Austin.’
If question marks were audible, I’d have just heard one from his end.
‘That’s where he is – just south of Austin.’
‘So you’re going to go to Austin to – what?’ Suspicion laces his tone, not so glib now, like he’s finally getting it.
I told Kathryn and Bethany Shank that this trip was part responsibility, part curiosity, but that was stretching the truth. This child I’ve never seen or held exerts a deep, gravitational sort of draw. Against all odds, I feel a bond between us that has for four years surfaced on his birthday only. It isn’t mere curiosity pulling me to Texas and I know it.
‘I’m going to check on his situation. I’m going to find out … if I can get him back.’
Silence. Dead silence. I wish I could reclaim the words and leave them unsaid. It figures that Reid would be the one I blurt the whole truth to.
‘Brooke, the kid’s not a pair of Lanvin slingbacks. You can’t just put in an order at Barney’s and pick him up later. You gave up your rights to him. He can be adopted by someone else now, right? You gave him away –’
‘I know that, Reid. Don’t you think I f*cking know that?’
I hate that he put it that way – gave him away. As if I sacrificed nothing to do it and traipsed off scot-free, like he did.
‘Yeah, okay, okay – but no one’s going to let you disrupt his life now just to –’
‘Disrupt his life? He’s in foster care. And I’m his mother.’
More silence, and I think I’m as stunned as he is by my declaration. It’s clear that he doesn’t feel the same obligation I feel, but this has never been his burden. It has only ever been mine. His twelve-step apology, no matter what it stems from, doesn’t extend that far.
‘Look, I don’t expect you to be involved or anything, okay? I didn’t claim that you were his father four and a half years ago, and I won’t now – not that there might not be some media speculation –’
‘Brooke. You can’t seriously mean to go to Austin and bring him back to LA? What about your career? Or the fact that you’re twenty? And single?’
I should have known he wouldn’t understand.
‘What, like there’s no such thing as a single mother? Besides which, I can’t think that far ahead right now. All I know is he needs me and I’m going and I don’t give a shit who thinks what about it, including you. Just deny you’re his father, if it comes to that. I’m sure Graham and Emma won’t tell, and they’re the only ones who know. I have to go now. Later, Reid.’
I press end and toss the phone on to the bed.
I still hate saying Graham’s name. Or thinking about him. I press my fingers to my sternum, hard, because it hurts. It always hurts when I think about him.
The weather in Austin is close to that of Los Angeles this time of year, though it’s a bit more volatile. I roll up a jacket and cram it alongside the jeans. And then I stop dead, thinking about River. He’ll need clothes. And toys. And soap. And … whatever else kids his age need. Special food? A nanny? I have no idea. I have no idea. The enormity of this decision swirls around me and fills the room, insinuating that I can’t possibly do this.
I’m going to fail. One way or another, I’m going to fail.
I’ve heard those same sorts of prophecies inside my own head my entire life, and I learned long ago to ignore them. At fifteen, I decided to become a movie star, and now I am. I run my career and my personal life as I see fit, and no one – no one – tells me what to do. I screw up occasionally – like I did with Graham. That failure cost me my best friend, and I’ll never come to terms with it. ‘Dammit,’ I mutter, yanking the second case from the bed and shoving Graham Douglas from my mind. Again.
If I get to Austin and believe there’s a viable alternative to me taking my son back, I’ll consider it. Otherwise, I’m just going to have to figure this single parent shit out.
REID
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Tonight, Dori and I have our first public date. We have literally days until she leaves for Berkeley, which is an ass-numbingly boring five-hour drive from LA. The last thing I want to do is drop Oh by the way – I’m a father … sort of on her right before she goes.
The longer I don’t tell her, the worse it becomes that I haven’t.
Unless she never finds out.
The probability of Brooke actually bringing the kid home with her like he’s a puppy from the pound is doubtful. Aside from the legal implications of her having relinquished her rights to him, there’s the simple fact that Brooke Cameron doesn’t voluntarily interact with children. Even Graham’s kid seemed like no more than a means to an end to her – an inconvenience she knew she’d have to tolerate to be with him. She’s got a younger half-brother, I think, born after we split, but I’ve never seen a single photo of her with him. Although that could have as much to do with avoidance of her father, whom she loathes.
Would Dori do that for me? Though I don’t plan to claim paternity publicly, no matter what I plead guilty to privately.
Christ, I can’t even go there right now. Dori was abandoned by that guy in high school, and on the surface, what happened between Brooke and me looks no different. Except that Brooke told me she was pregnant … and then I abandoned her.
F*ck. If I was religious, I would cross myself.
Life was so much easier before I had a conscience.
Brooke has complete control over what happens now, and I’m never fond of that scenario. She’s volatile and impulsive – not a safe combination, though she said she wouldn’t tell. Graham and Emma aren’t going to out me, either, though I can just imagine their united disapproval, if I happen to run into them.
Once I find out what Brooke plans to do, I’ll tell Dori.
Or not.
Good plan.
Dori: What are we doing? A hint, please? Or just tell me? I don’t know what to wear.
Me: A casual dinner, then a party at my friend John’s place.
Dori: A party??
Me: It’s not a big deal. If you don’t want to go, we don’t have to.
Dori: No. If this is how you want to do it, then let’s do it. What should I wear?
Me: Whatever you want
Dori: You always say that!
Me: And I always mean it.