8
DORI
Reid is trying to talk me into sleeping over as I slide my feet into my faux leather Payless loafers and he pulls on a paint-splattered Ralph Lauren hoodie.
‘Did you wear that to the Habitat project last week?’
Glancing down, he shrugs. ‘Nah. It came like this.’
‘Huh,’ I say. ‘So it looks like that … on purpose? I guess a good portion of my wardrobe is more hip than I thought.’ Silly me, wearing the less-shabby stuff.
I’m glad to be leaving town today for at least one reason – the fact that Kayla and Aimee will kill me when they see photos of what I wore last night. They’ve both admitted to stalking Reid online now, though I suspect they were following gossip about him long before he ever wrecked his car and stumbled into my humble social circle. They’ll be appalled once they get an eyeful of my drab Fashion Don’t, days after their warnings that I should never wear my own clothes out with Reid.
They never told me what, exactly, I’m supposed to wear in place of what I own.
He pulls me up from his bed and slides his arms around me. ‘I don’t want to hand you over yet.’
Trailing one finger down the jagged, oversized metallic teeth of his hoodie zipper, I say, ‘We’ve already – you know. Twice.’ His arms tighten in response and he nuzzles my face with a low hmm. Forget what people say about make-up sex – I’ve decided going-away sex doesn’t get nearly as much credit as it deserves. ‘If I stay, we’d probably just sleep anyway.’
‘And that would be bad because …?’
I press my head to his chest and breathe him in. There’s nothing I’d like better than to kick off my shoes and climb back into his bed. ‘It’s my last night at home, at least for a while. Plus, my dad promised to make my favourite breakfast – banana walnut waffles – in the morning.’
His fingers encircle my wrist and he pushes the cuff of my shirt back to kiss the pulse thrumming there. ‘I can get you home in time for breakfast,’ he whispers.
Eyes downcast, I can’t swallow the lump in my throat. ‘I’ll miss you.’
‘No, you won’t,’ he says. My eyes flash up and give my misery away, and he sighs. ‘God, Dori. You won’t miss me because I’m going to see you as often as I can get there or fly you here. In fact, the premiere for Mercy Killing is right before Valentine’s Day. I want you to come with me.’
I almost forgot about the romantic action flick he’ll be promoting with Chelsea Radin over the next month. Thank goodness I met and liked Chelsea and her husband, Chad, last week. Some of the steamy film stills of her with Reid are unbearable to look at. I don’t know if I’ll be able to take the live-action scenes. I’d love to ask Chad how he copes with his wife doing scenes like that without wanting to pulverize her male co-stars.
‘During the week? I’d have to skip at least a day of classes, Reid – I don’t think that’s a good idea, so early in the semester.’
He groans. ‘How did I know you would be that academically conscientious type of student? Bet you got straight A’s in high school too.’
‘No, I didn’t.’ When he crooks an eyebrow, I admit, ‘I have to study incessantly to do well. Learning new things doesn’t come easy for me like it does for some people, and cramming doesn’t work, either. I did earn mostly A’s, but I got several B’s and two C’s.’
‘Oh, no!’ he mocks. ‘Two? We might have to break up. In what subjects did you make these abysmal grades?’
‘Pre-AP geometry and biology. Freshman year.’ After Colin dumped me and I had an abortion. When I could hardly stomach going to school and seeing him every day. When I sank into a depression so deep that only Deb was able to reach me.
His expression darkens. ‘Freshman year – spring semester.’
I nod, and he pulls me tighter.
It’s pre-dawn dark when Dad comes into my room bearing coffee. ‘Wake up, sleepyhead,’ he says, setting a mug on my night table and gently jostling my shoulder.
I grumble incoherently, having only had four hours of sleep after Reid dropped me off. He wanted to walk me to the door, but I asked him not to because it too closely recalled our final farewell – or so we thought – before my volunteer mission to Ecuador. Before Deb’s accident. Before I lost myself, dragged under by the implicit loss of my sister and my faith. I didn’t even begin to resurface until Reid found me.
We kissed goodbye in his car for half an hour before I could make myself go inside. I waved once before slipping inside the darkened house, and as soon as I shut the door, silent tears began skating down my face. Treading carefully up the staircase – the last thing I needed was for Mom to get a look at my dejected expression – I chided myself for being ridiculous. I would see him again in a week or two. Three at most.
Dad settles on the edge of my bed now and sips his coffee while I sit up and reach for mine.
‘Ready for a long, boring day on the road, followed by a million trips from a pint-sized rental truck to your new dorm room?’
‘Ugh. Dad, sometimes your propensity to tell the absolute truth is less welcome than other times.’
He chuckles. ‘You’ll find out soon enough, once we get on the 5. Hours and hours of the opposite of a scenic thoroughfare. Although you’re in luck – you’ll be treated to my witty company the whole way! If you’re truly fortunate, I’ll bounce my Sunday sermon ideas off you. I’m dithering between either the trials of Job or Hannah’s unceasing plea to God for a son.’
I crack an eye open. ‘Gosh, Dad. Gloomy much?’
He shrugs and says, ‘They both came to good in the end.’
‘Sure, after lifetimes of suffering and praying for favours that were unobtainable without a miracle.’ Without waiting for his response, I shift the subject to the one we’re avoiding. ‘So … Mom is driving the car, and I’m riding in the truck with you? She’s still that angry at me about Reid?’
He stares into his mug. ‘She’s not angry, Dori. She’s concerned.’
‘When I’m concerned about someone, I don’t stop talking to them,’ I counter.
He nods without replying, and I see that he agrees with me in this, at least. Giving up on me, even if he believes I’m making rotten choices, isn’t an option. I won’t push him further, though, because my parents seldom disagree, and I don’t want to be the cause of an argument between them. I just want to live my own life. Mom will either change her mind or she won’t. If anyone can change it, it’s my father.
REID
Me: Call me when you’re ready to tell me your news. Headed to an appointment with George.
Brooke: Give me 10 minutes.
Brooke wastes no time on pleasantries when I answer – not that we’ve actually been pleasant with each other even once in the past five years. ‘I saw the attorney yesterday.’
Ridiculously, I thought I’d braced myself well enough for this conversation. Wrong.
‘You’ve retained an attorney already? Jesus, Brooke, what are you doing?’
‘I’m applying to adopt him.’
I nearly rear-end the tiny classic convertible in front of me, the Ferrari’s brakes squealing and catching at the last possible second and whipping me forward in my seat. The driver turns and shoots me the finger. I grip the wheel with both hands to keep from shooting it back.
Whatever cracked idea I expected Brooke to disclose this morning, whatever I imagined her finding in Austin, whatever absurd course of action I dreaded she might try to take – this is miles beyond it.
‘Oh, my God, Brooke – why? You can’t be a mother to this kid –’
‘Why the hell not?’ she retorts. ‘I’m financially sound. I can provide whatever he needs. And by the way I am his mother.’
She’s lost her mind, though implying that probably won’t do any good.
Logic? Worth a shot. ‘Kids need more than a biological connection and money – they need attention. Two parents, preferably. A family. They need someone to be there full time.’
‘Oh, please – attention? A family – like you or I got? I have more parents than I can shake a stick at, and most of them sucked. And your parents were so clueless they let you nearly kill yourself on multiple occasions.’
She has good points, dammit, though I prefer throwing my dad under the bus to blaming Mom. She’s been quietly disappearing nearly every afternoon for about an hour and a half, and I haven’t seen her drink a drop in almost two months. I suspect she’s attending the AA meetings Dori suggested, but I haven’t asked and don’t plan to.
‘You’re right – they pretty much across-the-board sucked ass as parents. And yet you think you’ll do a better job than any of them? At your age? By yourself? And with your proclivity for partying and screwing around?’
‘God-f*cking-dammit, Reid – you have no right to preach at me about screwing around –’
‘Not to mention your language – and before you try to turn that around, remember that I’m not saying I want to raise a kid. And I don’t give a shit who you sleep with, otherwise –’
‘I party to keep from being bored – or haven’t you ever done that?’ She knows damned well I’ve done exactly that. ‘We’re single, young celebrities. Partying is expected. It’s practically an unspoken part of my PR strategy. I’ve never given an actual shit about doing it – I’m more than happy to ditch it. My public relations machine will just have to switch gears. And by the way – my sex life, not that it’s any of your business, is heavily fabricated. I’m more particular than the media portrays me to be.’
She’s making too much sense, and she’s thought this all the way out – which is even more alarming. ‘Okay, fine, whatever – but you have to admit that having a kid to raise will interfere with your socializing, whatever form it takes, not to mention your filming schedule.’
‘Will it? How? Newsflash – lots of actors have children.’
‘Not when they’re twenty and alone.’
She’s silent for two beats, and I think that maybe she’ll be reasonable. But no.
‘I’ll be twenty-one in three months, and I’m not without resources and support. But more importantly, you’re missing the point of this call. I’m not trying to convince you of the rightness of my actions or my suitability as a parent. I’m informing you, not asking your permission. If you’d rather I didn’t keep you informed, I won’t. It’s that simple.’
Shit. ‘No – I want to know. I mean, he’s … he’s mine, right? Jesus.’ My heart rate has doubled during this conversation. ‘Brooke, I haven’t told anyone about him.’
‘No kidding.’
‘I mean no one. My parents don’t know. George doesn’t know. John doesn’t know. God … My girlfriend doesn’t know.’
If I wasn’t manoeuvring through snarled LA traffic, I would take a five-second timeout and beat my damned head on the steering wheel. While counting.
‘I saw that online this morning – so it’s true? You have a girlfriend. An actual non-celeb, pastor’s daughter girlfriend. Who you met during court-ordered community service? I was sure the whole thing was all some sort of clever public relations scam to help you dodge your recent weed-smoking, DUI-allegations image.’
‘No scam. It’s real.’
‘Jesus. I don’t even – I’m speechless. You’ve actually managed to shock me.’
‘Well, ditto. This insane conversation is jam-packed with shocking. You want to be someone’s mother, and I want to be someone’s boyfriend.’ I can’t help but laugh, and she joins in, and soon we’re both laughing so hard we can’t stop. ‘We’ve come a long way, Brooke.’
‘Yeah,’ she says softly. ‘We have.’
‘So what now?’
She takes a deep breath before answering. ‘I meant what I said before – I mean to claim River as mine, but I don’t intend to reveal his paternity. So if you want to keep it to yourself, you can.’
‘River? That’s his name? Did you name him – you know, before –’
‘No. The people who adopted him named him. I don’t know why they chose it. Maybe they knew my name and they thought River was a play on it. Maybe they named him after someone. Maybe they named him for the colour of his eyes …’
‘He has blue eyes? I guess that’s not surprising in a kid we’d make.’ I still can’t wrap my head around this fact.
‘They aren’t just blue, Reid – they’re your eyes. He looks like the photos of you that your mom kept in the family room, the ones on top of that baby grand no one ever played.’
My curiosity overrides any sense I’ve got, and I want to know what he looks like.
Brooke, reading my mind, says, ‘Bethany only gave me one photo of him, but I’ll scan it and send it to you, if you want.’
‘Brooke – are you sure about this? What you’re doing? It sounds like he’s had a tough time. You might mean well, but …’
‘I’m sure. I’ll send the photo in a few minutes – I’ll get Kathryn to scan it.’
‘So how long will it be until – you have him?’
‘The attorney said four to six months until I can even lay hands on him.’
‘What?’
‘I know, right? Finally – someone who gets my reaction. I about shit a brick.’
This still feels completely unreal. ‘How will that work? You have to come back to LA to film the show, right?’
‘I don’t know. I think I’m going to have the home study done here, which means I need to establish residence here. I have to talk to Kathryn and Glenn. I’ll have to travel back and forth until it’s final, but I can’t just … leave him here. I can’t just go back to my life, knowing he’s here without me.’
‘But if you can’t see him, what’s the point of staying there?’
She sighs. ‘I’m praying for a miracle.’
The thought of Brooke praying for anything is inconsistent with anything I’ve ever known about her.
Fifteen minutes later, she sends the photo to my phone. I’ve just arrived at George’s office when I pull it up and nearly walk into the glass door. ‘Watch out, dude!’ a FedEx guy yells, waking me from my stupor in time to swerve.
Inside, I stop and stand motionless in the centre of the glass and chrome atrium of my manager’s building. As I stare at the photo on my display, I realize one thing. This wasn’t real. He wasn’t real. None of it was real – not until this moment.