Uhh . . Best question. How was it?
Kenzie
It was too many dirty martinis. They were very, very dirty.
Gracie
Kenzie - where are you? I’ll come get you.
Lindy
Just checked the app. She’s at West End.
Kenzie
I’m at Maddox’s bar with some friends from school. I’m fine.
Brynlee
Dude. She has other friends?
Everly
Do we do other friends?
Gracie
You don’t because nobody else wants to be your friend. Sorry not sorry, sissy.
Everly
I’m gonna smother you with my pompom, sissy.
Kenzie
Somebody woke up and chose violence today.
Lindy
My plane’s about to board. I’ll be home either really late or really early, depending on how you look at it. See you tomorrow.
Everly
Drinks at West End tomorrow night so you can fill us all in on how last night went?
Brynlee
No fair. I won’t be home until after midnight tomorrow.
Gracie
You saw her today.
Lindy
Sounds good. See you tomorrow.
I’m absolutely giddy from the pictures I have to share with you today, peeps. Baby Kingston in her hot, hockey hubby’s jersey, wrapped around said hottie like a koala bear. Check out the second pic, people. There is definitely ass grabbage happening, and I’m here for it all. Did anyone else notice how baggy that jersey is, folks? Could it be hiding something like a bump? Forget #babywatch. I think we need a new hashtag. #bumpwatch. Go forth and let me know if you spot one before I do.
#KroydonKronicles
LINDY
Red-eyes suck. Especially when you’re losing time, and Seattle is three hours behind Kroydon Hills. So there’s three hours of my life I’m never getting back. Add to that the extra hour we sat waiting on the tarmac before we took off last night, and I’m cranky, exhausted, and not at all in the mood to deal with the reporters following me through the airport.
But holy shit.
They’ve got nothing on the ones flashing cameras in my face when I step outside.
It’s a madhouse as I try to make my way to the massive SUV Uber waiting at the curb.
I ignore them as best I can. This isn’t the first time everyone has wanted a picture or a comment, and it won’t be the last. But it may be the first time they’ve been this intrusive. I’m used to Charles being here to handle it. Guess that’s what I get for exerting my independence. I might be regretting that one right about now.
I nearly trip as a camera is shoved in front of my face, and I stumble to open the back door. With shaky hands, I steady myself, slide in, and slam the door shut.
The driver turns around. The smell of weed mixes with a nasty air freshener, like that’s going to mask it. “You a celebrity or something?”
“I’m a figure skater,” I tell him and buckle my seat belt. This guy doesn’t need to know I’m a Kingston, and I’m not about to advertise it.
Shit. If that thought doesn’t make me realize maybe I do need some form of security, I’m not sure what will.
The driver confirms my address, and I shoot off a text to my sister Amelia’s husband, Sam, asking if he’s got time to talk today. I’m willing to at least discuss security if it’s on my own terms. If they work for me, I can tell them to back off when I need space. They’ll answer to me, not my family.
The city streets are empty as we make the quick drive from the city back to Kroydon Hills. It gives me a chance to get my bearings before the driver, thankfully, pulls into our building’s underground garage to let me out. As I open the door, he scoffs, “Didn’t know figure skaters got paid enough to live here.”
Eww.
I refuse to dignify that shitty comment and shut the door. “Thanks.”
He’s definitely not getting a good review.
I smile at our doorman and consider stopping in the coffee shop but decide sleep trumps caffeine this morning. Elevator it is. My bed is calling me.
But when the doors open, I’m on the sixth floor, not the seventh, and Kenzie is waiting to step on. She looks at me and closes her eyes. She’s a hot mess. Messy hair. Smoky eyes smudged, but her day old-mascara still looks half decent. What the hell?
“What are you doing down here?” I ask as I hit the button to close the doors.
Kenzie’s head thunks against the wall, and she shushes me. “Not so loud,” she whispers.
Ok-ay. Guess it’s her turn for the hangover from hell.
This day is off to a stellar start.
The two of us ride up to our floor in silence, then pass Gracie in the hall. “Hey. You’re back,” she smiles, then looks Kenzie over like she smelled a skunk.
“Yeah. Just got in. You off to class?” I ask.
“Yup. Baby ballerinas at Mom’s studio. We still on for drinks tonight?” Grace asks, and Kenzie groans and shoulders past us into the condo. “What’s her problem?”
“No clue. Did you see her last night?”
Gracie shakes her head. “But judging by the look of her, I’d say she either had a really good night or a really bad one. It could go either way.”
“Yeah. Guess so. I’m gonna go crash. I’ll see you tonight.”
She moves to the elevator, and if I had the energy to run, I’d sprint to my bed. Myrtle greets me when I walk through the door, and I give her some loving and a treat, then let her follow me to my room. She uses her doggy stairs to get on my bed, and then my lazy dog passes out before I do.
The next time I wake up, it’s because Everly is sitting on my bed, laughing.
I crack an eye open, close it again, and rub both eyes with my fists.
“What are you doing here?” I grumble and push my hair out of my face, then wipe the drool from my mouth. I’m not what you’d call a pretty sleeper.
Evie laughs at something she’s reading on her phone and leans back against my pillows, smiling. “The game starts in an hour, and I thought you’d want to shower before we hit up West End.” She looks back down at her phone and laughs harder. “You should see this shit. The Kronicle is doing a bump watch and polling for an It couple nickname. My fave is Hazy. Get it? Hayes and Lindy—Hazy.”
I grab my glasses from my nightstand and force myself to sit up so I can see what she’s looking at. “Wait . . . did you just say bump watch? Like they think I’m pregnant? Did they get another fat picture? Jesus. One fucking burrito and everyone thinks I’m pregnant.”
“They’ve been speculating the quickie wedding was because you’re pregnant. Have a few drinks at West End tonight. That should put it to rest. Some asshole will snap a pic and send it in.”
I snatch her phone and look at the screen. There’s over two thousand comments on the last post. “Two thousand people are discussing whether I’m pregnant because my jersey was big last night?” I shake my head and toss the phone back to her, then lie back down. “It’s a jersey. They’re big.”