by Kate Rorick
Try not to let extraneous stuff distract her in the meantime. Great advice. If only that extraneous stuff wasn’t her mother’s love life and her unborn baby brother’s entire future.
With Foz she was much less cagey, and told him everything. Down to the tattoo on Sebastian’s shoulder.
“Ew,” Foz said. “Oh my God, that’s traumatizing!” Then, “You have to tell your mom. She deserves to know, even with her blood pressure.”
Part of Maisey knew he was right. But another part of her didn’t want to risk it.
To risk . . . not being believed.
Because it was entirely possible her mom wouldn’t believe her. Her mom was head over heels about Sebastian. She hadn’t been able to see straight since he came into her life. Their relationship was complicated, complex, and bewildering to Maisey . . . but it was also this bright and shining thing that lit her mother up in ways Maisey had never seen.
Her mom might not be willing to give that up.
“I can’t,” she said, eventually. “I told Sebastian I would let him tell her.”
“And has he?”
No. No he had not. After school that day, Maisey waited for her mom to come home. She tried to act casual as she asked her mom about her day. She waited a full thirty seconds before asking if she’d heard from Sebastian.
“Not today,” her mom said glumly. Then she brightened. “But he’ll be home in thirty-six hours. Besides, we don’t need to talk every second of every day.”
“Glad to hear it,” Maisey mumbled, the “your mom is needy” defense of his actions crumbling. Then she impulsively reached out, and squeezed her mother’s arm. “You’re totally capable of standing on your own two feet, you know.”
“Oh trust me, I know,” her mom said, on a laugh. “I’ve been doing it forever. But sometimes it’s nice not to have to.”
She wanted to prepare her mom for what was to come. Because if Sebastian hadn’t told her that day, surely he would tell her the next.
Except he hadn’t. No call on the following day. And then, he showed up on her mom’s doorstep, with his duffel in hand, as if he had just stepped off the tour bus.
Her mom had been full of squeals of delight and expansive displays of affection when she opened the door. This continued into the living room, her mom talking a mile a minute about how happy she was to see him, about all the planning she’d been doing.
Meanwhile, Maisey stood, arms crossed over her chest, watching Sebastian, and waiting.
Finally his eyes met hers. Then he turned to her mom and said, “Soph, let’s sit down, okay. I’ve got some stuff to tell you.”
It was about that time that Maisey excused herself to go to her room. And left her door open just enough so she would hear when her mother needed her.
But then . . . Sebastian never said ANYTHING.
“Some stuff” to tell Sophia turned out to be just . . . stuff. Stupid stories about being on a tour bus with a bunch of other guys. Recounting crowd size at their last gig.
“Wow . . . I didn’t know there were that many people in Omaha, period!” her mom said. Then, “But wasn’t Omaha last week?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“So, if that was your last gig, what have you been doing for the past week?”
Maisey braced herself against the door frame. Surely this was the time. He would tell her. He had to.
“Oh! No, that was our last big gig. We had a couple of studio gigs last week. With like, local radio stations. They were small, invite-only shows.”
Oh, they were small, invite-only shows, all right, thought Maisey. She had been the only uninvited guest.
But as her mother made small sounds of acquiescence to Sebastian’s obvious lie, Maisey’s frustration boiled over. Couldn’t she see that her boyfriend was being annoyingly cagey? Couldn’t she tell that this lanky less-than was keeping something from her? These were the thoughts that swirled in her head as her foot—entirely of its own accord—lashed out and kicked her door.
The whole apartment froze at the sound of the thud! of her boot.
“What was that?” Sebastian said.
“Nothing,” her mom replied. “Something is up with Maisey.”
Maisey could practically hear her shaking her head.
“What do you mean?” Sebastian asked.
“I just feel like she’s keeping things from me.” Sophia sighed. “She hasn’t told me a thing about prom, or plans for graduation, or colleges—and I know that they’ve been sending out their acceptances. Maybe you can get it out of her?”
She could feel Sebastian’s discomfort. “I dunno. I always felt like . . . Maisey doesn’t like me that much.”
“Babe, don’t say that,” Sophia replied. “She’s got a lot going on right now is all.”
“If you say so,” he said on a big sigh. “I just think she doesn’t want me around . . . but I don’t want to cause any problems between you two.”
Maisey felt a cold sense of dread run down her spine. She didn’t know what he was doing . . . but it wasn’t good. And it certainly wasn’t telling her mom about his infidelity.
“Don’t worry about Maisey, that’s my job. Now, I’ve got your favorite ready in the fridge . . .” her mom singsonged.
“My favorite is sitting on this couch,” he replied. “But if you’re talking about your famous cherry lemonade, I’ve been dreaming about it for weeks.”
Maisey peeked her head out of her room, in time to see her six months pregnant mother jump up from the couch, have her ass playfully slapped by Sebastian as she crossed to the kitchen door to fetch and carry for him.
For this guy.
This wet, wispy-bearded, cheating guy.
She was done hiding behind doors. She stomped into the living room. Sebastian didn’t even turn around.
“Hey, babe, don’t forget the lemon wedges,” he said, resting his head against the back of the couch.
“Sorry, fresh out of lemon wedges,” Maisey said.
He sat straight up, whirled around in his seat. Then, he tried to relax. “Hey, kid,” he said, loud enough for her mom to hear. “What’s up?”
“What’s up?” she replied. “Oh, I don’t know. Your penis up Vanessa’s vag?”
“Sssshhhhhhhhhhh!” he said, leaping out of his seat. “You . . . wow, you’re blunt.”
“These are blunt times,” Maisey shot back.
“Come on, Maisey, I’m working my way up to it,” he said, this time even lower. They both had their ears pricked for movement from the kitchen. The prevalence of slamming cabinet doors told them that Sophia was too busy trying to find the Fiestaware pitcher and that she hadn’t heard a thing.
“No you’re not. You’re just going to pretend that nothing happened?” Maisey hissed. “That everything is normal?”
“Yes,” Sebastian hissed back. “Because your mom doesn’t need to know about it. Not right now, with the baby. In fact, I was thinking I probably shouldn’t tell her until after the baby comes.”
“What?” Maisey nearly screeched. “That’s three months away! By then it will be too late!”
“Too late for what?” he asked, his voice becoming a sneer. “Too late to get rid of me?”
“Too late for her to make a decision about it,” Maisey said. Her heart was pounding, and she could feel the stinging inside her nose that told her tears were imminent. She wasn’t good at this. Confrontation. She was only a kid, for chrissakes, she wasn’t used to squaring off with adults—even adults as unadult-like as Sebastian. But it was too important to back down now.
“You’ll just . . . you’ll never tell her, will you?” she said, keeping her breaths short to prevent any tears from falling. “You’re such a child. You think that if she doesn’t know, it will just go away. That it will just be this thing in the past that doesn’t matter.”
“It’s already this thing in the past that doesn’t matter!” Sebastian said, swinging from angry to desperate. “I broke it off with Vanessa. Nothing like that will ev
er happen again.”
“Yes it will—you’ll do this every time you go away on tour.” It was times like this that Maisey was thankful for debate class.
Sebastian scoffed. “The road is a crazy place, I can’t predict what’s going to happen. I’m trying to do the right thing by your mom—be the decent guy.”
“Then do the right thing and tell her.”
“No, dammit!” Sebastian swore under his breath. “I’m not going to tell her. And neither are you.”
“Why not?”
“Because she won’t believe it.”
Maisey stayed silent, but kept her eyes locked on Sebastian’s.
“You could have told her anytime in the last two days. If you didn’t tell her when it happened, why would she believe you now?” he said. “It’s not like you and your mom have been getting along lately. She relies on me. She trusts me. She needs me. Don’t take that from her.”
“She deserves to know.”
“Know what?” Sophia said, standing in the doorway from the kitchen, the tray with the pitcher of cherry lemonade in her hands. A bowl of lemon wedges on the side.
“Nothing, babe,” Sebastian said, crossing to her. “Let me get that. You shouldn’t be on your feet.”
That was what did it. Sebastian’s false concern. His jumping up to help her mom now that she was done doing all the work. And the way he smirked when he said, “Maisey, you should be helping out more.”
“Mom, I have something to tell you.” Her voice was louder than expected. A couple of octaves higher than normal. But she got the words out.
“Maisey, not now okay?” Sebastian said smoothly. “Let your mom relax.”
Sophia turned to her immediately. “Honey, what is it?”
She took one breath. Two. Then set her feet, and said it.
“Sebastian . . . Sebastian’s been lying to you.”
“Maisey . . .” His growl warned, but she persevered.
“He wasn’t on the road. I saw him two days ago.”
“You . . . saw him two days ago?” Her mom looked from Maisey to Sebastian. “Here, in Los Angeles?”
“In Vanessa Faire’s trailer.”
Sophia took one step back from Sebastian. Two. “Is that true?” she asked him, her voice cold.
“ . . . Yes,” Sebastian admitted. And Maisey felt this massive relief. Finally, her mom would know. “But it was supposed to be a surprise.”
“A surprise?” both Maisey and her mother said at the same time.
“Vanessa . . . was helping me.”
“Do what?”
Yes, do what exactly? Maisey thought.
“Pick out a new place. For the two of us. I mean, the three of us.” Sebastian placed a gentle hand on her mother’s belly. “Vanessa knows how much you’re looking forward to us being together, so she wanted to help.”
“You . . . found a new place for us?” Sophia said, her eyes turning to water.
“No, Mom—”
“We haven’t found anything yet, but I’ve been looking.”
“That’s wonderful . . . but—”
“Mom, please listen—”
“A nice big place? Maybe down by the beach?”
“I’d love to be by the beach—”
“Dammit, Mom, they weren’t looking at houses, they were having sex!”
You could hear a pin drop. Sophia turned to face Maisey, her expression blank.
“I was delivering flowers to you, and I couldn’t find you,” she explained in a stumble. “But I found them . . . in the middle of it. In Vanessa’s trailer.”
The room vibrated with the words. Then, it exploded.
Rather, Sebastian exploded.
“That’s . . . that’s totally ridiculous!” he said, his face turning a particularly deep red. “I would never do that. I told you, Maisey hates me—and this proves it. She just wants me gone, and wants you alone and having to deal with a baby all on your own. It’s beyond selfish! Who are you going to believe? Me, or your daughter who hates me?”
Maisey remained gravely silent, focused on her mother’s face. Please believe me, she begged silently. Please don’t believe him.
But he was telling the truth. She did hate him. She did want him gone. She was selfish for her mother.
And her greatest fear was that Sebastian had enough truth behind him to make her mother believe him . . . because she wanted to believe him.
But as Sebastian sputtered and raged, Sophia shushed him gently. Maisey felt her heart sink as she watched her mother place a soft hand on her boyfriend’s chest.
“Oh, Sebastian,” she murmured, the words tender and easy.
“Babe,” he sighed, bringing the hand to his mouth to kiss it.
But she slipped her hand out of his before it could reach his lips.
“I am going to absolutely believe my daughter.”
The smile fell from his face. His body became ramrod straight—a wire of fury.
“She’s a little bitch—” He stepped toward Maisey. And suddenly, Sophia wasn’t being kind anymore.
She stepped in front of him, holding her belly in one hand with the other on Maisey’s arm. “You need to get out of my house,” she said, her voice a growl. “Before I call the police.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“A domestic charge from your pregnant girlfriend will look really good to your record label, don’t you think?”
Finally, he seemed to get it. Grabbing his duffel bag, he slammed his hand against the door frame on his way out, rattling the small space to its foundation.
But then, just as quickly as it had happened, the apartment stopped shaking, and everything settled down again.
“Mom . . .”
But her mom had already wrapped herself around Maisey, buried her head in her daughter’s shoulder.
“You’re taller than me.” Her mother’s words were muffled against Maisey’s shirt. “When did you get taller than me?”
“Eighth grade?”
“I don’t mean like that.” Sophia pulled away, looked Maisey in the eye.
“Now . . . is there anything else you haven’t told me?” her mom asked through sniffles, pulling away from her daughter’s embrace to dry her eyes. “Any other life-altering things I should know?”
“I got into Berkeley.”
Sophia coughed out a laugh. Then another. “You did? Oh, honey!” She pulled Maisey back into her arms.
“And a couple other places.” The UCLA acceptance had come in the mail just yesterday.
“That’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me!”
Maisey could only shrug, ashamed of the convoluted train of thought that had her keeping secrets.
“Well, for the record, that is the kind of thing that can only help my blood pressure. Oh, Maisey, I knew you could do it.”
“Also, I’m going to prom.”
This time, Sophia didn’t even bother with restraint. She threw her head back in full-throated joyous laughter. “That’s wonderful! Foz asked you, I assume?”
“Technically, I asked him.”
“Atta girl.”
Then her mom paused, hand to her belly. Maisey went on full alert.
“Are you okay? Is it your blood pressure? Do we need to go to the hospital?”
“No, sweetie. None of that. Just your brother giving Sebastian an extra kick out the door.”
“Oh,” Maisey said, her heart settling back down. “So, things . . . feel good?”
“No. But things feel right for the first time in a while.” Sophia moved to the kitchen, to the fridge, and pulled out of the back a hidden bottle of Diet Coke.
“Come on. I think we have a lot of catching up to do.”
Chapter 23
“SOPHIA! YOU HAVE TO HIDE! SHE’S COMING!”
Sophia looked up from the count. She was doing inventory on her stock. They would be on hiatus in the blink of an eye, she had to account for everything they had, everything they used over the course of the season. Her sto
ck and her receipts needed to match up. And she was halfway through counting up their supply of false eyelashes when Kip came bursting into the makeup trailer.
“Dammit, Kip, you made me lose count!”
“Girl, give it up—she’s on her way here now!”
There was no need to ask who she was. Nor was there a need to ask why Kip was all aflutter.
Vanessa always did know how to command attention.
“This is my makeup trailer,” Sophia said quietly. “I’m not hiding from her.”
“Well, do you mind if I do?” Kip said.
Sophia quirked up a brow. “You’re her key makeup artist. She’s coming to see you, not me.”
“I can’t even stand to touch that woman’s hair. Out of solidarity.”
“Uh-huh,” Sophia replied. “Solidarity, and not an abject fear of her lashing out at you?”
“That, too.”
It had been two days since Sophia had unceremoniously kicked Sebastian out of her home. Yesterday, Sophia had come in to work with rage in her heart and her head held high. She had the right to her anger, she knew. Because Vanessa was a lying little snake. It was one thing to have an affair. It was another to bring Sebastian to set, to literally fuck three trailers away from where Sophia was working.
And there were no secrets on set. Everyone knew everyone’s business, because you lived on top of each other, and there were PAs whose entire job was to report on people’s whereabouts.
It was like a very tight-knit, incestuous family.
However, when she got to set on Thursday, she had completely forgotten that Vanessa wasn’t shooting that day. They were filming scenes that didn’t involve her, so she got a rare day off.
Sophia was determined to keep their conflict between themselves, and so kept her mouth well shut. But somehow, the news got out anyway.
The blame could only be laid at Kip’s door. He was the only person Sophia told. No wonder he wasn’t keen to meet with Vanessa.
It started with looks. Eva the on-set makeup artist and Gary the assistant camera operator stopped talking the second she walked by. The extras she turned into frost giants were less circumspect—they gossiped in front of her outright.