Unfortunately, she was down to the last three bottles of it. She wondered what it would be like when she opened the very last one.
She felt the sharp sting of tears in her eyes. She raised her glass in the air and whispered, “Merry Christmas, sweetie, wherever you are.”
“Mommmmmy! Coco threw up on my shooooooes!”
Bree ran into the dining room, looking so pretty and way older than her ten years in her formfitting red velvet dress and red lipstick. Bree had taken to calling Kat “Mommy” lately, which pleased her to no end. (Their real mother, Angie, who was spending the holidays in the French Alps with a twenty-one-year-old ski instructor, apparently insisted that her children call her by her first name.)
Kat turned away slightly so that Bree wouldn’t see her crying. “Where did you get that lipstick, young lady?” she demanded.
“Ky let me borrow hers. Mommy, my shoes! They’re gross!”
Kat took a peek. Bree was holding a pair of black wedges that were most definitely “gross,” covered with something resembling guacamole. Coco had probably been eating crayons again.
“Set them down, honey. I’ll get some paper towels,” Kat said with a sigh.
At that moment Benjy and Kyle ambled into the dining room arm in arm. Benjy was so handsome and grown-up looking in a navy-blue suit, white button-down, and gray tie (which Kat recognized as one of Beau’s). Kyle was more casual (if that was the right term?) in a black vintage tux, Sex Pistols T-shirt, and purple high-top sneakers. Kat started to tell her to go change; dressing up for the holiday dinner was a die-hard Romero (now Romero-LeBlanc) family tradition. She herself was in an emerald-green Dior that she wore only for the holidays.
But she willed herself to keep quiet. It was Christmas, after all, and she didn’t want to get into an argument. Besides, Kyle was dressed up, in her own weird, unique, Kyle sort of way. She’d even bothered to style her short auburn hair in curls and put on glittery makeup.
“When’s dinner?” Kyle said, grabbing an olive off the crudités plate.
“Soon. Kamille and Chase should be here any second. And your dad—I mean Beau—is getting changed. Where’s Kass?”
“She’s upstairs taking a nap,” Bree piped up. “Mommy, my shoes!”
A nap? In the middle of the day? Maybe the Christmas-morning excitement had been too much for her.
Tending to Bree’s shoes, Kat thought about Kass, about all her children. They were doing so well these days—no major crises or drama. Thank God. Kass was done with her semester, and she seemed much more cheerful lately, and much less stressed. Kat had overheard her talking on the phone with someone last week—an Eduardo?—and her voice had sounded so animated, so happy. Maybe a new boyfriend was responsible for her good mood?
As for Kamille . . . her modeling career was thriving. She was still dating Chase, whom Kat continued to have doubts about, although their relationship seemed to have waned in the media spotlight, which was progress. Kat secretly wished Kamille would break up with him and find someone less . . . controversial. But that would come in time. Kamille was young, and Kat predicted many, many boyfriends in her future.
As for the other kids . . . well, Kyle’s GPA was up to a 3.2, and Kat had gotten only a couple of calls from the school administration recently (versus the usual two, three times a week). Benjy and Bree were such good kids and so responsible and never caused Kat or Beau a moment of trouble. She wondered, not for the first time, how they had turned out so remarkably well with the globe-trotting, booze-swilling, man-eating Angie as their mother—correction, one of their mothers. What had Beau ever seen in her? She was certifiable. Of course, she also looked like Sofia Vergara.
Beau came downstairs just as Kat was finishing up cleaning the green dog vomit. He was wearing his traditional Christmas outfit: black tuxedo pants, black smoking jacket, and a red silk tie with a picture of Santa Claus on it.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he called out. “Smells incredible. Everyone here?”
“We’re just waiting on Kamille and Chase.”
“Wow, you look hot. Am I allowed to say in front of the kids—hot?”
Kat blushed. “Yes, you’re allowed.”
“Ew, you guys,” Kyle complained. She, Benjy, and Bree wandered into the living room and started hip-hop dancing to “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”
Kat went over to Beau and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Do you love me?” she whispered, suddenly feeling vulnerable.
Beau hugged her fiercely. “I’m crazy in love with you, you know that,” he whispered back.
“And you married that other woman, why?”
“Because you were already taken. ’Sides, I could ask you the same question. About David. But I won’t.”
Kat pulled away and stared into Beau’s eyes, which had become dark, inscrutable. This was a subject they never discussed.
Although maybe, one of these days, they should open one of David’s special-occasion bottles of wine and do just that?
“I love you,” Beau went on solemnly. “The day we got married was the happiest day of my life, right there next to when Benjamin and Brianna were born.”
“Really?”
“Really. Darlin’, what is it about Christmas Day that makes you feel so . . . fragile? Is that the word I’m looking for?”
That was exactly the word. Kat smiled slightly, marveling at how her husband always knew her better than she knew herself.
“I just love you so much, and I love our children so much,” she said passionately. “I just want us all to be happy and healthy and safe and . . . well, you know.”
“I know.”
“I only wish that—”
But she was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Kamille pranced in, hanging on Chase’s arm. Kamille had on her faux-mink jacket over a long, slinky black gown and pearls. Chase, in a dark gray suit and tie, was GQ-gorgeous, as always. They both looked a little drunk.
“Guess what?” Kamille cried out. “Guess what guess what guess what?”
“What, doll?” Kat pulled away from Beau to greet Kamille and Chase.
Beaming, Kamille held out her left hand and wriggled her fingers. On the ring finger was a ring.
A diamond ring.
An enormous diamond ring.
For a moment Kat couldn’t breathe. Or speak.
And then she found her voice. “Oh . . . my . . . God!” she burst out. “Kamille, I don’t understand. How can you even think about—”
“Can I be a bridesmaid? Can I be a bridesmaid?” Bree cut in excitedly.
Kyle sauntered over and kissed Kamille on the cheek. “Congratulations or whatever. Just promise me you’re not gonna wear one of those puffy white princess dresses, ’kay?”
“Yeah, ’cause you’re the fashion expert in this house?” Benjy joked. “Congratulations, you guys!” he said to Kamille and Chase.
Chase grinned. “Thanks, man.”
Beau enfolded the two of them in a massive hug. “Wow! I am speechless! And that’s not something that happens to me often. Kat, honey, let’s break open some champagne! The expensive stuff. I think we should have the wedding in Dodger Stadium, don’t you? Just kidding, I promise I won’t be one of those parents who take over the wedding planning . . .”
“You’re getting married?”
Kat turned around. Kass was standing at the bottom of the stairs, pale as a ghost.
“Kass, you’re up,” Kat said, forcing a smile. “Dinner’s ready. How was your nap?”
But Kass didn’t reply. She was staring at Kamille with an expression Kat couldn’t even begin to translate. Shock? Anger? Confusion? In response, Kamille was giving Kass an incredulous “what the hell?” look. And Chase—well, Chase had dropped his gaze to the ground as though his black Prada loafers had suddenly become very, very interesting.
What was going on?
“Oooo-kay, so who’s gonna help me get the champagne?
” Beau said loudly. He, too, seemed to sense the weird tension in the room.
“Me me me!” Bree said, jumping up and down.
“All right, pumpkin, as long as you promise not to drink it all.”
“Ha-ha, Daddy!”
Still in shock over Kamille’s news, and now doubly worried about Kass’s strange reaction, Kat just stood there frozen as Beau and Bree went to get the champagne . . . and Kyle and Benjy went to change the music . . . and Kamille and Chase went to help themselves to the Château Margaux. (Couldn’t they wait for the champagne?)
Which left just her and Kass in the front hall.
“Doll, you okay?” Kat asked her gently.
Kass wouldn’t look at her. “I’m fine. I, um, need to go upstairs and, um, make an important call. I’ll be down in a sec, okay?”
“Kass, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just start without me.”
“But—”
Kass didn’t wait for the rest of Kat’s sentence. She turned around and raced back up the stairs. A moment later, Kat heard a door slam shut.
And now Kat was alone.
So much for a drama-free Christmas.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Kass
Kass lay down on her old bed, tugging the quilt up to her chin, still reeling from Kamille’s news. She could hear the strains of “Jingle Bells” coming from downstairs, and laughter, and the unmistakable pop! of a champagne cork.
What an awful Christmas.
Kass used to love this holiday, especially when her father was alive. When she, Kamille, and Kyle were little, he even dressed up as Santa Claus and pretended to come down the chimney. He and Kat would go crazy with the presents, the decorations, the food, everything.
Kat tried to keep some of the old family traditions going, like the funny notes from “Santa” in each of their stockings and the rice pudding with a single almond in it, on Christmas Eve. Whoever got the almond was supposed to be the next one to marry. (Last night, Bree was the winner, so the system was obviously flawed.)
But somehow, it just wasn’t the same without her father. No offense to Beau. But he was no David Romero.
And David Romero would have never allowed the likes of Chase Goodall to marry his daughter, much less date her. He had been so smart about people, with what he used to call his “bullshit radar.” He wouldn’t have fallen for Chase’s smarmy, all-American, nice-guy act the way Beau had. It was so painful, watching Chase sucking up to Beau and pretending to be interested in his ancient baseball stories.
Kass sighed.
She glanced around her old bedroom, which she hardly ever used anymore. It was very similar to her old-old bedroom back in their other house (the one she thought of as their “real” house); her mother had made sure to paint the walls of this one the identical shade of peachy apricot and arrange her belongings in exactly the same way. There were the trophies from her debate tournaments and ice-skating competitions. There was her National Honor Society plaque.
And there was her old dollhouse. She and Kamille used to play with it for hours: feeding their dolls, bathing them, putting them to bed. There was a nasty dent in one corner of the roof, from when Kamille had gotten mad at Kass about some stupid thing or the other and kicked it down the stairs. She and Kamille had fought about that for days . . .
Kass’s gaze shifted to her desk, to the souvenir snow globe from their family trip to New York City, and the photo-booth pictures of her and Kamille from high school, and the maroon USC mug filled neatly with pens and pencils.
Next to all that was the slender white box she’d bought at Rite Aid yesterday, when she’d realized that her period was late.
“Stop stalling,” she told herself, and got up from bed.
She knew that she was probably overreacting. Even though she was as regular as clockwork, period-wise, it was possible to be off because of stress and other factors. The last month or so had been sheer insanity, with exams and papers and catching up on holiday shopping (which she usually finished well before December—but not this year).
And, of course, the SHE.
But Kass needed to be sure. Now more than ever, since Kamille had decided to go and get herself engaged to her sleazy, two-faced BF.
Making sure there was no one in the hall, Kass took the box and tiptoed quietly to the bathroom next door, which she used to share with Kamille. Benjy seemed to have taken it over; there was a can of shaving cream and a razor on the sink, and tiny beard hairs all over the place. Plus a pair of rumpled black boxers on the floor. Ew. She locked the door, went over to the toilet, and sat down.
Kass pulled the instructions out of the box and read the tiny print once, twice, three times. She wanted to make sure to do this right. Pee on the stick? How was she supposed to pee on something so small? But, whatever. She pulled down her panties and positioned the stick. And started to pee. And stopped to inspect the stick. And started to pee again, stick in place. Was she doing this right?
Afterward, she did as the instructions said and placed the stick on a flat surface—i.e., the sink—using a clean tissue to keep it from being contaminated by Benjy’s disgusting little beard hairs. She checked her watch and started timing. Five minutes. Okay. While she waited she read the instructions once more, in English and in Spanish. She learned all about HCG, human chorionic gonadotropin, the hormone the test was supposed to measure in her urine. If she had a certain amount of it, the test would come out positive. Two thin blue lines. If she didn’t, it would be negative. One thin blue line.
“Kassie! Dinnerrrrrrrrr!” She could hear Bree shouting up the stairs.
“I’ll be right there!” Kass shouted back.
She glanced at her watch. Thirty seconds to go. Then twenty. Then ten . . .
Taking a deep breath, she looked at the white pee stick lying on the counter.
Two blues lines.
No.
There had to be a mistake. Kass picked up the stick and held it up to the light, shifting the angle this way and that.
There they were. Two solid, unmistakable blue lines.
“Kassie!!!!!”
Kass began shaking all over.
PART IV
June Gloom
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kamille
Kamille studied her reflection in the mirror, at the way the shimmery ivory fabric clung to her figure in a sexy-but-not-slutty way.
“I looooove this dress!” she squealed. “It’s a Vera Wang. What do you think, Kassie?”
No response. Kass was sitting on a chair flipping through a bridal magazine. Actually, it wasn’t even a bridal magazine. It looked like a workbook from school.
“Kass? Kassidy Marie Romero? Hellooooo? Um, Kass? It would be nice if you could join us today,” he added irritably.
“What?” Kass glanced up from her workbook and adjusted her glasses. She had started wearing them a couple of months ago, and they made her look even more egghead-y than she already did. “Oh. Sorry. Spanish homework. Yeah, that dress is fine, Kam.”
“That’s what you’ve said about all the dresses I’ve tried on today,” Kamille pointed out. “Kassie, you’re my maid of honor. I really need you to step up here.”
“Sure. No problem.”
Kamille ran a hand over the ruffly bodice, making sure the tiny microphone was still securely taped to her boobs, and turned her attention back to the mirror. Being filmed was her new “normal” ever since Hank and his crew had started following her (and her family and Chase) around Los Angeles and documenting the wedding preparations.
She still had mixed feelings about selling the TV rights to her and Chase’s wedding to the Life Network, which was producing a reality series called Happily Ever After. When Giles had pitched the idea to her back in January, she’d said no at first. But the money was good—no, great—and Chase had really been into the idea. So she’d finally agreed, and she’d gotten the rest of the family on board, too.
The rest of the family ex
cept for Kass. Sure, Kass had technically signed on. She had said she was willing to go along with the shoots, which took up a lot of time and energy and were a new and bizarre kind of intrusion into all their lives. Kamille still wasn’t used to having cameras present during meetings with her wedding planner (the fabulous Courtney Powell) . . . heart-to-heart talks with her mother about the ups and downs of marriage . . . and dates with Chase. Especially the dates with Chase. Kamille felt so self-conscious arguing or making out or whatever in front of the cameras, knowing that a TV audience would be seeing the footage in just a few months.
But. Kass was Kamille’s maid of honor. Not to mention her best friend in the entire world, and, of course, her big sister. So why couldn’t she make more of an effort? If Kamille could get over her camera shyness, so could Kass.
Instead, Kass had been acting like a zombie ever since production began . . . frankly, ever since Christmas, when Kamille and Chase announced their engagement. Kass was supposed to be superhappy and supportive, all giggly and girlie and throwing Kamille lingerie showers and such. Instead, she was basically sleepwalking through her role as maid of honor, on and off camera. And it was already April. The wedding was only two months away! Kamille needed Kass more than ever now, since Chase was so busy with the start of the baseball season.
Could Kass get over her Inner Envy Bitch or whatever and be there for Kamille, already?
Hank gave a signal. “And . . . we’re rolling!”
Kamille beamed at the mirror. “This is my favorite dress so far. What about you, Kassie?”
But Kass was scribbling away in her Spanish notebook, oblivious.
“Stop, stop, stop!” Hank rubbed his eyes. “Why don’t we take a break? Meet back here in fifteen? We’ll go grab some coffee, and . . . Kamille? Can you talk to your sister, please?”
“Um, sure.”
As soon as Hank and the crew had left, Kamille sat down next to Kass, being careful not to wrinkle the dress, which cost more than all the dresses in her closet at home put together. She took a deep breath, trying to channel “calm” and “patient,” which were not exactly natural to her.
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