But enough about Kass. Kamille had to get ready for the party. Really, her life had less and less to do with her family these days, which was just fine with her. She, too, was moving on.
Kamille wandered into the bathroom, which was brand-new and all white with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The dressing-room-style lighting was at once flattering and precise, which meant that she could apply her makeup perfectly—and also scrutinize back zits, excess body hair, and so forth without feeling too ugly.
She scrutinized herself now. Perfect.
The phone rang just as Kamille was spraying herself with J’Adore perfume. She glanced at the screen; it was her mother.
She almost let it go to voice mail, then changed her mind at the last second and picked up. “Hi, Mommy, I really can’t talk right now, I’m getting ready for that big movie premiere I told you about,” she said quickly. “At Mann’s Chinese?” She ran a clean washcloth under warm water and started removing her cucumber mask, hoping her mother would be suitably impressed by her very glamorous plans.
“Hi, doll. I won’t keep you. I just . . . listen, could Kyle come stay with you for a few days?”
“Excuse me?”
“We had an incident tonight. I can explain more later, but long story short, she broke into the liquor cabinet and helped herself to some vodka. But the worst part is, she left the house without locking it back up again, and Bree ended up, well, helping herself to the vodka, too. And getting sick.”
“Ohmigod, are you serious?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Is Bree okay?”
“It depends on what you mean by okay, but yes, she’s fine.”
Kyle! What an idiot. Kamille flashed back to when Kyle had been busted for showing Bree how to roll a joint. Kamille wasn’t exactly a saint herself, and she’d done some pretty stupid stuff when she was a teenager, too.
But not that stupid. All her drinking (and occasional pot smoking, and that one time she’d tried E with Jeremy Weinstein) had taken place at her friends’ houses, with parents safely out of town (or better yet, out of the country) and the nanny cams on the off position. And she’d never, ever exposed any of her younger sibs to that kind of behavior.
“Beau and I need some alone time with Bree so we can talk to her, get her back to normal,” her mother was saying. “I promise, it’ll just be a few days. Or a week or two, tops. Once school starts, we’ll be back to our usual routine here, anyway. Kyle will be too busy with homework to get into trouble, and same with Bree.”
Kamille wasn’t so sure about the “too busy” part, especially with respect to Kyle. “But, Mommy, I’ve got a big shoot coming up,” she complained. “Remember that bathing-suit ad I told you about? And Giles has me going to all these events at night. I can’t babysit Kyle twenty-four/seven!”
“I’m not asking you to do that, sweetheart. Just let her crash on your lovely new sofa bed that Beau and I bought for you. And if you have any liquor there, please lock it up! Double lock it!”
“But, Mommy—”
“Oops, that’s . . . uh, that’s my other line. I’ve gotta go, doll. I’ll call you back later, okay?”
“But, Mommy, I—”
The connection went dead.
“Shit!” Her superspacious apartment was about to get a lot less spacious.
Kamille went back to removing her cucumber mask, muttering in annoyance to herself. A couple of minutes later, the phone rang again. It was her mother, again. This time, she decided to let it go to voice mail. She didn’t want to hear about any more family drama, and she really did have to get out the door . . .
A box popped up on the screen, letting her know that she had a new voice-mail message. A second later, a text popped up below it. From her mother.
It said:
KASS JUST CALLED SHES AT THE HOSPITAL SHES IN LABOR
For a moment Kamille just stood there frozen in place, staring at the text message. Then the shock turned into something else: the old rage, stirring up inside of her and making her want to throw things. Kass was finally going to have her baby. Chase’s baby. A child that would remind Kamille forever of just how low people could go, how no one could be trusted.
Not even family.
But enough of the pity party. She had a real party to get ready for. Kamille took a deep breath, then reached into her makeup box and grabbed her favorite red YSL lipstick.
Chapter Forty
Kyle
Lying in bed, Kyle wondered why she couldn’t stop crying. She hadn’t cried like this since she was four, when she forgot her pink, blue, and lavender kiki that Grandma Romero had made for her at Disneyland. Her father had driven back there, alone, after closing, and talked a security guard into letting him onto the grounds. He’d finally found the baby blanket near the Mad Hatter’s Tea Cups, covered in someone’s red slushie, and brought it home.
Kyle sniffed and blew her nose. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she pull herself together? She wondered if she still had a small stash of Xanax hidden in her underwear drawer, which had been Ash and Priscilla’s birthday present to her last year . . .
There was a knock on her door. Benjy poked his head in. “Can I come in?”
Kyle sat up abruptly and drew her kiki around her. “Why, so you can yell at me some more?”
Benjy walked into the room and sat down cross-legged on her bed. He gazed intently at her face.
“What?” Kyle snapped. “Why are you staring me?”
“You’ve got a giant booger hanging down—right there,” he said, pointing.
“Gee, thanks.” Kyle grabbed a tissue and blew her nose again.
“You okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. I feel like shit.”
“Bree’s downstairs eating an enormous bowl of mint chocolate-chip ice cream, if that makes you feel any better. With chocolate syrup and a mountain of that fake whipped cream.”
“Really?” Kyle was relieved. But only slightly. “I’ve like totally fucked her up for life,” she rambled on miserably. “She’s like this sweet, innocent kid, and now she thinks it’s cool to drink vodka, like me. Like her goddamned ‘hero.’ ” She added, “Plus, Mom’s kicking me out of the house.”
“What? Tell me.”
“She said I have to go live with Kamille for a while, or something. I guess she hates me and she doesn’t want me around anymore.”
Benjy regarded her. “Look. Kyle. Nobody hates you. And you haven’t ruined Bree for life; she’ll recover. As for her thinking that drinking’s cool . . . it’s probably the opposite. The stuff made her sick. Maybe it’s even a good thing that she knows how gross booze is, this young, so she won’t end up like . . .” He hesitated.
“Like me?”
“I was actually thinking about our mom. But yeah, like you, too. ’Cause you did screw up, big-time. I don’t know what you were thinking. Frankly, I don’t know what you’ve been thinking for months, now. You were acting like a human being for a while, and then after the whole Kamille-and-Chase thing, you kind of lost it again.”
“Yeah, I know.” Kyle buried her face in her hands. “It’s just that . . . everything got so fucked up with this family, and stressful, and I just don’t know how to deal with that.”
“So you thought that going into self-destruct mode was a good idea?”
Kyle shook her head. “No! Well, yes! Maybe! I don’t know.” She took a deep breath, trying to express all the complicated, jumbled-up feelings she’d kept buried for so long. “See, it’s like when my dad died,” she began. “I never told anyone this, but when he . . . when that happened, something happened to me, too. I kinda just went cold inside. And I didn’t want anything to do with this family, especially my mom. She . . . they all . . . reminded me too much of my dad. So I just distanced myself. But at the same time I was so furious. I don’t know why, but I was. So I figured I’d take it out on my mom . . . on people . . . or whoever . . . by getting wasted and flunking out of school and all that other stupid cra
p.”
Kyle began sobbing again.
“Kyle, Kyle.” Benjy scooted over and hugged her tightly. “Shhh, it’s okay.”
“No . . . it’s . . . not!” Kyle sobbed.
“No, I guess it’s not. But it will be, someday. Listen—I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to lose your dad. I can’t imagine losing mine. But for whatever it’s worth, you have this huge family, our family, who loves you and will always be there for you. You’re not alone.”
“Whatever,” Kyle sniffed.
“You know, you really should sit down and talk to your mom about this stuff,” Benjy said softly.
Kyle jerked back. “No!”
“Or Kass, or Kamille, or me, or whoever. You need to talk to somebody.”
“What are you, my shrink now?”
Benjy pushed back a lock of her hair. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t go off the deep end again. It’s pretty lame, how you keep doing that over and over again.”
Kyle swiped at her eyes and laughed weakly. “I guess?”
There was a sudden commotion out in the hallway. Footsteps, yelling . . . then her mother rushed into the room.
Kyle sat up. “Mom? Is everything okay?” she said worriedly. “Is Bree—”
“Kass is about to have her baby!” Kat cried out. She looked happy and hysterical at the same time. “We’ve got to get down to the hospital, now! Where are my car keys? Has anyone seen my car keys? And my shoes, where are my shoes?”
Ohmigod, Kass’s baby! “Can I go, too?” Kyle said meekly. “Even though I’m, uh, grounded for the next hundred years?”
Kat put her hands on her hips and glared at her. “No! Okay, yes. Just this once. But stay close. And don’t get into any trouble, or I’m sending you away to live with your great-aunt Beatrice instead.”
Ouch. “O-kay, I won’t make a peep,” Kyle said. “Thanks, Mom.”
Kat’s expression softened. She came over and gave Kyle a quick, fierce hug. “I could kill you for what you did, you know that,” she said quietly. “But I love you. I will always love you, no matter what. You’re my baby girl.”
It was all Kyle could do not to start crying again.
Where in the hell was that Xanax, anyway?
Chapter Forty-One
Kass
“This . . . hurts . . . like . . . HELL!” Kass screamed.
Kat squeezed her hand. “Just breathe, darling! In and out, in and out! Just like they taught you in Lamaze!” she said cheerfully.
“Screw Lamaze! I need some drugs, now! Where is the goddamned nurse?”
Kass saw a worried glance pass between her mother and Beau. The two of them had been at the hospital for the last few hours, along with Kyle and Benjy, who had taken Bree down to the cafeteria for a snack.
Kass’s due date wasn’t for another couple of weeks, so she’d been taken by surprise when she’d woken up this morning with weird cramping sensations in her belly. She’d waited them out, thinking they would go away, figuring it was just the pad thai, sour cream and onion potato chips, and three chocolate mini donuts she’d eaten for dinner last night. But by evening they’d gotten more intense, so she’d called Dr. Chen. Who’d told her to come in right away because she was likely in labor.
And now the cramps were pure agony. Like ferocious lions gnawing and ripping at her stomach muscles from the inside. Which sounded delusional. But she was delusional, from the incredible, mind-numbing, apocalyptic waves of pain that had become her entire universe.
Why didn’t someone tell her that childbirth was such torture? She would have taken an oath of celibacy a long, long time ago.
“Did I miss anything?” Kyle sauntered into the room, chugging a Red Bull.
“Where’s Benjy and Bree?” Kat asked her.
“Buying crap in the gift shop. Your stomach’s still ginormous, so I guess that the baby’s not here yet,” Kyle said to Kass.
“Fuck you, you little bitch,” Kass said testily.
“Our Kassidy’s a bit stressed right now,” Kat explained.
“Can I get you anything, honey? Some more ice chips?” Beau offered to Kass.
“No! Arggghhhhhh! It hurrrrrts!”
“Maybe I’d better just go and leave you ladies to this,” Beau whispered nervously to Kat.
“Okay, honey. Why don’t you try Kamille again? I left her a bunch of texts and voice-mail messages,” Kat whispered back.
“I heard that!” Kass yelled. “Kamille and I are no longer sisters, so please don’t call her anymore! If you people really want to help, call the goddamned doctor and tell her to give me some goddamned drugs. Now!”
“You know, sweetie pie, when I had you girls, I did it completely naturally,” Kat said in an infuriatingly calm voice. “Serenity, that was our midwife, and Rainbow, that was our doula—we used them for all three of you—really, really felt that the epidurals and so forth were counterproductive and not very good for the—”
Kass put her hands over her ears. Would her mother shut up about natural childbirth, already? Or just leave, so the doctors could come in with their high-tech arsenal of pharmaceuticals and knock Kass out cold? She could wake up, say, tomorrow morning, and they could just hand Annabella to her, all bundled up in a cozy receiving blanket and sleeping peacefully . . .
For a moment Kass desperately wished Kamille were here. They hadn’t spoken in months or even seen each other. Kamille had moved out of their house right after the wedding disaster. She’d gotten her own apartment in West Hollywood and was busy with her modeling career. Once in a while, late at night, Kass found herself Googling Kamille’s name. Various photos and stories would pop up with headlines like GETTING OVER CHASE, showing her at fancy, celebrity-studded events with different, homogenously cute guys—but no boyfriend.
Kamille hadn’t tried to contact Kass, not even once. She had even insisted on their splitting up the Sunday Night Dinners so they wouldn’t run into each other at the house. Kass had complied; what could she do, if Kamille hated her so much that she couldn’t even sit down at the dinner table with her? Even their birthdays, at the beginning and end of July, had been celebrated separately. It was like a divorce.
Kamille was—used to be—her best friend in the entire world. She was supposed to be here: holding Kass’s hand, talking her down, and navigating her through the crazy, hellish, impossible, wonderful (okay, well, maybe not so wonderful) journey of childbirth.
As for Chase . . . Kass had gotten several calls and e-mails from him, offering financial assistance for the baby. Kass hadn’t returned any of them. Maybe it was a nice gesture from a repentant asshole—or maybe it was another piece of sleight of hand. Or a way to keep her from pressing charges against him. Whatever. Kass wanted nothing to do with him ever again. She only hoped he would have the good sense to stay away from her and Annabella.
Another wave of pain. Kass screamed.
“Breathe, sweetheart,” her mother said encouragingly. “Picture something happy, like Coco and Chanel when they were puppies. And breathe!” She winced. “Mmm, yikes.”
“What is it?” Beau asked her, sounding concerned.
“Nothing. I, um . . . would you mind taking over for a sec, honey? I’m feeling a little queasy. I’m just going to step out for a bit and get some fresh air.”
“Do you want me to get the doctor, darlin’?”
“No, no, I’m fine! Really! Just be the labor coach for a bit, okay?”
“Uh, okay.”
Kass closed her eyes and tried to shut out the chattering voices—why was her mother acting like she was the patient suddenly, when Kass was the one who was dying here?—and picture the puppies. No. No good. All she could see was Chanel scarfing down an entire coffee cake when she was two months old and then throwing it up on Kass’s lap.
Which made her want to throw up right this second . . .
“Now, how does this labor-coach thing work?” Beau was asking Kyle. “I mean, should I tell her to breathe, or shoul
d I breathe with her, or should I get the nurse, or the doctor, or—”
“I only went to like one Lamaze class with her,” Kyle replied. “Yeah, the Candy Cane made us do all these breathing exercises, plus Kegels, too. You know, like, holding in your pee?”
“Holding in your . . . pee?” Beau said uncomfortably.
“Don’t you remember how to do this, Beau? From when Benjy and Bree were born?” Kyle asked him.
“Not really, sweetheart. I think I fainted with Benjy, and I might’ve fainted with Brianna, too.”
“Lame,” Kyle snorted.
“That is lame. Okay, you two, get the hell out of my way!”
Kass’s eyes snapped open.
She couldn’t believe it.
Kamille had come. She was standing in the doorway, looking impossibly gorgeous in a burgundy silk dress and black stiletto heels.
“Ohmigod, Kamille!” Kass tried to sit up, but she couldn’t. “You’re here! I’m so happy to see you! Ohmigod!” She began crying.
“Whatever. I was at a movie premiere at Mann’s, and I think Robert Pattinson was about to ask me out, so you’d better be grateful. How far apart are your contractions?”
Kass swiped her tears away. “Like every three minutes?”
“And how many centimeters are you?”
“The doctor said nine, almost ten.”
“Holy shit, he’s coming out any second now!”
“She. Kamille, I—”
“Shut the fuck up and breathe. Ready? Take my hand. Good! Now, breathe in . . . one, two, three, four . . .”
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