She smiles her glittering smile. “My mom gave me a ride, believe it or not.”
“Cute, but you know what I mean. What are you doing here? I thought you were going home after you wrapped.”
“I am home. LA is just where I hang my fabulous clothing on occasion. Besides, you’ve got a birthday coming up, duh.” There are still a handful of people hanging around us, snapping pictures, and talking loudly amongst themselves. Kendall is observably annoyed by it. “Wanna get out of here?”
I want to, but really shouldn’t. “I’d love to. I have class in an hour though.”
“Skip it,” she says lightly, like going to class has no bearing on my future whatsoever.
Damn it! She could ask me to jump into the flaming underbelly of hell, and I’d do it for her. “Let’s go,” I say. We loop arms and head for the parking garage.
❄ ❄ ❄
The drive down to my house is too quiet for my liking. “So, I read in a magazine that you and Spencer Whatshisname were all over each other in New Orleans,” I declare, forgetting that her confirmation would likely decimate me. Bad choice for small talk, Payton.
“That is such a lie! He’s madly in love with the girl he’s been with for years. Anyway, I was hardly anywhere but on set and in the hotel the whole time I was there. How could anyone claim to have seen us ‘all over each other?’”
I smile. “Makes sense.”
“What about you?” She picks at her cuticles. “Have you met anyone who hasn’t bored you to death with conversations about the eastern front?”
Of course I haven’t. I’m holding out hope for a girl who will never, ever have a romantic feeling for me as long as she lives. It’s foolish, really, that I’m prepared to die alone when I know for a fact there’s a sea of lesbians somewhere I could be swimming in. “I haven’t put too much energy into meeting Ms. Right or Ms. Right For the Moment either. I’ve been concentrating on school and writing music.”
“Oh, that’s good,” she says like she’s surprised or relieved or something. I can’t really tell. “Being career-minded is a big hit with the ladies, once you’re ready to find one for yourself.”
I don’t want to say anything I shouldn’t say, but I’m ready to lament about how I already found someone amazing.
“Hey, so what’s the plan for Friday night? Will there be a slew of awesome birthday festivities?”
“The plan? Outside of spending the day acclimating myself to a ‘nine’ in front of the ‘teen,’ there is no plan. My mom has to work. Sarah has to work. And I really do not want to spend the night talking about random girls’ racks with Jared.”
“Okay, no. That will not do at all.” She scoops up my hand from the gear shift. I quiver and hope she doesn’t notice. “You leave it to Kendall. She will make sure you have the best birthday ever.”
I smile. I haven’t spent my birthday with Kendall since I turned sixteen. “I’m sure it will be the best birthday ever, provided Kendall doesn’t refer to herself in the third person all night.”
She drops my hand, pretending my words have offended her. “Kendall cannot guarantee such things.”
“Okay, miss ‘I’m so awesome I call myself by name,’ what do you have in mind?”
The mischievous look in her eyes sends my ability to reason packing. “That is classified information Kendall is not at liberty to disclose. Be ready to go by nine.”
“Can you at least give me a hint on what to wear? I don’t want to be under or overdressed.”
“Wear something in between.”
She clearly isn’t going to give anything away, and I am not about to push the issue. “Okay. I will be ready to go by nine on Friday.”
“Good. I promise you won’t be disappointed. I have something…” Her phone rings, interrupting her train of thought. She checks the caller ID and looks back at me as though she’s thinking about ignoring the call. “Damn. It’s James. I’m sorry, I have to take this.”
“Hello,” she answers and sticks her tongue out at me. “I’m home. No, home, as in New Jersey. What the hell am I doing here? I’m visiting. No, I have no intention of being back in LA by Friday. There’s no reason for me to be in LA right now. It’s called downtime. Gee, I’m sorry. I didn’t know I had to clear every decision I make with you or Lawrence. Dude, you should be very careful about what tone you take with me. I fired my own mother for less.”
I don’t know what he says to her, but her attitude changes in a heartbeat.
“James, please. All I’m asking for is two weeks. I really need a break,” she pleads. “The day after Thanksgiving? All right, I can do that. Schedule the meeting. Yes, I swear, I will be on the Red Eye. Great, thank you. Bye.”
By the time she ends the call, she is completely deflated. “I’m sorry. He’s got his boxers in a bunch over some part I’ve been offered.”
“Does it at least sound interesting?”
“Who knows? It’s based on some Tolkien-esque young adult novel. I might do it simply because I’ll get to play with swords,” she grins.
“Sounds cool, but I’m glad you decided not to rush back.”
“And cancel your birthday plans? Over my rotting carcass!”
I quickly turn to look out my side window so she won’t notice the stupid grin taking hostage of my face.
❄ ❄ ❄
We stroll into the kitchen later than I had planned, but my mom is so excited to see Kendall that she doesn’t complain about us being late. She actually skips over me and goes straight to hugging Kendall, cooing the whole time about how the California sun agrees with her.
Kendall spent so much time at my house while we were growing up that my mom practically adopted her. “My other daughter,” Mom called her. I’m glad she doesn’t call Kendall that anymore; being attracted to her would be way more psychologically scarring for me than it already is.
“Sorry to break up the happy reunion,” I say, pushing my way through them to the fridge. “What’s for dinner?”
“So rude,” Kendall scowls at my mom.
Mom snickers. “Manners, Payton.”
I place three cans of soda on the kitchen table. “Man, two minutes in the same room with each other and they’re already ganging up on me,” I say to no one in particular.
“Psssh,” Kendall says, “you know your mom and I don’t even have to be in the same room to gang up on you.”
Mom nods, slipping her way over to the stove. “This is true.”
“Here.” I pull some plates from the cabinet and hand them to Kendall. “Make yourself useful.”
“Sure, put me to work. I’m supposed to be on vacation,” she mopes as she sets three places at the table.
“This is nothing. After dinner, we begin your ear training.”
“That’s nice, Kendall,” Mom chimes in. “I never knew you were interested in learning music.”
“Until recently, the idea sort of horrified me.”
“And what changed your mind?” I ask.
“I thought it would be good for my career if I was an artistic triple threat. You know… acting, piano, some third thing I have yet to figure out.”
“I could show you how to take someone’s pulse,” Mom jests.
“She said artistic triple threat, Mom.”
“If she hums while taking someone’s pulse does that count?” Mom asks over her shoulder while stirring a huge pot of spaghetti sauce.
“It’s not nice to tease your mother,” Kendall says. “Anyway, not everyone can be a musical savant like you.” She makes a face and jabs at my stomach with her pointer finger. I grab her hand and lace my fingers between hers, trying to get her to stop poking me. Our hands remain clasped together longer than they need to be, but she keeps a firm grasp. She glimpses down at our entwined digits then back up at me. She’s peering deep into my eyes, deep into me, and the room is spinning.
The thought distresses me so much that I drop her hand straightaway. She pretends not to have noticed how swiftly I pulled
away. There’s this emotion on her face I can’t quite place—not exactly freaked out, but nowhere near calm, either.
“Okay, girls.” Mom’s voice puts an end to the moment. “Dinner is served.”
❄ ❄ ❄
Kendall presses the C4 key on the piano. “Middle C.”
“Good. What comes after that?”
Her finger lingers over the next white key. “D,” she says and presses it. “EFGABC,” she plays the remainder of the C Major scale and exhales.
“Nice.”
“Will you play something for me?”
“No. This is your lesson, not mine.”
“I know, but I’d like to hear something other than random notes and unfortunately, that’s the best I can do at the moment.”
“Fine,” I sneer. “What do you want me to play?”
She flips through one of my staff notebooks, stops on a half-finished composition temporarily titled “This Might Not Suck.” “This one,” she points. “It looks like it sounds very angry with all those notes and slashes everywhere.”
“It’s not finished yet, though.”
She tilts her head, like ‘yeah, so?’
“Okay. Put it there.” I gesture to the music shelf on the top of the piano. She places the book down, already open to the page she wants me to play. I begin slowly.
She’s wrong about it sounding angry. It sounds incredibly sad. It’s in B-flat minor, like a modernized Adagio for Strings only nowhere near as remarkable. When it ends, I catch her staring at me. “Yes?” I question.
“Holy wow.”
“Shut up.” I knock my shoulder into hers.
“You have to finish it. Promise me.” She touches my forearm. “I want that in one of my movies someday.”
“Get out of here.”
“I’m not kidding, Payton,” she says, poker-faced. “It’s beautiful and I want it finished, so please finish it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer sarcastically. Her expression doesn’t change. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Do you think I’d joke about having your music in one of my movies? I could make it happen, you know. With the right scene, there isn’t a music supervisor in the industry who wouldn’t love to use that piece.”
Okay. All I’ve ever wanted to do with my life is make music for films, but the notion that it could ever actually happen is overwhelming. “I will finish it.”
She smiles. “Excellent! Well, now, I feel utterly impotent. I think that’s the end of the lesson for tonight.” She stands up and heads for the front door.
“Same time tomorrow?” I’m not about to let her quit on me again.
“I can’t tomorrow,” she says disappointedly. “James is going to e-mail me that screenplay in the morning. I have to read it and give him my decision and any script notes by tomorrow night.”
“Friday?”
“Absolutely not! We will not be doing any work at all on your birthday, comprende?”
“Got it. Want a ride home?”
She shakes her head. “It’s a nice night. I feel like walking.”
I look at her skeptically. “Would you like me to walk you home?”
“I’d like you to keep your butt on that bench until you’re done writing the rest of that song,” she answers as she reaches for the doorknob. “See you Friday.”
❄ ❄ ❄
I wake up Friday morning to my mom sitting on my bed. She’s holding a chocolate cupcake with a lit candle stuck in the middle. The cupcake thing has been a birthday tradition since I was a little girl. Every year, Mom rouses me from peaceful slumber at 7:12 to commemorate the exact moment of my entrance into the world after forty hours of hard labor on her part.
“Happy birthday,” she says and kisses my forehead. “My baby is all grown up.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I blow out the candle. “I’m really not that grown up though.”
“You’re not married with children yet, but nineteen is pretty much an adult.”
Maybe it’s because my brain is only half-awake that I am unable to stop myself from completely ruining my whole day, but the second I process the phrase “married with children,” verbal diarrhea begins. “Mom, you know I’m gay, right?” Holy flaming crapballs! Did I really say that out loud? Oh my god, I want to hurl myself off the closest, tallest building and fall to my doom. What a tactless imbecile!
She laughs. She just flat out laughs. I am categorically dismayed, and she is laughing! What the hell is so funny? “Oh, honey, I know.” She pats my head. “But, thanks for telling me. It certainly took you long enough.”
I’m baffled. “Are you kidding me? You’ve known all this time?”
“You’re my kid. I pay attention,” she replies baldy, like it’s the most obvious thing to ever happen in the history of the universe. “I’ve watched you beat yourself up about it for years. I was waiting for the day you’d finally realize that there’s nothing to beat yourself up about.”
“Mom,” I say, suddenly petrified. I can feel tears forming in the corners of my eyes. “I think I’m gonna end up alone.” If I keep going the way I’m going, I’m definitely gonna end up alone.
“Oh, Kiddo. Just hang in there. Someday you will meet somebody who is as crazy about you as you are about her. It’ll happen when you least expect it, trust me.”
“I don’t care about someday. Someday doesn’t exist to me. All I’ve got is right now, and right now, I’m…” Do I tell her about my feelings for Kendall? No, not “feelings.” Anything that hurts this much can’t be generalized in the classification of “feelings.” Being in this much agony can only mean one very specific thing. I’m flat out in love with her. “Right now, I’m so screwed up.”
“All right, that’s a bit vague. You know what I think you should do? I think you should try expanding your social circle. It’s great that you’re still friends with the same kids you grew up with, but there’s a whole wide world of people out there you haven’t met yet. You have to be open to meeting those people, exploring what they have to offer.”
So that’s the solution? Go into the world, meet new people, and everything will be roses and sunshine? That’s helpful. “Sure. I’ll work on that. Thanks.”
She smiles and thumps my leg with her knee. “Good. Start right now. Get out of bed and go do something fun with your day.”
Right, do something fun.
I forego my mother’s suggestion and instead hole up in my room, strumming my guitar with the amp turned up as loud as it can go. I pause now and then to scribble down chords that strike me as sounding anywhere close to good.
❄ ❄ ❄
Kendall shows up at my door twenty minutes before nine. I nearly pass out—not because she looks incredibly sexy in her silver off-the-shoulder top, skin-tight black mini skirt, and knee-high leather boots, though that’s as good a reason as any—but because this is the first time in her whole life she has ever been early for anything. “Sorry I’m early. I wanted to make sure you were dressed appropriately.”
I check my reflection in the hallway mirror. I’m wearing light jeans that hug me firmly at the hips but fan out into bells at the bottom, a fitted baby blue polo that clings to my curves in all the right places and shows the perfect amount of skin at my midriff, and a crisp, new pair of white Pumas. I’ve even taken the time to straighten my hair and put on some eyeliner. This is about as dressed up as I get, with the exception of weddings and funerals. I think I look all right.
Kendall examines me for a moment then takes my hand. “Twirl,” she says. I fire a questioning look at her. “No interrogation. Do as I say.”
I spin around slowly. “Do I meet with your approval?”
“Yes.” She reaches for my hair and rolls a few ends around her index finger. I tremble. “You should wear your hair down more often.”
“Maybe I’ll start to.” If you keep playing with it like that, I will gladly give up my signature ponytail for the remainder of my life.
“Good. You’
ve passed inspection. We can move on. Are you ready?”
As long as you’re standing next to me, I’m ready for almost anything. “I think so.”
“Marvelous.” She ushers me out the door.
I expect to see a rented BMW or her dad’s Mercedes parked in the driveway, per usual. But she’s leading me toward a long, glossy stretch limo, complete with blacked-out rear windows and a suited-up driver ready to open the door for us. I’m at a loss.
“Your chariot awaits,” she turns to me.
“Are you sure I’m dressed okay?”
She chortles. “I’m positive. I wanted you to have the star treatment tonight, that’s all.”
Seriously? I am excruciatingly aware that she doesn’t feel the same way about me as I do about her, but sometimes the incredible things she does for me make me wonder what she would do for someone she’s actually in love with.
“I don’t deserve…” I try to get a full sentence out, but she covers my mouth with her hand.
“Do not say that to me.” She drops her hand to her side. “You’re the best friend I could ever have. You deserve more than I can give you.”
Oh, man. I am going to cry. There is no escaping it.
“No!” She points at me. “No crying on your birthday. Not even happy tears.”
I wipe at my eyes and nod. “Fine, then no more sappy stuff.”
“Okay,” she agrees. “Get in.”
We get into the limo. Kendall pulls out a thin, dark cloth and folds it long ways. She holds it taught and reaches for my head. I freeze upon recognizing it. It’s a blindfold. I grab her wrist. “That is so not gonna happen.”
“Yes it is,” she counters. “It’s part of the plan. You can’t see where we’re going. The mystery is half the fun!”
I shake my head, more than reluctant to oblige. “No.”
“Come on. Don’t you trust me?”
Of course I trust you. With my life, I trust you. “All right, damn it,” I relent.
She wraps the cloth around my head and ties it just so. “Can you see anything?”
The Gravity Between Us (New Adult Contemporary Romance) Page 6