by Susan Ward
Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the private cabin to rejoin Cia and Gretchen. Going from Europe to California was like a hard gear shift in an old car losing its transmission for me, even when I wanted to be home. There was an adjustment process to being around people who sincerely cared about me. In fact, a bigger adjustment for me than shifting into a world of people without genuine emotion.
I was tied up with Cia and Gretchen for the next hour doing the junk to get back into a country that even being insanely rich couldn’t spare me: customs interview in the private aviation building and collecting our bags from the secure area after they’d been inspected for what was in them.
Once Cody gathered our belongings, we went outside the building to see who was there to pick us up.
As I paused outside the terminal, letting the California sun heat my face, there were no surprises for any of us waiting at the curb.
Gretchen’s dad had sent a car with a driver for her and Cia. I didn’t think either of my friends’ parents had ever picked them up anywhere, not even from kindergarten. When they were kids it was the nanny, now it was only an empty car and driver, but as always that wasn’t the case for me.
My mom was parked behind Gretchen’s limo, barely able to be seen above the steering wheel of a giant black SUV. There wasn’t even a bodyguard with her, which no doubt my dad objected to before Mom left the house. Mom did what Mom wanted even if Alan grumbled about it.
She sprang from the vehicle the second she saw me. “Baby girl, you’re home.”
Gretchen turned toward me, surreptitiously arching a brow over my mom’s gushing greeting since both my girlfriends thought it a bit much how my parents continued to dote on and treated me as though I were a small child. But I wouldn’t have changed it for the world. I depended upon my parents being exactly how they always had been; a constant in my pitching world.
I rushed her way as she rushed mine and we collided in a hug. She commenced to lavish kisses across my cheek as Cody stood a polite distance behind us with the bags.
“I missed you, Mom.”
Her arms tightened, and she added a shake to her embrace. With the tenderness only mothers can convey, she placed her palm on my cheek and I melted into the inescapable comfort of her touch. “Let’s get you home. The flight from France is so long. You must be exhausted and hungry.”
“No. Just glad to be home. Slept on the plane and I’m stuffed with Oreos. Cody, too.”
My mom’s face brightened. “Good. That’s why I sent them.”
I leaned until my nose touched hers. “That’s why I ate them.”
Her eyes grew enormous on her face. “You’ve been all right, haven’t you?”
That question in the first minute home was not a surprise, but I couldn’t seal myself against her worry as I nodded. “Everything’s good, Mom.”
She touched my face again then stepped back so she could look around me to Cody. “You’ve been taking care of her, haven’t you?”
Cody stepped forward. “Always, ma’am.”
“He’s marvelously attentive,” Cia exclaimed, closing in on us. “Always there the second we call him.”
“Yes,” Gretchen assured. “There was an episode at the airport—by the way, the only one this trip—but one shout and there he was to take care of Khloe.”
Mom’s eyes clouded with worry as her stare held me, demanding elaboration on the episode, and I wanted to kick Gretchen for having said that. “It was nothing, Mom. I’m fine.”
I could tell my assurance wouldn’t be enough to calm my mother’s concern, and she shifted her gaze to Cody. They shared a long meaningful stare and he nodded as added reassurance.
“See.” I tilted my head, waiting for my mom to exit panic mode.
Chrissie let out a long sigh then smiled. I didn’t believe for a second that was the end of this discussion. She would grill me about this later, but true to form, Cia began to regale my mom with an abridged version of our adventures of the summer as both girls took selfies with Chrissie to post later.
I stood discreetly out of the camera lens catching line, adoring how my mom was with my friends. Chrissie rolled with whatever came her way because of me, even the overt manner by which my friends exploited her celebrity at times. It wasn’t lost to me that it was all part of how my mom loved me. She was grossly uncomfortable being the center of attention anywhere, but for my friends she did it with grace.
A sharp jab to my heart visited me with the thought of how much she loved me to stand there calmly smiling while my friends made her a spectacle in front of the terminal. As if he could sense my rising concern for my mom, Cody slipped an arm around me. “Time to rescue Chrissie and get you home,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re tired even after all that sleep on the plane. I can feel it. Don’t pretend.”
It was a struggle not to let my reaction to his observations change my expression as I stepped toward the car and waited for him to open my door.
“Ma’am,” Cody announced imperatively, causing my mom to extract herself from Cia’s racing chatter to notice me at the SUV. “You need to get into the car, please.”
Chrissie’s face took on a cute pink. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry.”
Her shoes made a loud slapping sound against the pavement as she rushed toward me, and I glanced at the ground.
For anyone who didn’t understand my mother, nothing could explain her better than her present attire. I laughed when I realized that while my mom had stylishly dressed in an expensive designer white linen pantsuit for picking me up, she’d forgotten to put something on her feet other than the cheap plastic beach sandals she preferred to wear around the house. Rich girl from the ankles up, but forever a woman of simple, ordinary things. Not even being married to Dad and all his billions could change that.
“Nice shoes.” I smirked with a pointed glance.
She shrugged, happy and unconcerned. “Cody, why don’t you drive so I can visit with my girl?”
“That’s what I’m here for, ma’am.” After helping my mother into the SUV, he went to the back of the vehicle to stow our bags as I stepped from the car to say goodbye to my friends.
“Behave, both of you,” I laughingly ordered as we group hugged and kissed.
Gretchen crinkled her nose. “I’m sorry about earlier. Telling your mom about the episode. I didn’t mean to upset her. It just came out.”
I was annoyed and she could see it, but Gretchen tended to speak without thinking, I knew that, and criticizing her wouldn’t change anything. “It’s no big deal. If my mom hadn’t gotten worked up about that, she’d have found something else to get alarmed about. She refuses to believe I’m OK unless Cody tells her I am.”
Gretchen whispered, “If only she knew what a maniac you were when we traveled she wouldn’t worry half as much while you were away.”
“Hugs. Kisses. I’ve got to get home.” I abruptly ended our goodbye, much to the consternation of them both. “If we’re too long at the airport, my dad will worry next.”
Cia rolled her eyes, but behind her mask of Khloe’s parents are so ridiculous I could see she was envious of me.
I paused before getting in the car. “Text me later.”
As they waved, I settled in the seat beside my mom and Cody closed the door.
Chrissie’s loving blue eyes settled on me. “You look really good, baby girl.”
“So do you, Mom. I was just teasing about the flip-flops. I love them. I’d be heartbroken if you ever stopped wearing them. When I was little and wanted to find you in the house I just listened for them against the floors.”
Chrissie laughed. “Not really?”
“Yep, all us kids did. Ask them.” I slouched into her body so she could put an arm around me, since my mom was petite and I was tall like my dad.
“It’s been quiet here without you.” She sounded wistful. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
I was the baby of the family, and after four years my mom hadn’t adapted to the e
mpty-nest stage of her life. It was part of why I spent half a year still living at home when all my siblings had had their own homes since eighteen.
“It shouldn’t be quiet.” I pounced on the single subject that could keep her from focusing on me. “Wait. Eric’s still out of rehab, isn’t he? Don’t tell me it’s quiet because he’s back in.”
My mom chided me with her eyes. “Not funny, Khloe. Yes, your brother’s still out of rehab, doing well, and working the steps this time. Backpacking around Washington State and trying to figure out what he wants to do with his life.” Chrissie frowned. “I thought you two talked.”
Eric and I did, more than I ever expected to, and our relationship was the best it’d ever been. He’d never had much interest in me when I was a kid, though we were only six years apart. He doted a bit on me now and then, but it always seemed simply because the rest of the family expected it, not from any depth of affection.
My older brother was a famous rock star and had been in and out of rehab since sixteen. He’d demolished his marriage, then his career, and hit bottom last spring. I’d left my months traveling the summer with Zane to come home for Eric’s most recent family intervention. My parents wanted all hands on deck to make this intervention the last one, and saying no wasn’t an option.
When my dad called, I dropped everything to return to Pacific Palisades to support my family, even though last June when I got the call I hadn’t had much of a relationship ever with Eric.
It was strange how quickly we’d become close in recent weeks. Probably because for twenty-seven years he’d been a crisis waiting to happen for my parents, like me. We took turns being the family emergency the rest of them had to manage. We took turns being the one the rest of them had to worry about. The only thing we didn’t take turns at was being the family fuckup. That slot belonged solely to my oldest brother, but conversely it made Eric less judgmental and easier to share my private junk with.
He liked knowing I was living my life as fully as I could in defiance of our parents, even if he didn’t like how I did it. He worried about me now that he was clean and sober. Enough so that it catapulted me to the top of his daily text-home list. I liked knowing he wouldn’t lecture me and understood how I was feeling about where my life was going and why I had relationships like Zane and Cade.
You could tell anything to Eric and he wouldn’t be shocked. Probably because whatever I told him he’d either done it or done worse. I couldn’t share as openly what I did or how I felt with the rest of my family. They couldn’t take it and quietly absorb it the way he did. In my scary dark moments it was Eric I talked to. We’d bonded because of that.
“I hear from Eric now and then,” I said casually. “I was only double-checking that he was continuing to do OK with his recovery.”
My mom made a quirky expression then laughed. “Double-checking, huh? No, that’s not what you’re doing. You kids always talk about one of your siblings when you don’t want me trying to figure out what’s going on with you. That’s what you did here.”
I made a sheepish expression. “That’s so not true. There’s nothing to figure out about me.”
“There’s always something one of you isn’t telling me.”
“Not this time, Mom. How’s Dad?”
She smiled, exasperated. “You’re such a cheeky girl, Khloe.”
It was hard to speak through my suppressed laughter. “You don’t sound anything like Dad when you say that. I would have thought you’d be able to acquire a better British accent by now for when you mimic him.”
We both laughed, and my mom began to ramble on about what my dad had been up to after I left Pacific Palisades the first of September. The trite, familiar tone of how we conversed made me smile broadly. Nothing ever changed in Chrissie’s world and it was true what people said: no matter what you did or who you became, with your parents first and foremost you’d forever be nothing more than their child.
It held true for all my siblings: Kaley, the wildly successful filmmaker and mom of four; Krystal, the retired prima ballerina, endeavoring to pump out enough babies to catch our older sister; Ethan, the internationally famous musician, now living with his girlfriend, Avery, and expecting their first child; Eric, the scandalous druggie, divorced dad, and resident fuckup. And even me, their oh-so-perfect daughter who wasn’t perfect at all.
How we are defined by our parents is inescapable, and the only variant to that rule was whether it brought someone home or kept them away.
After Europe I always jetted first to Pacific Palisades, the need to be with my family overpowering. Although I disappeared for six months every year, I loved every minute of being with them like the gift it was.
Chapter Eleven
THERE WAS A BENTLEY parked in our driveway when our SUV reached home. Other than to note it didn’t belong to my family, I paid it no notice at all.
Expensive cars clustered in front of the house were nothing new. My dad had a passion for pricy toys, and most of his friends did as well. That the Bentley had a second vehicle behind it, a black SUV with darkly tinted windows like the one I was in and armed security guards waiting beside it, wasn’t anything to spare a thought about either.
I was back on my parents’ lavish ten-acre estate, and strange cars and strange people were a commonplace intrusion to existence here. My dad’s circle of friends was eclectic and brimming with the famous, the rich, the paranoid, or those who really required security for legitimate reasons. It was impossible to figure who might be inside with my dad by the cars I discovered in the driveway, so I never tried. I just rolled with it as my mother did.
As I climbed from the SUV, my passing comment was, “Dad has company.”
Chrissie looked around and her expression flashed like she’d only that moment realized the Bentley was there. “Oh. He does have company. Your dad didn’t when I left. He was working in the studio with Ethan. He’s producing your brother’s next album, which has made your dad very happy. I don’t think you kids realize how important it is to us to feel useful in your lives now that you’re grown. Alan loves to be useful and...” She trailed off mid-sentence, a habit my mom routinely indulged, and glanced about again. “And it looks like Ethan’s gone. Away from home for an hour and everything changes.”
I pouted. “I was hoping it’d be just us at home when I got here. Dad’s so hard to get time with when he has friends at the house.”
Smiling, she looped her arm through mine. “Whatever your dad’s doing, you can intrude—always—you know that. Alan would much rather see you than whoever he’s with.”
Her assurances didn’t make me feel better about having to brave a visitor first thing home to say hello to Dad. After weeks in Europe, having to make more polite pleasantries just to say “hello, I’m home” to Pop wasn’t something I was enthusiastic about. That vein of thought brought Damon to mind when I’d been nearly successful on the drive home keeping him from it.
My expression must have changed because my mom answered my pout with a pout. “Come on. Let’s get you settled in and home,” Chrissie crooned. “Cody, bring her bags in, please. Then you should probably pop in and see your parents before you leave for your house.”
It was a suggestion she didn’t need to make to Cody. He was a very good son—an only child—and knew in spades the drill with his parents, but he nodded with a sweet expression on his face as he retrieved my suitcases.
“That’d be great.” He smiled. “I’d like to catch up with my folks then get home—that is, if Khloe isn’t going to be needing me more today.”
His question made my mom frown, instantly worried I might be planning to take off again soon, and I quickly assured, “No, consider yourself off the job until further notice.”
Mom beamed. “That’s music to my ears. I’m glad you’re planning on a long, uninterrupted stay this time, Khloe.”
“Yes, Mom. Me, too.”
I was rewarded with Cody’s it’s the little things that make Chrissie happy l
ook, something I didn’t need to be constantly reminded of, and I allowed myself to be guided into the house by my mother in a manner akin to her helping someone who didn’t know where they were going. Nothing in the house ever changed. Not a single inch of all twenty-five thousand square feet of it.
As I crossed from the sun-bright front walk into the high-ceilinged dimly lit marble foyer I removed my sunglasses to adjust to the change of light. This area was my least favorite in the house. It was elegant and foreboding, a reflection of my dad and not my mother, and I’d always wondered why Chrissie tolerated it when the rest of our house with awash with whimsical charm and warm simplicity that was the essence of her.
“Do you want to rest, go see your father, or have something to eat first?” she asked.
My lips were puckered so as not to laugh at the shockingly loud slapping of her sandals against the marble in the quiet of the house. “I better go check in with Dad first. He can hear we’re home.”
Her brow crinkled like that was perplexing, and I could no longer withhold my laughter. Slap, slap, slap marked our transit to the kitchen.
Chrissie set her purse on the giant center island. “Why don’t I make us some iced tea and a snack to hold you over until dinner, while you go see your dad? Tell Alan I want him on the back patio in ten minutes. It’ll be easier for you if we’re together while we catch up with you about your travels.”
It was a reasonable suggestion that made me tense. “I don’t need it easier, Mom.” Her brows lowered, confused, and I groaned. “I’m doing well. I told you that. Cody told you that. Let’s not start first thing I’m home making everything easier for Khloe, OK?”
A rush of color filled her cheeks. “That wasn’t what I was doing...we like hearing your stories together...I just thought...I’m sorry.”
Damn it. Rambling response from my mom. I wanted to kick myself because I must have told her that with an unintended edge of sharpness to my voice. That quickly I put her on the edge of tears when it was the last thing I wanted.
I rushed to surround my mom with my arms, giving her a fierce hug. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m more tired from the flight than I realized, I guess. But that’s no excuse for being snappy with you. I’ll get Dad. Iced tea and a snack on the patio would be good.”