Kicking Reality

by Kat T. Masen

  “He’s gay, is that it?” I joke.

  “Your brother gay? The tabloids have a fascination with his love life which all involve women. I don’t know how I raised a man-whore child.”

  I laugh softly. “Because it’s in your blood. You write romance novels, Mom. You’re a New York Times bestseller. Even when you’re not writing, you’re sending out this romantic vibe to everyone around you.”

  “Romance is one thing, kid, your brother is another,” she chuckles. “So, can you fly back tomorrow?”

  My parents live on the east coast, in a small town just outside of Connecticut with my younger sister Tayla. As much as I miss being home and the quiet life, flying out is always a hassle. Over the past year, paparazzi had a fascination with my movements and followed me wherever I went. A reason why I reduced the trips back home.

  “I guess I can swing it. We’re not filming till next week and Wes is flying to Amsterdam for a photoshoot tonight.”

  “Great! I’ll get Daddy to pick you up at the airport. I miss you kid, it’s been too long.”

  “I know Mom.” I sigh, hanging up the phone after saying goodbye.

  You would think that being a twenty-six-year-old woman would have my big-girl panties permanently on but on occasions like this, when something seemed off and not right, I missed my mom a lot. Living across the country might as well have been across the ocean. We had a relationship that most people envied; I would easily call her my best friend. We texted several times a day, anything and everything she knew about my life. I respected her opinion, and we rarely argued about anything unless it was who would win The Batchelor.

  Growing up with a mother that wrote romance had its ups and downs. I didn’t know it at the time, but Mom was one of the biggest romance writers in the world. Her books had been translated in every possible language and she was often doing signings across the globe.

  My first memory of her leaving us for the weekend was when I was five. I cried because Dad was a shitty cook and I didn’t want anyone to cook besides her. Self-centered and a brat.

  As I grew older, I became fascinated with her career and began reading her books in my teens. The only thing I skim past: the sex scenes. Mom is a great writer but some things are best left a mystery. People often asked her, “Where do you get your inspiration from?” and “I bet you live an exciting life.” Sure, Mom and Dad loved each other but Dad would always be the beer-drinking, nut-eating dad that yelled at the TV when his team let him down. A sports fanatic who had very little time for romance. At least, that was my observation.

  I make my way slowly back to the interview room to find Wes waiting for me. Something is amiss; his normally styled hair looks like he has just run a marathon, sweaty and stuck to his forehead. He’s quick to shove his cell back in his pocket, focusing his attention on me.

  “Em, we have to go. My flight leaves tonight and I’m not packed.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I respond while he reaches out for my hand. “Mom called me. She wants me to fly home for the weekend.”

  “To Connecticut?”

  “No, to the moon. Yes to Connecticut. Something about my brother being in town with a surprise.”

  “I don’t like you going alone.”

  “Well I don’t like you going alone to Amsterdam but you insisted,” I argue back.

  He squeezes my hand tighter, plastering a fake smile knowing all eyes would be on us when we leave the room. Not saying another word, we scurry past the few fans lined up and climb into the car. We buckle our seat belts in unison as he starts the engine quickly, checking the rear-view mirror before speeding off.

  “There’s just so much I need to do for the photoshoot, Em. I didn’t work out yesterday or today because of all these interviews. I’m just not in my best shape.”

  I am not buying the excuse, and instead remain tight-lipped avoiding another argument. All we seemed to do lately is argue. I was fed up with his unorganized trips and for some reason, he became more possessive over our relationship which frustrated me. We had a few fights on camera which the both of us were forced to reconcile and put on a united front. I don’t know what it was about us, but pinned it down to the fact that we were engaged and now sitting on top of our shoulders is a wedding which the network executives are eager to pay for knowing it is their gold mine.

  “Listen.” He parks the car in the garage of our apartment block, resting his arm on the back of my chair. “I know things have been tense between us but it’ll all die down soon. Maybe we need a trip away? A quick romantic getaway where I can fuck you all weekend long.”

  I smile softly. “You’re a jerk. That’s the problem. Less jerk, more fucking.”

  Burying his face in my neck, he runs his tongue along my skin as I close my eyes. The sound of the leather seat squeaks when he shifts closer to me. I missed him already and wished he would beg me to come on this trip. Throw all caution to the wind and be spontaneous.

  “You’re mine,” he murmurs. “Remember that.”

  Here we go again. I humor him, just to rile some sort of reaction.

  “I’ll try to remember that and to let my other boyfriend know,” I chuckle.

  His smirk fades, brows furrowing. “You know I don’t like that joke. There’s a million guys lining up for you.”

  “Name one?”

  “I could name a dozen. You never know, Em, there’s probably that one guy out there completely obsessed with you. Would do anything to make you his.”

  “Tell him I said hello when you find him,” I say, deadpan.

  “Funny. Now shut up. You’ve wasted enough time. Get your ass out of this car and in our bed so I can fuck you till my flight leaves.”

  I let out a giggle, ignoring our fight as we both laugh and race up the stairs to our apartment. He throws me over his shoulder, opening the door with a youthful laugh until he stops and yells, “Fuck!”

  Dropping me to the ground, I turn around swiftly and see only one thing: George.

  With a mouthful of Wes’s expensive shoes.

  Without saying a single word, Wes’s face foretells our future.

  No one is getting laid tonight.

  “Home is where the heart is.

  And memories you forgot existed.”

  ~ Emerson Chase

  There’s nothing more satisfying than walking through the airport doors and smelling fresh air. Especially when that air is home.

  Even with my shades on, fans had seen me and begged me for autographs and selfies. It didn’t bother me since it only took a few minutes and they weren’t as ruthless as the paparazzi. I smiled—happy to oblige—then wormed my way out of the small circle that began to grow and draw attention.

  Dad had met me at the terminal, parked outside in his fancy Mercedes. The one mom called a mid-life crisis. It was a nice car—sleek, black, and shiny. For someone in his mid-fifties, Dad scrubbed up well too. He hadn’t aged much over the years, still styling his silver-grey hair to the side with a thin beard to match. His piercing blue eyes mirrored mine and my brother’s, though his were surrounded with slight wrinkles when he smiled.

  “I missed you Emmy.” He smiles, placing his arm around me after he loads my suitcase into the trunk.

  “Miss you too Daddy-O. Bet you miss Ash more.”

  He releases a short grunt, quick to voice his opinion. “I don’t know what your brother is up to by coming home but it doesn’t sound good. Especially when they have an important game next week.”

  “C’mon Dad, it’s not like he’s going to quit soccer. He lives and breathes that shit.”

  We both hop into the car, mindful of the parking attendant yelling at everyone delaying the traffic. In a quick second, Dad speeds off and we’re on the freeway home.

  “So, how’s Wesley?”

  I shrug. “The same, I guess.”

  “Taking care of you?”

  “Dad, I’m twenty-six. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know that,” he states with a half-smile.
“You’ve always been independent just like your mother. I meant, is he treating you well?”

  “Yes, Dad. I wouldn’t marry someone who is not treating me well.”

  Just like I had predicted, George eating Wes’s shoes had left Wes in a foul mood. To top the night off, we got into another fight as the car service pulled up to the apartment. Wes was stepping out of the door while informing me of a party he was scheduled to make an appearance at. Normally, I wouldn’t have minded, but then he told me who would be attending and I was quick to voice my concerns. Those group of actors were nothing but trouble dragging everyone’s name in the mud along with them. We left off shouting nasty words to each other and haven’t spoken since.

  Poor George—he witnessed the whole thing.

  “And the wedding. Have they set a date yet?” Dad asks, veering right as he exits off the freeway.

  “Not yet. They want to make sure it falls at the right time. The largest viewing is during winter when people are stuck at home so maybe a winter wedding. Personally, I like the summertime.”

  Dad remains quiet, and I knew he wasn’t a fan of what I was doing with my life. In fact, he was the first person to tell me I shouldn’t be part of such trivial and mindless television. Of course he would say that—Ash was his favorite.

  When I signed the dotted line to appear on the show, we didn’t speak for weeks until I cried over the phone and told him that I loved him and needed him to support me. That moment defined our relationship. He admitted that he wanted only the best for me and would support me as long as I was happy.

  The problem now—I wasn’t happy. But I kept it to myself, playing the part of the happy fiancée because I didn’t know any different and because the web I weaved for myself seemed tangled and impossible to get out of.

  We drive through the leafy town of Green Meadows—a place that had been home since the moment I left my mother’s womb. It’s a gorgeous day; blue skies with a small array of clouds clustered in the far east. The air outside is warm, so I open the windows to feel the warmth against my plane-ridden skin.

  Every place in Green Meadows had a memory. The corner shop where I would ride my bike and buy candy with money I stole from Ash’s room, to the large oak tree that sat in the middle of the town square shading the playground equipment.

  Resting back into the seat, I watch the familiar places as we drive by and head towards home. Turning the corner, the streets become wider and the houses grander until I see our house in full view.

  It still takes my breath away. The two-story red brick home partially covered in vine. When I was younger, it looked like a mansion. It’s funny how as we grow, our perception changes.

  Dad drives the car in the driveway until we’re parked adjacent to the front doors. He exits the car and begins unloading my belongings when the door opens and I see Mom peeking her head out.

  “Emmy!”

  Running out the door with a joyous smile, she impatiently waits for me to exit the car. I quickly do so and jump straight into her arms, burying my head in her shoulder like I did when I was a kid. She still smells the same: lavender mixed with strawberries and vanilla. Some fruity flowery perfume that my grandmother used to always wear.

  With my face buried in her long black hair, tears fall down my cheeks as the reality of being home sinks in. This is just what I needed—Family. Life had been so hectic over the past year that I ignored my desperate need to be here. A place that means so much more than brick and mortar.

  Mom pulls me back, studying my face with her palms pressed against my tear-streaked cheeks. “Hey kid, why the tears?”

  “Just . . . I . . .” I stammer on my words, trying to control my emotions. “I missed you.”

  “Gee, I didn’t get a greeting like that,” Dad mumbles under his breath as he walks past, carrying the bags inside and disappearing up the large staircase.

  “Don’t mind him,” Mom says softly. “C’mon, I’ve made your favorite cake.”

  “The rainbow cake vomiting the M&M’s?”

  Mom laughs, closing the door behind her. “You make it sound so appetizing. Go get settled in your room and come down when you’re ready. And while you’re up there, try to see if your sister is alive. I haven’t seen her all day.”

  I lean across the countertop, my hands moving towards the cake with delight. The cake is just how I always remembered it: four colorful layers with cream filling in between. When you sliced the middle open, the M&M’s poured out displaying its yummy goodness.

  I had showered and got changed into a casual sundress with no plans to go anywhere tonight. And just like Mom had asked, I stopped by my sister Tayla’s room to be ignored as usual. Apparently, she was going through that teen attitude stage. At sixteen, she was the baby of the family; Mom admitting to me that she was the result of a weekend away at Vegas with a bottle of Moscato. Something I did not need to know.

  The cake is calling my name so I dig in, chatting with Mom as she stands opposite me. I may be bias, but Mom is insanely beautiful. She wears her long black hair out as usual—her reading glasses perched on her head pulling her hair out of her face. Wearing minimal makeup, her skin is flawless and naturally clear. At family parties, my aunties would moan about the amount of Botox Mom apparently had. Zero. They were jealous women looking for any reason to pick on their little sister. I never understood how jealously could become such an unhealthy obsession until I started to mingle with the Hollywood crowd.

  “So, what’s happening and what was that text last night about Wes being a moron?”

  Sliding my fork sideways, I scoop another piece of heaven and bring it to my mouth.

  “It’s not George’s fault. He’s bored and we haven’t been paying as much attention to him as we should be.”

  “Still, that dog of yours has expensive taste,” Mom casually adds, sliding a glass of homemade lemonade towards me. She knows the way to my stomach.

  “I think he’s gay.”

  “You think your dog is gay?”

  “He only chews on Versace shoes, plus one time at the dog park, he totally just sat there and watched another male dog hump the streetlamp.”

  Mom laughs, almost spitting out her drink. “Hollywood dog parks seem more controversial than here.”

  “You’re telling me. Plenty of bitches.” I laugh with her. “And about Wes . . . I’m over his immature behaviour. He wants to party and hang out with his so-called friends like he is eighteen again. Didn’t we outgrow this already? I’m all for a drink now and then but grow up already.” I air out my frustrations, not realizing how heavy it weighed on my shoulders. It felt good to chat to Mom in person, and if anyone could understand me, she would.

  “Maybe you’re taking life too seriously?”

  Her eyes scan mine with curiosity as my words remain trapped. I never considered myself a serious person, I liked to have fun too. But lately I was forever being the adult for the both of us and that may be due to the pressure I felt to be the next big thing. Pressure that stems from management . . . and myself.

  “I do know how to have fun, Mom,” I respond flatly.

  “Last Friday night you were pairing socks, adamant that there is a secret place in the universe where socks migrate to leaving you forever pair less.”

  I smile, relaxing my shoulders. “There is, right? You’re a mom, surely you should be telling me where this place is?”

  Mom strokes my cheek with her hand, calming my agitated mood. “Kid, it’ll forever remain a mystery, but if you ever find out, promise me you’ll tell me first?”

  “Pinky swear.”

  There’s a commotion coming from the hall. Doors slamming and a gust of wind following. Seconds later, my brother walks in with his usual shit-eating grin, dumping his bag onto the ground.

  Mom is quick to wipe her hands on her apron, bringing him in for a hug. Ash towered over her, but still looked like a little momma’s boy when she fixed his dirty-blond hair and parted it to the side. It’s hard to believe we ar
e twins considering we looked nothing alike, aside from our blue eyes and the few freckles that were scattered around the bridge of our noses.

  Throughout my childhood, I swore it was a ploy to bring us close together and that we weren’t twins. Ash was adopted from some alien form that spawned around the time I was born. It explained why he had the IQ of a peanut.

  “Missed ya Ma.” He grins, eyes wandering to the plate parked in front of me.

  It doesn’t take him long to acknowledge my presence. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t my long-lost famous sister.”

  “Well, well, well,” I mimic. “If it isn’t my annoying brother with some sort of foot fungal disease.”

  Ash moves around the counter, letting go of Mom, and wrapping his arms around me from behind. I kinda missed the fucker, despite how much he annoyed me. He hadn’t changed much since I saw him last year, still sporting some weird crew-cut and growing a mustache to hide his baby face. I don’t know how he became this man-whore with that awful mustache. And of course, he still wore the same clothes. Adidas everything. It’s like the brand threw up all over him: shirt, shorts, shoes, even socks. A walking billboard.

  Just when I think I missed him and it’s good to have him around again, his giant man hands swipe the last piece of cake on my plate, throwing it into his mouth.

  “Hey,” I complain, releasing myself from his overbearing hug.

  “You snooze you lose.”

  “I wasn’t snoozing, you ape!”

  “One minute and the two of you can’t go on without fighting? I thought absence was supposed to make the heart grow fonder?” Dad chuckles, placing his keys on the counter and standing beside Mom.

  “Not when dear old brother texts you a million times a day. There’s no absence.”

  Suddenly, Ash’s demeanor changes—almost nervous. He does this thing with his eyebrows where he twists the ends of them almost as if to distract him. I knew something was up but much like Mom and Dad, was completely in the dark.