My Not So Super Sweet Life

by Rachel Harris

  Thank God Cat’s asleep right now.

  As the hosts go on to talk about Holly and her costars, along with the other big names that stopped by, I tell myself it’ll be okay. Cat never watches this stuff, and right now, there’s really no proof. It’s all just speculation.

  But that speculation is damning.

  Projected opening box office numbers drone on as I feel Angela’s stare on my cheek. “What are you thinking?” she asks me.

  I swipe my hand across my face and throw my head back against the sofa cushion. “That the truth is going to destroy Cat.”

  …

  An hour later, I’m calling again. I’m nervous that I’ll slip about the show, but I need to hear Cat’s voice. Need to ground myself in the girl I know and not the one I saw on television. As the call clicks over to voice mail, the door to my dad’s office swings open.

  I hadn’t realized my parents were home.

  Angela and I swap glances as the pair of them walk into the living room. Mom seems nervous. Maybe even more so than last week. Her hands are fisted, her lips moving subtly as if saying a string of prayers under her breath. Dad looks determined…and almost excited.

  Real excitement requires effort, but since his meeting with Mr. Rossi, Dad has shown sparks of life. Interest in Angela’s sweet sixteen, another shocking moment of laughter, and frustration and annoyance with me. We haven’t spoken much since I told him I was off the team, but I’ve grown fluent in grunts.

  “Good. Glad to see you both here.” Dad’s tone and expression are all business as he takes a seat in his favorite recliner. Mom settles for the padded armrest. She doesn’t meet my eyes. “We have news we’d like to discuss with you.”

  Immediately, I know this isn’t going to be good. Angela must think the same thing because she goes completely still beside me. Except for the pinky finger that snakes out to snag my own.

  “As you know, Dario was in Los Angeles for meetings last week.” Dad looks at me as he says this, clearly remembering how I dropped the no soccer bomb in front of his partner. “It seems that Lirica Records’s last quarter has been busier and more profitable than expected. While I moved us back here to get the L.A. market running, I’ve kept my hands in everything occurring in Milan. With the surge of activity the last two months, it has been a challenge to manage both.”

  Dad waits for both of us to nod, acknowledging we’re listening. I hear him, although I’m pretty sure I don’t want to. The whole time he’s been talking, Mom hasn’t lifted her eyes from her lap. She just keeps smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her linen pants. I swallow hard and turn back to Dad.

  He rests his open hands on his knees. “Your mother and I realize it isn’t easy uprooting lives on a whim. We asked a lot when we moved you at the end of last year, and we don’t take asking you to do it again lightly. That’s what we’d like to discuss now.” His gaze darts between us. “Timing.”

  “Wait,” I say, breaking free of Angela’s tightened grip. I shake my head, clearly misunderstanding. “Are you saying it’s already decided? No discussion. You’re going back, just like that?”

  Dad presses his lips in a frown. “We’re going back, and yes. But if you feel you aren’t ready now, your mother is prepared to stay in the States until the summer.”

  Angela utters a squeak. Her wide eyes find mine, begging me to stop this from happening. I fist my hair in my hands as options and arguments fly through my mind. It’s a short list.

  Dad glances away, and then Mom says, “Neither of you wanted to move here, either.”

  I look over to see her staring straight at me.

  “You didn’t want to leave your friends or your school. You hated it here at first,” she reminds me, her eyes imploring me to go with this. “We hoped you would be happy to go back.”

  Happy? Happy to leave the first place I’ve ever been myself. The friends who know and like me for who I am, not what I can do out on the field. A girl who I realized Saturday I’m completely in love with. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  Mom’s face falls, but she doesn’t look surprised. She knows. She gets it.

  Dad is another story. “Lucas.” His voice is gruff, and he coughs a few times to clear it. He shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable, and then wary gray eyes stare back at me. “I heard you the other day. About soccer…and…and about David.” He flinches when he says my brother’s name and stops to collect himself. My pulse pounds in my ears. “You may be right. I haven’t taken a good look at you in quite some time. But, son, I’m looking now.”

  Pressure mounts behind my eyes. My throat becomes thick, and my jaw locks in place. My father searches my face as if he is finally seeing me. Maybe for the first time.

  “If soccer isn’t what you want to do, then to hell with it.” My head jerks back, his words shocking the ever-loving shit out of me. “If art is your passion, then chase that. It’s your life, and you have a right to spend it the way you want. David’s death taught me that.” Dad breaks off in a choking sound, and Mom quietly sobs.

  Holy shit. Grief hits me like a truck. The pain would’ve brought me to my knees had I been standing. As it is, I hunch over my knees. But I don’t break eye contact. Dad’s clear, focused gaze is on me, and I see that he understands. Angela’s hand reaches out to grasp mine.

  Then he says, “But I need you to live your life in Italy.”

  Air whooshes from my lungs. My stomach jerks, and I sit stunned. I’m getting what I’ve wanted for three long years, maybe longer. Yet it’s costing me everything I need.

  “You can’t find better inspiration than that,” Mom offers softly. Always the peacekeeper. An artist who understands passion. “Milan, Florence, and Rome…Lucas, that’s where my favorites lived and breathed. If you’re going to follow your heart, that’s the place to do it.”

  I shake my head, incredulous. “My heart,” I repeat. “You want me to follow my heart?”

  Mom’s eyes widen at my tone of voice, which I admit sounds a bit crazed. But my entire fucking world has just been shoved inside a blender. “My heart lives here, Mom.”

  Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, and then awareness dawns. “You mean Cat?”

  I don’t answer her. I can’t even if I wanted to. It’s taking everything in me not to bolt or yell, or worse, give in to the burning behind my eyes. I stare back, the muscles in my jaw rippling as I strain to keep it together. Compassion washes over her face.

  “I hadn’t realized the two of you were that serious.”

  “Who is Cat?” Dad interrupts, glancing back and forth between us.

  And that’s when I lose it.

  My dad’s met her a half a dozen times. At her sweet sixteen months ago, here when she’s come to visit, and once at her house while planning Angela’s party. I’ve mentioned her name at countless strained family dinners. But this is how blind he’s been. How utterly clueless. I’ve found myself because of this girl. I’m willing to fight like hell to stay here because of her. And he doesn’t even know she exists.

  A dark laugh explodes from my chest as I push to my feet. Dad flinches. I exchange a weighted look with Angela, and she nods, understanding my need to leave before I say or do something I’ll regret. Something I can’t take back and sure as shit won’t help me.

  Without another word, without another look at my father, I head straight for the garage, grabbing my keys off the hook as I pass the back door. As it closes behind me, I hear him call out for me, followed by Mom’s gentle voice saying to give me time.

  Like that will do anything.

  Time isn’t why I head for my bike. Riding is where I do my best thinking, and right now, I need a damn plan. A way to stay when my family up and leaves. Something I can do or say. This can’t be over.

  Slamming my helmet on my head, I swing my leg over the seat and check my phone before pocketing it. One missed call. Checking the time, I realize Cat must’ve called while Dad was dropping his nuclear bomb. I shove the phone deep into my pocket and turn
the key.

  I can’t talk to her now. What would I say? Your mom is a fake, and oh, by the way, I’m leaving you. She’s made it clear since day one her worst fear is that people leave.

  My call would only confirm it.

  Closure

  ∙Cat∙

  I check my phone as the waiter brings me another Coke. I smile in gratitude and take a big gulp, wondering where on earth Lucas could be. After waking from my stupor yesterday (seriously, who knew partying with my mother could knock me on my butt so hard?), I checked my missed calls and tried calling him back. Twice. But he didn’t answer.

  And he hasn’t called back.

  What sucks is that I have this eerie feeling I can’t seem to shake. A prickling on the back of my neck. A sense that someone is watching me, or something big is about to happen. I’m sure it’s just this mystery with Lucas. My overactive imagination making trouble where there isn’t any—that and my thrown-off sleep schedule. Nothing that copious amounts of sugar can’t cure.

  As I take another long pull off the sweet nectar, nearly draining the filled glass in one go, I deposit my iPhone back on the table, in clear sight in case it goes off. Although my mother is Miss Popular whose phone hasn’t stopped ringing this morning, my screen remains black.

  I frown around my straw and lift my eyes to see Ransom watching me. “Everything okay?”

  Even though I’m majorly stressing, I swallow my mouthful and smile. “Yeah,” I say, stabbing my drink with my striped straw. “Just being a girl. We enjoy inventing drama where there is none.”

  He nods as if he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t push it. After throwing Caterina an annoyed glance, he dive-bombs into his French toast. I stare at him for a minute and then go for another gulp of soda.

  Ransom is another mystery I’d like to solve. Ever since he mentioned his run-in with a psychic, a dozen questions have floated in mind. Three in particular.

  Was there anything else to the cryptic message? Can he repeat it word for word? Experience has proven that the answers to gypsy riddles are often in the fine print.

  Did the psychic give any hint about me? The problem is that I haven’t thought of a way to ask without appearing incredibly narcissistic. Or demented. But I’m dying to know.

  And finally, did he manage to get her name?

  Obviously, the answer to that question would only confirm what I already know is true. It was Reyna. I’m as confident about that as I am that something is up with Lucas. And while I’m trying very hard not to freak about my relationship, knowing my gypsy girl has a hand in the rest of the madness helps everything else fall into place.

  This is fate. Ransom is meant to be here, and I’m meant to know my mom. The world of attention and limelight may feel like a pair of ill-fitting sneakers, but in the end, everything will work out fine. It has to. Destiny has sanctioned it.

  I just need to acclimate.

  After a few more minutes of quiet eating—well, Ransom and me quietly eating while Mom chatters away on her phone—she finally sets it down. Smiling at us, she asks, “Now then, where were we?”

  I’m tempted to say nowhere, since you’ve had your phone glued to your ear from the moment we arrived, but I bite my tongue. Going for positivity, I say, “I have news.” This gets both their attention. “Dad’s wedding has been rescheduled. It’s next week in Santa Barbara, and the two of you are invited.”

  That took no small effort on my part. They don’t mind Rance, but Jenna wasn’t too keen on revealing details about the big day to Caterina again. Eventually, though, they agreed that if she was going to be a part of my life, they needed to start getting along. Much to Dad’s shock, the world didn’t end at the premiere. They were a little twitchy about how late I was out, but in the end admitted that maybe Mom wasn’t as bad as we’d once painted her to be. Maybe it was possible for people to change after all.

  “Next week?” Caterina asks. Her right eye squints, and she fidgets with the silverware.

  I nod, that eerie feeling pricking the base of my skull again. “Saturday.”

  She averts her gaze. That’s not good. But before I can work up the courage to dig, her ringtone goes off again. I don’t know if I’m more ticked or relieved. She picks up her phone and squeals at the display, and I shake my head at her untouched brunch.

  I’ve officially unearthed the secret of celebrity diets. They don’t eat. Their food grows cold before they can.

  “Darling!” she answers, and despite the weirdness, Ransom and I exchange a smirk. Her voice changes are majorly weird. I’ve heard her speak normally. I’ve seen glimpses of the everyday woman underneath the pancake mask. But when certain people call, or bigwigs come up to say hello, Caterina Angeli goes from girl-next-door to flirty temptress on a dime.

  Nodding eagerly, Mom says, “Oh yes, I’m fully prepared. I even read through the script again last night because I love it so much. I have such a vision for this role. It’s as if it was made for me.”

  That eerie feeling multiplies by a thousand as I turn and mouth to my brother, “Role?”

  Ransom shrugs, clearly as clueless as I am. He leans back in his seat, dropping his fork and abandoning his plate. For a teenage guy who packs away food, that doesn’t help my attack of nerves at all.

  “How wonderful!” A smile splits Caterina’s face so wide I worry it’s going to crack. She snaps her fingers at the shaggy minion sitting behind us. I’ve recently learned his name is Brice. She pointedly lifts an eyebrow at him and asks the caller, “Tuesday?”

  Brice consults his phone and nods. Caterina pumps her fist in the air. “We can do Tuesday. If you need me, I’ll hop on a plane today, in fact. I’m good to go whenever production is ready.” She nods again and gives Brice a thumbs-up. “How sweet. Tell Steven I look forward to working with him, too. He’s absolutely brilliant.”

  Good grief.

  As the B.S. continues to grow thicker, the knot in my gut travels north. It lodges in my chest, tightening it, making it hard to breathe. I’m not totally sure why. Mom hasn’t said anything overly shady or troublesome…other than being willing to leave town at the drop of a hat. Without a second thought about Ransom or me. But she probably didn’t really mean it, right? Just Mom being overly dramatic as always.

  Still, my spidey senses are on full alert.

  Grabbing what’s left of my soda, I chug like there’s no tomorrow.

  This is what I’ve gathered so far.

  Whoever is on the phone is important. He or she has obviously offered her a role, one that has her excited, and she thinks was made for her. I have no clue what that could be. It sounds as though a dude named Steven will be either her costar or the director and there’s a meeting of sorts on Tuesday.

  This Tuesday.

  The tightness in my chest pulses. Mom promised she’d be around for a while. A few weeks she said, but at the very least, I assumed she’d be here next Saturday. I want her at Dad and Jenna’s wedding. I want to see them all getting along. Having her there, looking at photographic proof later, will make this new chapter in my life feel real. Like I’ll finally be able to close the door on the past, and start fresh.

  Mom laughs. “Fantastic. I’ll bring my new favorite director a box of Cubans then.” She winks at Brice, and he jots it down. “Okay, sounds good. Ciao!” Caterina air-kisses the phone and disconnects.

  Ransom and I lock eyes.

  “Thank God mimosas have champagne!” She waves an arm to flag our waiter, and I scream at my pulse to slow the heck down.

  “Good news?”

  “Marvelous news,” she corrects me with a full smile. Her off-camera one I’ve only caught glimpses of here and there. She reaches out to take both our hands and says, “I’ve just gotten a new lease on life. Career wise, at least,” she says with a wink.

  I squint in utter confusion. Come again?

  Our young waiter appears tableside, and Caterina’s smile turns flirtatious. I bite back a groan as she says, “Three mimosas and a
bottle of your best champagne, hot stuff. We’re celebrating.”

  The guy’s eyebrows shoot up as she wiggles hers. He glances around our table warily. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’ll have to see ID before I can serve everyone alcohol.” Everyone of course meaning Ransom and me, the underage duo. No one’s mistaking Mom for twenty.

  I snort at the thought and quickly hide my smile behind a napkin. Then I see Caterina’s frozen expression, and the napkin isn’t needed. Uh-oh.

  “Are you serious?” she asks, her voice rising at the end.

  Wincing, I quickly scan the couples nearest us. As I expected, they’ve stopped eating, choosing instead to watch the scintillating action developing at table nine. Awesome.

  The waiter adjusts his collar and nods uncomfortably. “Sorry, ma’am.” Every time he says the word ma’am, Mom’s face tightens. He transfers his weight and adds, “It’s the rules. And the law.”

  Caterina’s lip curls like she just sucked a lemon. “Do you even know. Who. I. Am?”

  My jaw drops. Like, falls off and hits the table.

  I’ve grown up hearing celebrity horror stories. Everyone has. But Dad has never thrown his name around. Even when I’ve suggested he should. Now as I watch Caterina crane her neck to see beyond our waiter, I’m really glad he’s always chosen to ignore me.

  “Where’s your manager?” she orders.

  In an instant, Sweet and Timid Waiter transforms into Mr. Feisty. His head rears back like he’s prepared to do battle, and the screech of Brice’s chair snags the rest of the room’s attention.

  This is gonna be ugly. I don’t see any cell phones recording, but it’s only a matter of time.

  As Brice whispers to Caterina, I jump in to calm Mr. Feisty. Quickly pasting on a sympathetic smile, I announce to the table, “Really, it’s no big deal. At all. I don’t even like champagne.”

  Everyone’s focus snaps to me, and our waiter takes a much-needed breath. He does not want to go toe-to-toe with Caterina Angeli.