My Not So Super Sweet Life

by Rachel Harris

  Then Ransom says, “Me neither,” and at his sharp tone, we all look to him. His guitar pick is back out, flowing across his hand like water. “I never drink,” he says, voice like steel. “My mother is an alcoholic.”

  My eyes go wide, and as patrons sneak smirks at Caterina, I predict what tomorrow’s headline will be. As for Mom, although her face blanches, she quickly recovers.

  “I had no idea your adoptive mother battled such an illness. Well then,” she tells our waiter with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Make that one mimosa and two orange juices.”

  I bet there will be spit in it.

  Sure enough, the gleam in the waiter’s eyes confirms I will not be drinking any more beverages for the remainder of our meal.

  As he takes off for the kitchen, Mom turns to Ransom. “Was that necessary?”

  My brother lifts an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to get to know us, Mom. Isn’t that why we’re here? To bond and become a happy family,” he says, repeating the publicist’s words from the red carpet almost verbatim. “Motherhood is the greatest role there is, after all.”

  The snark is enough to give Austin a run for his money.

  Caterina’s heavily lined eyes flare. “Of course it is,” she agrees. “But do you think airing family laundry in public is the best way to do that?”

  “I’ve learned from the best,” Ransom replies, and my hands fist under the table.

  This is turning into a ping-pong match, one that I want no part in—public or otherwise.

  “But that is why we’re here,” Rance pushes. “Isn’t it? That’s the reason you brought me to California, why you called Cat out on national television. To become a family. Right?”

  His final word acts like a verbal gauntlet, and I don’t blink, I don’t move, as I wait to see how Caterina will react. I feel like I’m missing something, something big, and I’m equal parts curious and terrified. Our mother removes her napkin from her lap, dabs at a clean mouth—she hasn’t eaten a thing—and twists the white linen in her hand. The longer my brother’s questions hang in the air, the more I want to escape.

  Caterina takes a sip of what must be lukewarm coffee, then sets down her cup. “It sounds as though you’re fishing, Ransom. Is there a particular question you’re trying to ask?”

  Rance chuckles cynically and shakes his head. “You know, not really. This has been nothing but an experiment for me. Fodder for future lyrics.” His hardened gaze swings to me and softens a fraction. “A chance to know my sister. For that, I guess I can thank you. But, no, I don’t have any questions…”

  He lifts an eyebrow, silently urging me on.

  Stone-faced, I sit there, pretending I have no clue what he means. Mom, Brice, and a few nosey patrons turn their attention to me, but my focus remains on Ransom. On his strong, understanding eyes resting under stubbornly quirked eyebrows.

  My chest squeezes painfully.

  The thing is, I do know what he wants. Ransom is daring me to get my closure. To get the answers I’ve waited to hear for ten years. To ask the question we both know needs to be asked.

  “Who was on the phone, Mom?”

  Rance gives me an encouraging smile, and taking a breath, I look at Caterina. For just a second, the deer in the headlights kicks in. It’s gone as quick as it comes, but it was unmistakably there, and my back teeth click. I repeat, “Who?”

  Mom shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “Oh, that was just Michael Layton. He’s directing It’s a Quest, a movie I’ve expressed interest in.”

  As she speaks, my mind flips back to meeting with Mr. Layton at the premiere. He knows Dad, so he went out of his way to come over and say hello…then he and Caterina went to a booth to talk with a group of men in suits. Producers. A burst of air expels from my lungs.

  “He was calling to offer me a role,” she continues with a wide smile, the kind I’ve gotten used to seeing on magazines, television, and the red carpet. The one that doesn’t stretch her mouth or make her eyes laugh. The kind that isn’t real. “I’ll be playing the role of Julianne Rhodes’s mother. Isn’t that great?”

  I nod slowly, puzzle pieces falling in place. Julianne was there the other night, too. She’s your typical rising teen actress, entitled and plastered on teenybopper walls worldwide.

  She’s also sixteen. My age.

  “Mmm-hmm.” My lips are sealed shut, holding back the word vomit building inside. I inhale a long, cool breath, and as my head bobs, I realize I’m rocking in my chair.

  Not because I’m sad. I’m not. I’m not scared or angry, either. Energy is zinging through my system, pulsing in my veins. Chill bumps explode on my arms. A cold sensation runs down my spine, and the rest of the restaurant fades away as I say, “And the reason he called you now, two days after you met with him at the premiere is…”

  I purposefully trail off, wanting her to fill in the blanks. Curious if she’ll admit the truth. The reality Ransom has obviously discovered as well.

  Interestingly enough, even with a captive audience eavesdropping, Caterina doesn’t disappoint. “Michael called today because the decision was just finalized,” she admits, sitting back in her seat. Brice looks nauseous. “The studio has known of my interest, but they hadn’t been convinced. Something about my image, and no one in America believing I’d be the right fit for the role. Can you imagine that?”

  I snort, and as I shake my head and tears prick my eyes, the snort becomes a full laugh.

  “You not motherly?” I ask, realizing and not caring that the entire restaurant is listening. Physically unable to sit still, I rub my hand along my jaw and clench a fist. “I mean, you gave your first child up for adoption when he was born, and then abandoned the second when she was only five. You never once looked back or thought about us…not until you needed something, apparently. What more could they want? That’s Mother of the Year material right there!”

  Brice pushes to his feet, calling out, “Check, please!” then scampers off to find help.

  Ransom stares like a proud papa, and Caterina looks at me like…like…I don’t even know. A week of spending time together, and my mother is still a stranger. I’d honestly thought we’d started to bond. That I was getting to see past the façade and had a chance of a real relationship with her. A shot at that sappy mother/daughter fantasy I’d always dreamed about. But I was kidding myself.

  Then a thought slams into me with the force of a Mack truck. My insides squeeze, and my heart flutters.

  “You know, I used to think I needed answers from you. A reason why you left. I thought I needed that to be whole. I also wondered if I was missing out, not having a mom. But see, I do have one. One who’s good and kind. Who cares for me unconditionally, even when I treat her like crap. Who takes art lessons to understand me better and does my hair for events she doesn’t want me to go to.”

  I shake my head as the truth washes over me. Heals me. And I notice several cell phones held up and recording my speech. I glance around with a smile, not caring.

  “Jenna has been more of a mother to me in the last year than you’ve been in my entire life. So yeah,” I say, standing up and pushing my chair in. “It is a shock that they’ve offered you that role. Because frankly, you as a loving mom? I don’t buy it, either.”

  I stand there a moment, nodding my head, relishing the sensation of speaking my mind. Not caring that it’ll be all over YouTube before I can even hail a cab. Owning how I feel, regardless of whether it makes a scene. Then, with a shrug of my shoulder, I grab my phone from the table and walk away.

  And head toward my future.

  Outside the restaurant, the noise of the city hits me in the face. I slide on my sunglasses, not to hide from the waiting paparazzi but simply because it’s freaking bright out here. Ignoring the bazillion questions flying at me, I walk to the street for a cab and find Jack waiting.

  The look in his eyes says he somehow already knows what I did—I guess it’s his job to know.

  The smile on his lips says he app
roves.

  “In need of a ride, Miss Crawford?”

  He tips his head toward the black Bronco waiting curbside, and I pat him on a bulging bicep. “Jack, my man, you read my—”

  “Cat!”

  Turning, I watch Rance run through the restaurant door and promptly squint into the morning sun. I throw my hand in the air, waving it above the crowd. “Over here!”

  He searches until he finds me, then shoulders his way through the maze of photographers. When he reaches me, he slumps with his hands on his knees, out of breath.

  “Want a ride?” I ask, darting a questioning glance at Jack who nods. “The company will be tall and brooding, but there will be significantly less drama.”

  The words come out of my mouth, and they sound like me. But as Ransom straightens and watches me in concern, I realize I’m not all here. It feels like I’m floating. Talking without thinking. Standing without feeling my feet. Like an out of body experience.

  My brother puts his hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

  The warmth of his hand seeps through the cotton of my shirt. My head begins to spin a little, and I quickly glance at the cameras pointed at us. “Totally,” I say, pulling on my old smile—or is it a grimace? “Let’s blow this Popsicle stand, huh?”

  Jack tugs open the door, and Ransom helps me inside. He doesn’t let go of my hand as we scoot across the bench seat, and he pulls me flush against him when we sit.

  “I’m proud of you,” he whispers, wrapping his arm around me. The scent of his leather jacket and maple syrup clouds my head. “That wasn’t easy, but you killed it. You should’ve seen her face when you left.”

  I nod wordlessly into his chest as Jack guns the engine and peels away from the curb. Out on the road, headed for home, the full weight of what just happened catches up to me.

  And I begin to cry.

  Shattered

  ∙Lucas∙

  The gate at the end of the drive clangs as I throw my car into park. Sealed windows muffle the clicks and hums from the paparazzi, but I can feel their stares. Jack’s, too. Not caring either way, I slam my head against the seat and stare up at the roof, wishing the answers were written in the gray interior. One of Reyna’s screwed-up riddles, a hint about how to begin this conversation—how not to break Cat’s heart. If I’m too late, if she already caught the news or glimpsed the increased photographers staked outside her window, she probably has an idea that something’s up with her mom.

  But my news is going to blindside her.

  Pain splinters through my knuckles as I ram my fist into the steering column. God, I’m an idiot. I actually fell for that mystical shit. The thought that there’s more to life than what I can see. That the world isn’t just a bunch of random hits and misses, but it’s somehow ordained. Planned.

  If that’s true, if this is fate, then my leaving Cat was destined from the start. I say screw that. I make my own destiny, and I’m not going anywhere.

  I just have to find my loophole.

  A disgusted snort escapes as I twist the keys from the ignition. Loophole. Right now, I’ll settle for a damn thread. After riding all night and talking with Mom this morning, the best option I’ve got is staying here until the end of the semester. Maybe a week after.

  That’s three months, tops.

  Fourteen weeks and then I’m supposed to just pack up and leave. Forget the person I became while I was here. The person I’m still becoming. Walk away from the people who helped me discover who that even is and the girl who makes me want more.

  I might only be seventeen, but I’m a freaking expert at loss. My brother died too young. I moved halfway across the world and back for a father who has become a stranger, and I almost lost myself in the process. Friends have come and gone. A sense of security and inclusion abandoned.

  And yet I found something better.

  David’s never coming back, but after four long years, my father just might. Soccer is finally a footnote, and my art is more focused than ever. For the first time since I can remember, I feel like I can breathe. A new future is opening up that I’m actually excited about. But Cat…Cat’s my compass. She grounds me. She inspires me to be better. Her life hasn’t been unicorns and rainbows, and she’s still dealing with the fallout—but she hasn’t given up. She puts on a good act, but she loves deep and fights harder. I need that in my life. I want it in my life.

  I can handle everything else, but if I lose her, I don’t know what that will do to me. And I don’t intend to find out.

  Exhaling with determination, I wipe my face of emotion and step from the car. Questions instantly assault me, lenses focus, but I give them nothing. My own mask is in place, aided by my new sunglasses.

  Jack lifts his chin as I approach, and I shove my hands into my pockets, not wanting him or the cameras to catch a thing. Not even the anxious tremor I can’t seem to shake.

  When I stop in front of the door, Jack’s enormous body blocks it. We’ve been here before, same scenario, but he knows who I am now. Is he seriously going to pat me down in front of all these cameras?

  Looking up to see what his deal is, I find his attention focused straight ahead. Okay. I start to ask if I can go in, but shut my mouth when he clears his throat. “Busy morning.”

  Two words, but my mask drops in shock. Jack speaks to Cat. He obviously talks to her dad. And when necessary, he’s given me monotone instructions, chin lifts, and a warning look—but he’s never just shot the shit. I don’t think he knows how.

  From the looks of the hard smile on his face, I doubt it.

  “Oh yeah?” I ask, darting a glance at the cameras.

  Big guy shifts on his feet, eyes still trained on them, too. “Served a lot of clients in my time, Cappelli. Mostly jaded. The rest rude.” His gaze shifts over his shoulder toward the house before sliding back to the gate. “They’re different.”

  They meaning Cat and her family. He doesn’t have to tell me that. Swallowing past the lump that’s returned to my throat, I say, “I know.”

  Jack’s jaw tenses. “Good. Because that girl of yours is something special. Been put in a shit situation she don’t deserve.” He looks at me then, lowering his chin so that his sunglasses shift down his nose. Dark eyes drill past my lenses. “Treat her right, yeah?”

  The dude is scary as hell. Arms bigger than my head, trained to rip me apart, and I have no doubt he wouldn’t hesitate to do just that. But my lips tip in a smile.

  Cat says she keeps people at a distance, but she’s not as tough as she thinks. The few who look past the hard shell will move mountains to protect her. Jack is one of those people. Seeing the tatted-up tough guy wrapped around her finger is added proof of just how special she is.

  Worth fighting for.

  I drop a hand on his shoulder, belatedly hoping he doesn’t snap it in two. “Loving Cat is the easy part.”

  His lips flatten, and I take off my shades so he can see that I mean it. He scrutinizes my eyes, looking for a weakness, but I don’t flinch. Loving Cat, treating her right, is easy. It’s protecting her from the unknown that’s a problem.

  After a long, silent moment, he nods and falls back into position. He raps his knuckles on the front door, his face expressionless again as he says, “Glad to hear it.”

  …

  Alessandra turns and gives me a sad smile as she leads me through the foyer. That doesn’t bode well. Normally, she’s bubbly and can’t shut up. Get her going on theater or acting, and she can talk for hours, lapsing between Italian and what Austin calls Shakespearean. But when she answered the door and saw me, she didn’t even mutter a hello. That really doesn’t bode well.

  When we turn down the hall, I spy Mr. Crawford in the living room. He’s staring at the black screen of the television like he wants to punch it, and Jenna is crying quietly beside him. Shit. They must know. That’s the only explanation for the tomb-like quiet and Less’s selective muteness. My heart stutters and hammers as we near Cat’s door…and when we walk inside, th
e muscle gives out completely.

  I’ve seen Cat scared when we thought Alessandra was leaving. Cautious when Caterina first called, then hopeful at the airport. Determined just about every damn day since I met her, snarky just as often, and flirtatious on my bike. But I’ve never seen her broken.

  My girl crying absolutely destroys me.

  “Baby.”

  Cat sniffs as she lifts her head from Ransom’s chest. From the looks of his black T-shirt, she’s been using it as a tissue. Scrubbing her hands across her blotchy face, Cat looks around almost dazed until her vulnerable, gutted eyes find me. A sharp, visceral pain twists my stomach.

  In three quick strides, she’s out of Ransom’s arms and in mine. I see the look he gives her before our eyes meet, and words aren’t needed. I don’t know his story, and I’m not convinced he’s totally legit. But in this moment, as far as Caterina is concerned, he’s got her back. With this, I can trust him.

  Scooting until my back hits the headboard, I scoop her onto my lap. Cat burrows her wet face into the crook of my neck and inhales deeply. A warm puff of air hits my skin. “You were right,” she says, her voice rough from crying. “Mom sucks.”

  Even heartbroken, she can make me smile. “Yeah, she does.” Instead of laughing or going off again when I agree, she lets out another sob, and the sound rocks through me. “God, baby, I’m sorry. So, so sorry.” She clutches the cotton of my shirt, and I press my lips to her soft hair. Anger on her behalf mingles with a sense of helplessness. “Damn reporters.”

  She sniffs again, clearly trying to regain control, and rolls her head onto my shoulder. Her swollen eyelids blink open and her voice cracks as she asks, “What reporters?”

  I smooth her hair away and kiss her forehead. I can’t stop touching her. It’s the only thing I can do. I can’t erase her mom from coming here. I can’t rewrite history and give her a mother who isn’t a monster. But I can hold her until the pain of it goes away.

  “The ones who got you so upset.” Just saying it sends a fresh batch of rage surging through me. “This crap isn’t newsworthy, but does that matter? The world needs to know about stupid movie roles,” I say sarcastically, “and vapid celebrity opinions on your family.” My jaw aches as I fight back the anger. “It’s all such bullshit.”