“No, not at all.” Her long, thick hair curled just the slightest bit at the ends, and I chose to focus on that rather than meet her prodding eyes. “Adley?”
I had no choice but to look at her then. There was something terribly motherly about her deep, tawny gaze, and for a second, I’d had to fight everything inside of me not to break down and beg her to hold me.
“Hmm?” I responded. My throat was too clogged to try for actual words.
“Before we go any further, I think it’s important to understand the reasoning behind your decision. I see a lot of scared girls who are convinced this is what they want, but when the time comes to go through with their decision, they can’t do it. A lot of people get hurt when that happens, and I’d like to prevent that.” Her voice was soft and reassuring.
“I have to ask you, Adley, why do you want to give your daughter up for adoption?”
I pushed myself out of the memory and back into the car with Fran as something horrible occurred to me.
Fran was a mother – a real one. She couldn’t have been older than me when she had gotten pregnant with Maria. Our situations had been the same, and yet, our decisions had been very different.
“Do you think I’m evil for giving the baby away?” As soon as I asked the question, I knew I didn’t want to know the answer. Fran was the closest I’d come to making a real friend in a very long time. What if she saw me as a monster?
Her brown eyes jerked to my face with disbelief.
“Give the baby away? Adley, you didn’t leave her in a trash can at prom! You gave her to family that desperately wanted her. Why would I think that was evil?”
Relief gushed through me. I hadn’t realized how important it was for me to hear that from someone who actually knew me.
“I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve never actually discussed any of this until I came here.”
“So the only feedback you’re getting is from Madeline?” Her face was sharp, eyes wide, and forehead had crinkled with concern. “It’s a miracle you haven’t gone postal on the whole set.”
I laughed. “She does leave something to be desired when it comes to positive reinforcement.”
“I love her, I do…but this life has screwed with her head so much I’m afraid she’ll never be normal.” Fran looked genuinely sad at the thought.
I knew Declan’s negative feelings about the lead actress’s posse, and about some of them, I agreed, but Fran really cared for Madeline. I could see it in her face. If he could see her expression at that moment, I doubt he’d ever waste another breath refuting the genuineness of her involvement.
“Normal might be a stretch.” My face contorted unintentionally as I tried to word it gently. “Sometimes when I’m talking, I look at her and I swear she’s plotting my murder…after production has wrapped for good though, of course. She’d never do anything to endanger her career.”
“I actually think she likes you,” Fran admitted with an abashed smile. “She’s just a very confused and misunderstood girl…Or, at least, I have to tell myself that she really doesn’t mean any harm, when the urge to bitch-slap her threatens to overwhelm me.”
We filled the rest of the ride with chatter of Madeline and her daily insane antics. It was wonderful to vent, to make light of the dramatics. Sitting outside of Cam’s house with Fran gossiping and cracking ourselves up, I realized how much I’d missed having a girl in my life that I could just hang out with.
“If it’s not too much of an inconvenience, do you think I could get a ride to set tomorrow?” I asked.
“Uh oh, is Declan driving you insane?”
“Don’t you dare try and convince me Declan’s really just misunderstood too!” I joked.
She made a pensive face that my light comment had no right to constitute.
“No… I think Declan might be the one actor who is exactly who he pretends to be,” she assured me with an appreciative chuckle and an oddly knowing twinkle in her eye.
I took in her assessment like I was sipping a fine wine; rolling it around, savoring it, taking my time to decide how I felt about it. I couldn’t pretend to know him, not really. A lot of times with Declan, I felt like he dumped gallons of personality on me, with only the barest slivers of his true self hidden within them. It was like he was constantly testing me, daring me to ask for more. But the truly shocking part of it was that I secretly got a thrill from all his tests, and not just the tiny doses of his real self either, even the horrid parts were starting to appeal to me.
I shuttered, startled by my realization. Those thoughts were forbidden. I needed to take a few steps back. Emotional, if not physical, distance certainly couldn’t hurt my situation with Declan.
“It’s nothing to do with Declan,” I lied, although my next statement was certainly true. “It just might be nice to have a little extra moral support every once in a while.”
Fran agreed, and I texted Declan that I wouldn’t be requiring his services the next morning. Once I was inside, I got changed into my pajamas and pondered my plans for the rest of my extended evening. The night passed, empty of the subtle beep beep that would signal a response from Declan, but I wasn’t worried that he hadn’t got it. He always read the emails and text messages he received, but almost never responded to them. Apparently, I was just as important as everyone else who didn’t warrant a reply.
On most nights I was utterly exhausted, but since my day had been cut short, I was wide awake and alone in the echoing mansion. I attempted to curl up with a book in the library, but the first edition of The Girl in the Yellow Dress glared at me from the other side of the room, and I gave up almost as soon as I began.
I decided a nice, warm bath might be exactly what I needed to relax, but there was only a shower in the bathroom that accompanied my room. Cam had a huge bathtub in his though, and I tiptoed through his room so as not to disturb the tomb he’d left, untouched since that day over a month ago, when he’d vanished in a whirlwind, almost as if he’d never really been there at all. It took forever for the water to fill up the tub, but it felt like heaven when I slipped inside.
The silence of the house boomed in my ears. Without Cam, the house was nothing, just an empty shell. It reminded me of what the loft had been like after he left. I’d been more than eager to sell it for tuition money when I needed it. Living there without him had been unbearable.
A little smart spending had stretched that cash out for a long time, but it was nearly drained after four semesters of school. The water seemed to rapidly chill around me at the thought. I yanked up the stopper and fled, closing Cam’s door behind me and trapping the stale, untouched air inside once again. Wrapped in a fluffy robe, I slipped under the sheets in my own room, without bothering to change. I hated thinking about my financial woes. It felt like the entire crew was doing jumping-jacks on my chest.
I’d rather think of nothing at all, so I closed my eyes, and that’s exactly what I did for the next eight hours.
The next morning I woke up feeling well rested, and I had plenty of time to get dressed for once. I put on a pair of jeans that actually fit me, and a black tank top that would help me get through the hot day. I even fixed my hair as opposed to letting it air dry like I usually did.
By the time a honk sounded announcing my ride’s arrival, I was practically skipping. I took two steps out the door before skidding to a halt.
Unless Fran had started driving a limousine and had transformed into an Australian movie star overnight, then Declan Davies had carjacked my ride. His lean body was propped against the door of the black car, exuding nonchalance. God, he was handsome. It wasn’t even fair…And I’d gotten to see him naked. The thought would’ve brought a wicked smile to my face if I hadn’t been so damn irritated at him.
“I called Fran to let her know you would no longer be requiring her assistance.”
“And why would you do that?” My eyebrow hiked skyward, just as the irritated hitch of my voice sloped into dangerous territory.
“I’m insulted,” he began and I wanted to stop him right then and there, but he plowed on, “I’ll have you know, I’m incredibly environmentally conscious. Don’t you Californians appreciate that sort of thing? I couldn’t just sit back and watch all that precious oil go to waste.”
My eyes studied him sharply, while he did nothing but bat his long, dark eyelashes at me innocently. I didn’t believe his act for a second, but what was I supposed to call him out on? I had no choice but to enter the door he held open.
I wasn’t exactly well-versed in the aftermath of intercourse. I mean, after I’d lost my virginity to Cam, I was whisked home on a plane the next morning before I ever had to face him or the realization of my actions. When I’d finally seen him again that summer, the morning-after awkwardness had long faded away, and there hadn’t been anyone after Cam. He was the single blemish on my number card. Getting knocked up pretty much cured any and all desires I might have had to sleep around during college. I was completely ignorant when it came to the protocols of casual sex.
If anything, Declan seemed even more at ease around me, lounging carelessly across the expensive interior to my right. His untroubled surface had the opposite effect on my disposition. It made me restless, eager to ruffle his feathers.
“Why are you even coming in today? I thought the big adoption agency scene was the only thing on the docket,” I questioned suspiciously. From what I could tell, Cam’s absence from my trip that day in Raleigh held true to real life in the script.
It wasn’t even an exceptionally important scene. I used the word ‘big’ only in terms of scale. The large set they’d been constructing was impressive in size and visual appeal. Plus, production would be overflowing with extras, and from what I could tell from Georgia’s plans for the filming, it would be a long day with many shots and shifting camera angles.
“You’re not even in the scene,” I accused.
Declan’s only response was a noncommittal shrug, but I took it as an affirmative gesture.
“Yeah, you’re a real environmentalist,” I scoffed. “So what exactly is the point of you coming to work today? Do you really find that much joy in torturing me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” His jaw hardened until it looked like it could’ve been carved from marble by a renowned sculptor. Someone could write poetry about that jawline. I’m sure there were millions of girls who had done just that.
With his head tilted away from me, and an intensity I couldn’t decipher, he didn’t offer any further explanation. I’d honestly been joking about his intention of torturing me, but his sullen reaction left me uneasy. If he wasn’t there to rile me up, then why was he there?
I didn’t dare push him on the subject, half fearful what the answer might be. I was almost relieved when he didn’t say anything more all the way to the lot’s parking area. He didn’t even try to follow me to Madeline’s trailer. It weirded me out, especially since aggravating me was his absolute favorite pastime when he was bored, and I couldn’t imagine he had something to entertain him without a script to go over or lines to practice. Maybe he was sick.
The strangeness of the morning persisted when Alfred was nowhere to be found. I sighed, chewing on my bottom lip in frustration. I’d hoped to start implementing my newest plan to win the bodyguard over, which involved me randomly spouting off sports information until I stumbled upon one he reacted to. Nothing bonded people together like a common team to root for. I was going to start with the NFL, although he was bigger than most of the players, so maybe it wasn’t as appealing to him as the average Joe.
Ms. Louna was coming out as I entered, and we had to awkwardly slide past each other in the narrow entrance, trading places in the glare of Madeline’s attention.
“Where is everybody?” I asked.
With Ms. Louna finished with their routine morning session and gone, Madeline and I were alone. The lack of crowd didn’t make the impersonal trailer feel larger though. It was lifeless, nearly claustrophobic, without the personalities that inflated the space with something more than the natural droll of professionalism Madeline exuded.
The young redhead was attired in workout gear and her high ponytail flung back, the impressive length swinging nearly down to her bottom, as she guzzled down a bottle of water like she’d just ran a marathon, even though I knew it had been at least an hour since her personal trainer forced her through a grueling workout.
She snapped the lid closed, finally addressing my presence with her calculating stare.
“Alfred went to help Fran get the boxes of fan mail from her car,” she rushed through. I’d become familiar with her enough to understand the irritation didn’t come from the specifics of my actual question, but instead the general fact that I’d inquired about anything at all unrelated to myself, The Girl in the Yellow Dress, or her job.
I knew I’d pay for my (however) brief distraction, and Madeline didn’t disappoint.
“Why did you give away your baby?”
“I have to ask you, Adley, why do you want to give your daughter up for adoption?”
Madeline’s words rang out in my head alongside the question once asked of me by the adoption agent, both voices pricking me indiscriminately, like vengeful wasps whose nest had been destroyed.
They wanted to know why. But the why was simple, straightforward, predictable. What they should have been asking was the when. When did I decide to give up the baby that I’d given up my life to keep.
It was a single moment, seemingly insignificant, but immeasurable in scope.
To an outsider it wouldn’t have looked like anything special, just a young girl sitting in a park, observing the dizzying world around her.
It had been a rough day. I was living in Cam’s loft with him in Raleigh, while watching the strain of the life I’d inflicted on him take its toll. I was tired all the time, but sleep never came easily, always turbulent and filled with vivid nightmares.
The trees loomed at my back, a breeze ruffled my Maxi dress around my ankles, and for once, the summer hadn’t seemed quite so unforgiving.
I’d just bought a pretzel from a vendor with money I had to ask Cam for that morning. It had never bothered me asking my parents for money (and far more than the measly ten dollars Cam had scraped from his wallet), but each time I had to ask him, it felt a little more like I was giving up part of my soul in exchange.
A woman with a stroller approached down the paved path that circled the outline of the sunny park. She had one of those faces that was hard to tag with an age. Her chin-length mommy-cut could have hinted at mid-thirties, but her face was fresh and youthful even considering the dark circles lassoing her tired eyes.
Half of her face was distorted by a cellphone mashed between her cheek and shoulder. Both of her hands were tasked with separate activities; one busy in the bassinet facing her, while the other tried to wrangle a toddler in a fuchsia tutu that was wildly skipping just out of her mother’s grasp. I could only hear snippets of the woman’s phone conversation over the baby’s wails, but her voice sounded as exhausted as I felt.
She’d paused in front of my park bench lifting a heavy diaper bag to prop on the handlebar of the stroller as she ransacked it for some unknown item. So preoccupied, the mother didn’t seem to even notice me sitting there, but the same couldn’t be said for the precocious little girl who promptly took a seat beside me. The tulle of her tutu erupted stiff and straight, hiding the lower half of her small body, save for the tips of a pair of wiggling, pink ballet slippers peeking out from underneath.
“Oh no!”
I looked up just in time to watch a myriad of bottles, pacifiers, and other assorted baby paraphernalia spill out of the diaper bag and down the sloping path away from us.
“Damn it!” another more frantic exclamation followed the first. Quickly she clapped a hand over her mouth as she stared at her daughter with wide eyes. “That’s an ugly word, Astrid. Mommy didn’t mean to say the bad word. We won’t mention it to daddy about the ugly
word, will we, sweetheart?”
The child eyed her mother speculatively.
When she realized her eldest child was neither going to confirm nor deny her request, she held an impatient hand out to her daughter.
The little girl didn’t move.
“Astrid,” she commanded in a voice I could only assume all mothers came to possess on their child’s first birthday.
Astrid blinked, her big Bambi eyes unwavering. The mother looked on the verge of tears, glancing down the embankment where the diaper bag’s contents had come to rest. The baby’s cries spiked as if to put an exclamation mark on the situation.
“She can stay with me.” I don’t know what made me say it. Maybe it was because she was a little ballerina, just like I had been once upon a time. Or, maybe it was the first strings of motherly instincts pulling at my heart. “I’ll watch her.”
The woman’s surprised eyes met mine like she hadn’t even noticed me until that moment. Distrust lined her expression before trailing down to my enormously, round belly. It was as if my pregnancy was a big fat ‘Trust Me’ sign.
“I’ll just be a minute, Astrid. Please be a good girl for the nice lady.”
As soon as her mother was gone, pushing the incessant baby away to collect the lost items, Astrid came to life. Climbing onto her knees, she maneuvered clumsily until she was an inch away from my face. Her breath smelled sweet like candy or ice cream.
“What are you?” she asked.
Already I was regretting my hasty offer. Kids had never been my thing. Apparently looming parenthood hadn’t changed that.
“I’m a girl.”
“I’m going to be a ballerina,” she informed. Her light brown hair, just a shade or two off from her mother’s, was wild, kinky, and frizzing at the ends. It was a mess, but, one day, with age and the wisdom of a few hair products, it would be beautiful – the kind of glossy curls you see on shampoo commercials. “My mom used to be a lawyer. So what are you?”
I hesitated, thrown off by the question. As unrealistic as it was, ballet had always been my future. What exactly that meant, or how far it would take me, had never been important before. I’d assumed I’d worry about that when I came to it.
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