An Illicit Pursuit (17 page)

Right when I'm about to turn around, I hear
the toilet flush. I should go look for another bathroom so I don’t
embarrass Nikki, but my bladder feels like exploding, particularly
more so with the sound of the toilet flushing. I guess Nikki will
have a second round of walk-of-shame. I hear water spilling, a real
torture to my bladder, then the door's snaps open.

I frown reflexively at the sight of Eleanor.
Funny, I'm sure I heard vomiting. Is she fingering her throat too?
And why do I have to catch both Nikki and Eleanor in action? This
bathroom is likely the popular place of crime, I guess.

Eleanor takes a step back into the bathroom
and lets out a brief, "Oh."

"I kind of have to go, urgently," I say,
jumping from one foot to another to show her just how urgent it
is.

"Sorry. I didn't know you were waiting. I
would have..." She doesn't finish her sentence. What could she say?
I would have fingered my throat somewhere else?

Is this a house of people with eating
disorders or what? Maybe my landing here isn't a coincidence but an
intentional act of fate to unite me with my kind of people.

Finally, Eleanor lets me use the bathroom,
and I relax over the toilet bowl while covering my mouth and nose
with my hand from the acidic odor of vomit.

Poor Eleanor. She must be really embarrassed
at being caught by me. I wonder whether Grace knows about it. It
must be harder to help an adult than teenagers with such
issues.

I find Eleanor sitting in the living room, as
I walk toward the stairs. She stands and strolls toward the
kitchen. "Would you like something to drink?"

I suppose it'd be rude of me if I decline her
obvious attempt to clarify the misunderstanding I’ve just
witnessed. "Sure." I keep my tongue before I can comment that she
shouldn't eat or drink anything right after throwing up.

"My mother told me you're staying with us for
a while." She hands me a cold coke in a can and a glass.

I take the drink but wave my hand no for the
glass and drink the coke straight from the can. I don't think
she'll judge me negatively for my bad manners. We just crossed that
border when I heard her getting down and dirty with the porcelain
bowl in the bathroom.

"You'll probably witness me throwing up more
often. I'd like to apologize in advance.”

I frown. Has binge eating become some kind of
a popular cult that it’s openly discussed, and I’m not aware of
it?

“The morning sickness is a misnomer,” she
continues. “It's a constant sickness for me."

I gulp down a huge swig of coke with shock,
the carbon dioxide burning my throat painfully as the liquid forces
its way down.
Morning sickness?
Unless it's a kind of
cover-up term that I haven't heard of, she's talking about
pregnancy. My eyes slide reflexively down to her stomach then back
up to her face.

"Oh," I manage to utter after a long silence.
"You're pregnant?"

"Yeah, just found it out two days ago. I
still can't believe it. I bought a dozen pregnancy tests to make
sure I was. All came up positive."

"Uh, congratulations." I mentally send my
thanks to Heavens for having had my period despite the four times I
had Zach’s sperm in me without protection.

"Thank you," she shrugs, looking
uncomfortable. I don't see any engagement ring, much less a wedding
band on her left hand. So I assume it wasn’t planned. "I'm already
eight weeks and the symptoms are in full force. I don't know how
I'll go on with college."

Who's the father? I shouldn't care but I'm
burning with curiosity because all my bets are on Jack. Did he
knock up his best friend's sister? Some family drama I’ve launched
myself into.

"Let me know if I can help with anything,
even if it's holding your hair while you puke," I joke. "I could
sing to the baby, but I guess it's still too early, right?"

She smiles, her cheeks flashing pink. With
her blonde hair and light blue eyes, she's the only one among the
five who takes after Grace. Her beauty is penetrating, and I can't
help but imagine not just one but a group of boys being the
possible candidates to father her child.

"I'm going to ask for some remedy for puking
once I meet my OB-Gyn. I can't function if I'll have to run to the
bathroom every half hour."

"When is the appointment? I can drive you if
you like. I mean, if the father of the baby isn't available." Hah,
some way to coax her into spilling the name of the father out! I'm
nosy and I'll end up in hell for that.

"Oh, no thanks. We'll be already an
embarrassingly big group at the doctor's office. My entire family
is coming, including little Joanne. Ryan, my boyfriend, isn't happy
about it, but I guess he'll have to warm up to the idea that we're
one cohesive, co-dependent family who can't do a simple thing
alone."

Ryan?
As in not Jack?
Did I misread
the invisible fire crackers between them that night? Oh, that
night. The night I learnt about Zach's father's death, and from
that moment on everything came spiraling down.

My curiosity of Eleanor's private life
vanishes in a split second when my own reality comes back to me,
and the painful feeling of loneliness sinks back in.

Adam steps into the kitchen, back in his
jeans and favorite black t-shirt. “Anyone up for dinner?” His eyes
dart between Eleanor and me.

“I can’t keep anything down right now. I just
threw up. The twins are having a slumber party over at Weber’s. Dad
and Mom are out; Adriana called to say they’ll visit some friends
in Glendale. So it’s only us.”

“Isn’t Ryan coming today?” Adam asks.

Eleanor shakes her head. “He has to work on a
term project.”

“Term project, my ass. He should have thought
about that before going without condom.”

“How many times more do I have to explain it?
He wasn’t bare; the condom exploded while…” Eleanor stops
short.

Adam covers his ears, makes a wincing face.
“I don’t want to hear about it.”

Eleanor throws her hands up in the air,
shaking her head with angry expression on her face, as she leaves
the kitchen.

As soon as Adam uncovers his ears, though,
Eleanor finishes her sentence, screaming from the living room,
“While I was riding him.”

Adam curses several times under his breath.
“Like there isn’t enough proof of them having sex, now I have to
picture it, too.”

I shake my head disapprovingly and sit on a
stool at the breakfast island to sit on.

“I’m sorry. Hey, you didn’t have lunch. You
must be starving. What do you feel like eating? Chinese, Italian,
Thai, organic, vegetarian?” He pulls open a drawer, grabs a handful
of restaurant menus, and places them in front of me.

“We don’t need to order. I can fix us
something quick.”

“Oh, no. I can’t ask you to do that. You’re
my guest.”

“You made me bake pizza last time,” I remind
him.

“That was different. We baked it together,
sort of.”

“You can help me cook now, too, if you want.”
I slip down the stool and head to the fridge. The sight of its full
content will never get old for me. I grab some chicken breast and
vegetables. “How about chicken soup and salad? It will be soothing
for Eleanor’s stomach, too.”

Adam shrugs, and helps me carry the items to
the counter, and sets about peeling and cutting the vegetables,
like an attentive student, under my careful instructions. After
putting the ingredients for the soup into a deep pot to let simmer,
we go to the living room to find Eleanor rubbing her legs. She
looks in pain, and Adam hurries to her side.

“What’s wrong,” Adam asks.

“I don’t know. I’m having cramps here.” She
pulls up her slacks and shows the back part of her lower legs.

“Let me.” Adam settles next to her, placing
her legs over his knees, and starts rubbing her muscles, while she
lies back and rests her head against the arm of the couch.

“Hmm, that feels good,” Eleanor murmurs.
“Because of that, I’ll spare you the details of how Ryan and I
conceived the baby.”

Adam pinches her lower leg, and she shouts a
mocking cry of pain. “Ouch.”

“You should take magnesium supplements,” Adam
says.

Eleanor gives him a criticizing look. “Since
when are you a medical doctor?”

“Your problem is related to your muscles, and
I’m an expert as far as muscles are concerned. I’ve been playing
basketball for longer than your life, if you haven’t noticed.”

I plop on the armchair across from them,
watching them as Adam skillfully massages Eleanor’s legs. As much
as he’s a caveman at times, he’s also a loving brother, who’ll move
heaven and earth for her sisters. I bet he’s going through some
major turmoil because of Eleanor’s unplanned pregnancy and still
doesn’t hold back his love and support from her.

It’s strange to observe people at their
natural surroundings with their families. Whatever first
impressions they give, it’s almost always something totally
irrelevant to their true selves. When I saw Adam for the first
time, it was his extraordinary looks and sexiness that grabbed my
attention. But his initial behavior, particularly his blatant
disregard for the movie I’d played in, made me think of him as
smug. Yet, I see he’s everything but. He’s caring, generous, and
kind, maybe a little over-protective—what man having four sisters
wouldn’t be?

He is rare gem, through and through, in
comparison to the abundance of men with abusive and opportunistic
attitudes toward women.

A little part of me starts whispering that
maybe his entrance into my life only days before my inevitable
breakup with Zach isn’t a total coincidence, but rather an act of
fate. If that’s the case, what’s the point of fighting and
declining his advances? A future with Zach is already lost to me,
and Adam may well be the remedy for my heartbreak.

The two weeks since I moved in with the
Garnetts have been filled with a whirlwind of emotions, fidgeting,
nail biting, and nonstop pacing up and down my bedroom; all because
of the upcoming movie premiere and the call I’d been awaiting for
weeks.

Yes, Harvey Duke from Diamond Records finally
remembered my existence. Not just that, another producer from the
LA-Dream Records got in contact with me with a deal ready on the
table. Finding a stellar manager who could help me through the
legal and other business-related issues of the deal was a piece of
cake. For me, I’m proud to say, I recruited Miranda Murphy as my
manager. Not just one of the biggest names in the music industry,
but also the fiercest person I’ve come across.

After listening to some of my compositions,
she assured me she’d get me a much better deal before the movie
came out and invited the two interested record labels, plus another
two for a bidding auction. She did exactly that, and today is the
signing.

As if I haven’t already been seconds away
from a massive cardiac arrest due to the developments in my career
these last days, I wake up, eyes snapped open in panic, at six in
the morning of signing of the contract.

Everything is going just wonderful and just
as I’ve been dreaming for my career. But it also means I won’t have
an excuse to reside with the Garnetts, because I’ll have enough
money to lease, or even buy, a nice condo in west L.A. This house
and its occupants have grown on me more and more. They’re all
loving and joyful people and fun to be around, and I still can’t
believe how easily they accepted me as one of theirs and how
quickly I fit in, as opposed to Zach’s family.

Zach called me six times on three consecutive
days. I missed the first one and intentionally didn’t answer the
other five. I didn’t know what to tell him beside what I wrote in
the letter, and I wasn’t—I’ll never be—ready to hear the hurt in
his voice. If he hasn’t already understood my reasoning, he will
when he finds the right girl and makes a family with her.

Adam, on the other hand, has managed to
re-focus my attention from the pain of losing Zach. He’s an eye
candy for a distraction. The fact that only a wall separates our
bedrooms is an absolute turn-on.

I can hear his bed crackling, and my mind
starts shooting me shameless images of him lying naked between the
sheets, brushing his biceps and abs, and stroking his cock. Exactly
those images send wild flames down toward my sex, turning it into a
wild ball of fire and heat. I can’t even get off because of the
same reason of the squeaking bed. I feel he’ll hear me the minute I
touch myself, even smell it through the thin wall separating us,
and maybe invite himself to my room for a morning of passion and
fireballs.

If he’s half as good as he’s insinuating with
his smoldering stares and wordplay, he’s damn good in bed, and I
don’t know how much longer I can decline his advances.

I find myself rolling back and forth more
than a sleeping person would do and freeze to listen to the other
side of the wall. Adam’s doing the exact same thing.

Shoot. Did I wake him up at this hour?

Not a minute passes before the sound of the
water running in the shower in his bedroom comes. He’s the lucky
one. He can just use the shower noise as his camouflage to jerk the
morning off. I wonder what he’d do if I pay him a surprise visit
while he’s stroking himself under the water spray. Would he be
ashamed and stop cold or order me in and ask me to finish him
off?

Is he thinking of me while rubbing his cock,
envisioning lifting me up and pressing me against the bathroom
wall? Because that’s what I fantasize while I get myself off in the
shower these past few days.

Ten minutes pass, yet the sound of the shower
doesn’t die away. He isn’t just showering; that much is clear. God,
I wish I could really have the courage to go in and surprise him.
That’s probably what he’s hoping, too, waiting for me to finally
show my real face. He knows I’m awake and restless. And what’s
better than having sex to lose the nerves, right?