Between You and Me (21 page)

“Can I play?” I ask. She points at the island in the middle of the room. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. But amid the sparkling costume jewelry, the white plastic wand unquestionably stands out. As does the pink cross in its window. “Oh, my God,” I say.

“Oh. My. God.”

“Oh, my God.” I spin to her. “Are you in shock? Do you want juice?”

“Holy shit,” she says, her face limp, as if she’s just come offstage from the most killer performance of her career. She stares at the trellis-patterned carpet, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Oh, my God.”

“Okay, it’s going to be okay.”

She scrambles up. “I have to tell Aaron. No. I should wait till tonight, in person. Am I a bad wife? Maybe I should’ve waited. Oh, my God, pretend you don’t know, okay?”

“Okay.” We stare at each other, our hands on our cheeks.

“I’ve been peeing on those ovu-predictor sticks every morning, but nothing, so I thought, I haven’t ovulated, I’m two weeks late, I’ll just pee on the other sticks—I didn’t think—oh, my God.”

“So, you were trying?” I ask, catching up.

“Since the wedding. Oh, Logan, I want a baby so bad. But holy shit.” Her face flushes.

“You’re in shock. I’m in shock. Let me get us juice.”

She grabs my wrist. “Logan, you have to find us a house in the city. By the end of tour, so we can move right in and start planning for the baby.” She does a little jog of excitement, her fists clenched. “I’m pregnant!”

“A baby!” The enormity of it hits me. I put my hands over hers, and she beams, her eyes tearing with unadulterated joy. “Logan Wade, lozenge holder, wedding planner, and real estate truffle pig, at your service.”

I lead Finn on the
full tour of the Malibu house while Kelsey puts the finishing touches on our Labor Day feast. “That is an incredible view,” he says, one hand gesturing to the wall of glass doors, the other sliding up the back of my shirt. I point to the hovering electronic eye at the cornice. “Travis doesn’t have security cameras.”

“Travis also doesn’t have big male fans who still live with their mothers and want to wear his underwear as a mask.”

“That we know of. Can I wash up?”

I point him to the powder room. “Meet you in the kitchen—just through there.” I follow the smell of blueberry pie. “Wow,” I say as Kelsey takes off her apron.

“What?” she asks, bending over the cutting board to peel the carrots.

“I swear your boobs are bigger than they were this morning.”

“See?” Aaron calls from where he’s playing Wii in the breakfast atrium. “I told you.”

“Well, you heard what the doc said.” She pushes back her hair with her forearm. “On someone my size, it’s gonna show quicker.” We all flew home last night for Kelsey’s ten-week checkup, where they officially declare you pregnant.

Michelle comes in carrying placemats. “What are you two gabbing about?”

“Kelsey’s boobs.” I fill her in.

“I thought we agreed loose clothing until after we’re done with the South American leg.”

“Momma, nothing’s as tight as my costumes. Someone’s gonna notice.”

“We’ve gotten a sweet pass from the press since the wedding, and Daddy wants to ride it as long as possible.” Michelle sticks her head in to Aaron. “Dinner’s almost ready. Please don’t put your big ol’ feet on the coffee table.”

“Momma,” Kelsey says, pulling out the Hellmann’s. “I’ve licked that table with so many coats of lemon oil he’d have to run a tractor over it to scuff it.” She unscrews the top, and is over the sink before we can register what’s happening. “Shit,” Kelsey murmurs as I rush around the island to rub her back. Aaron’s paralyzed, as he is every time, because he wants to help but is as unnerved by vomit as I am by snakes. “I puked on the potatoes.” She runs her hand across her mouth, her lips whiter than the mayonnaise. “Sorry, guys.”

Michelle keeps setting the table. “I never had morning sickness.”

“You okay?” Aaron asks, twisting the leather cord at his wrist.

“Yes, I’m, uh, all good.” I pull out a stool for Kelsey and put the jar away before rinsing the sink.

“Sweetie,” Michelle queries, “you ready to say uncle and get Angela back?”

“Normal families do not have chefs. I can do it. I want to do it.” Kelsey pushes herself off the stool, landing back on her platform espadrilles.

“Do I smell pie?” Finn asks as he strolls in.

Kelsey gives him a hug. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

“I just followed the seagulls in hot pants.” He squeezes my waist and a warm flush comes over me as I bask in the closest I’ll probably ever get to bringing him home.

“So, what do you think?” Michelle asks, gesturing to the mansion.

“Logan has three green purses.” Apparently his takeaway from the tour.

Everyone looks at me.

“What? One is leather for winter, one is canvas for summer, and one is pleather for when we travel to places where they steal your purse.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Kelsey says.

I feel myself turn pink. “I don’t know, okay! I don’t know where all that stuff came from!”

Kelsey circles the breakfast bar and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Logan,” she says solemnly, “we’re acquirers.”

“Not like Great-aunt Gemma,” Michelle reassures me.

“Not hoarders, just acquirers,” Kelsey clarifies.

“Because,” I protest, I don’t have, like, a flat cat between my turtlenecks.”

“Okay, let’s get seated.” Andy walks in and drops down at the head of the table, relegating Aaron to the side. “I got a bunch of questions I need answered.” We all move to our chairs while he gets back up and goes to the fridge, returning with the mayonnaise. Beads of perspiration form on Kelsey’s upper lip, but no one, including me, says anything. “Okay. This morning, I heard a lot of well-ya-coulds and no-need-to-just-yets from that doctor. What I need to know is how are we going to hold up our commitments?”

“Commitments?” Kelsey repeats.

“Hundreds of thousands of people have bought their tickets. They’re expecting a full show, and I’ve got a daughter that’s barely keeping down her breakfast.”

I feel Finn glance at me.

“I’ll give them full shows.” She rushes to reassure him. “No question. I can totally do three more months.”

“You have to fly back for the check-ups. And from Asia? Or Brazil? That’s a full day right there. Will they let you get on a plane? Is that even safe?” he asks accusingly. Michelle sees that Finn is missing his dessert fork and reaches with a frown to pass him hers.

“I can see someone local.”

“In Japan?”

“Lo, you can put a list together for me, right?” Kelsey asks.

“Sure.”

“Dammit, that’s just scratching the surface here.” Andy explodes. “Beyond keeping that baby healthy, what’s this gonna cost us if we have to spread dates or cancel shows? You were single when this tour started; we’re not insured for this. You’re asking me to keep a shitload of balls in the air.”

“It’ll be like . . . ” Kelsey’s voice is small. “I’m not pregnant. I’ll be just fine. You don’t need to worry about it, Daddy. Okay?”

Not giving an answer, Andy moves into serving himself, unscrewing the mayoniase lid.

Kelsey goes running back to the sink, retching.

Andy puts down his fork, pushes back from the table, and walks out. I don’t see him again before we leave.

Finn curls his naked body
around me under the stars—and occasional bat. I threw myself into seducing him the second we got in the door, trying to fuck the embarrassment away. “Can I ask you a question?” He speaks first.

“Shoot.”

“If Kel’s moving, do you go with her?”

“Delia always did.”

He adjusts the pillow back under our heads. “But she’s married now.”

“I’m staff—I go where she goes.”

“You’re not
really
staff.”

“Well, yeah, I kinda am. I mean, I have to be good at my job.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He slips his hand up to my breast. “I’m just psyched you’ll be in the city. And, you know, if you did ever end up at loose ends, you could crash here permanently.”

“Permanently? I could grow old with you in Travis’s pool house?” I tease, trying to cover for the sudden grip of claustrophobia.

“Well, you know, see how it goes, whatever.”

“Thanks, but I could no more move out of there than you could move out of here.”

He pushes my hair up off my neck, holding me closer. “How’d you get that scar?” He runs his lips over it, and I instinctively hunch. “Sorry. Does it hurt?” he asks.

“No, just—a little sensitive,” I answer, meaning the subject, not the flesh. “Finn, I’m kind of mortified about dinner.”

“Don’t be. Families are weird. My aunt adopts decrepit rescue dogs—she has enough to do the Iditarod now—it’s totally crazy.”

“Really? Once, our grandmother knocked her pitcher out of my hand to keep me from helping myself—didn’t place the smell till college—half Minute Maid, half Smirnoff.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” I say, needing him to know just what it is he’s inviting to crash. “And, believe it or not, compared to my dad, Andy was actually the fun one—one year, we shut down the state fair.” I flash to the excitement and then that feeling in my stomach. Was that the start of the twist I get—that instinct there was something off in Andy’s need to keep us going around on the wheel, ignoring his sleeping daughter, the rides going dark one by one?

“The next summer Kelsey and I were in the backseat of their station wagon. I’d snuck out. By that point I was forbidden from sleeping over. My parents didn’t tell me much. Just that there’d been an accident. By the time I was discharged, Kelsey and Michelle had left to do
Kids, Incorporated
, and I didn’t see them again until this year.”

“Wow. So . . . ”

“Andy ran me into a tree when I was thirteen.”

He’s quiet.

I roll away from him flat on my stomach.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

He rises on one elbow and strokes the hair off my face. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“My aunt bogarts the dogs’ phenobarbital.”

“Really?”

“She makes them five-star meals from scratch—and steals their meds.” I muster a smile, letting Finn pull me back into him. His breathing slows as I replay the night. Maybe that’s why I’m so impressed by Kelsey. It’s not just that she goes out there and does back flips and sings till she’s hoarse, it’s that so much misery could funnel down to someone who brings so much joy.

Everyone exhales as The Dollhouse Tour reaches the finish line on November first and Kelsey takes her final curtsy at the Hollywood Bowl. There’s no denying her baby bump, and the media has responded much the way Michelle did in Europe, with a testy dismay that they’re officially stuck with Aaron. As if she’s theirs.

“Stop following me,” Aaron jokes as we step out of separate bathrooms to find each other at the communal sink of the restaurant Terrance has chosen to celebrate.

“Don’t want you to miss me too much.” I take a hand towel from beside a menacing-looking spiky plant. “Wendy’s or Taco Bell?” I ask our stock question following these dinners.

“Pizza. You?”

“Driving straight out of here to get a burger.” Chefs get so excited upon hearing of Kelsey’s arrival that they start sending out their diminutive masterpieces unbidden: quail on a bed of quail with a quail gelée, topped with quail foam and garnished with a quail reduction. Two courses in, I’m always nauseated and starving.

“What did you do today?” I ask, availing myself of the Bulgari hand lotion.

“Rocked it hard. Helped Andy take the pool filter apart while Michelle got Kelsey to look at inspirational baby lines for Kelsey Kids. That girl does not need to be inspired. She needs to sleep and eat cheese.”

We exchange looks in the mirror.

“I’m really sorry I haven’t found you guys a house yet. There’s a shocking lack of inventory that meets Michelle’s criteria.” A mansion with fringe on top, as our real estate agent has taken to calling it.

“Whatever, dude, it’s all good. Our little girl will be here soon,”
he says, sweetly fitting “little girl” into every conversation since they found out. “And we got plans.” He opens the door for me, and we walk back to the private garden. The air is heavy with the scent of magnolia as the dessert course lands on the table—quail brûléé.

“To the Wades!” Terrance raises his glass. “The hardest-working family in the business!”

“That’s you, too, hon,” Andy whispers as Cheryl snaps a picture to applause from the table.

“E-mail me a copy?” Michelle asks, tapping the hard sugar with her spoon. “I want to frame that.”

“So.” Terrance rests his glass, and the table quiets. “What’s up next?”

“Uh.” Kelsey mugs, putting her finger to her chin, and then pointing to her budding belly. Everyone laughs.

“And?” Terrance asks.

“Well.” She lifts her hair over her shoulder, her abdomen grazing the table’s edge. “I don’t really want to be one of those L.A. moms, so we’ve talked about heading back to Oklahoma. Building a house.”
What?

Michelle coughs up her wine.

“A few years of being a momma and a wife should give me a ton of new material. I’m looking forward to having a whole new well of stuff to draw on—”