Bounce (33 page)

“I know, but—”

“And anyway, what difference does it make? He needs to send you money.”

“It's okay. With what you've sent, I'm doing all right.”

I turn my attention out to the water, looking to be soothed. But watching the waves spill onto the sand gives me a weird tilting feeling, so I look away again, back at Brooks, who's watching me through the camera. I wonder what he sees. What he
thinks
of what he sees.

He straightens and gives me a little smile, but it's distant, distracted. I don't know if he's just busy—a definite possibility—or bummed that I sent him back to his room last night with just a quick kiss. I'm just so tired, and the days are so long.

“. . . coming out there,” I hear my mom say and realize I've tuned out of the conversation for God knows how long.

“I'm sorry, Mom, what did you say?”

Another sigh, more static.

“I said I'm thinking about giving your brother the farm and coming out there to live. What do you think?”

“What do you mean, give Scotty the farm? How can you do that?”

“I just mean to run. We've been talking about it a lot lately. They're not giving him promotions at work. With the kids, he can't shine like all the other guys there. He's late. He has to leave when they're sick. You know how it is.”

“I know it's tough for him. I just don't get how giving him the farm to run is going to solve the problem. Why can't he just find someone to watch the girls? Why can't
you
watch the girls?” I ask for the hundredth time.

“Honey, I just don't have the energy. They're so high-spirited.”

“They're just normal kids.”

“Anyway, I thought he could give it a go on the farm. And I could come out there.”

So, does that mean helping to support the farm in Kentucky
and
my mom here in LA? My mind does furious calculations, and I wish I could sit the hell down already. Aren't they supposed to cater to the leading lady? How come Garrett gets a tent and cucumber water and a cute crew guy to flirt with, and I get
this
?

Kaitlin trudges back across the sand toward me, a spray bottle in one hand and a long swatch of fabric in the other. “It's go time,” she whispers.

“Mom, I have to go. I'll talk to you later.” I can't think about this now. I wish I hadn't called her.

“Honey, just tell me what you think of the idea.”

“I don't know yet. Let's talk more about it when I'm back in LA.”

“Okay, but Scotty's lease is up this month, so—”

“Sorry, Mom, really. I have to go. Love you.”

I press End and see I have a text message from Grey, but Kaitlin takes my phone and hands it off to someone before I can read it. “We're going to roll in just a few. You're doing great.”

“I'm just standing here.”

“Well, you're awesome at standing.”

“Can I get some water?”

“Yes, sorry, of course!” She calls for some water, and then says, “We're going with a sarong.”

“A sarong?”

“Yeah, we think it'll look a little sexier. More dramatic when you come out of the surf. I think Emma would wear a sarong, don't you?”

I really don't know. All I can think is that they're trying to cover me up. That I haven't lost enough weight yet to look the way they want me to look on camera.

On the plus side, I won't have to worry about thigh jiggle at a billion pixels per square inch. “I think a sarong's an awesome idea.”

She gets busy tying it around my hips, tugging it lower, than raising it up a bit. Knotting and re-knotting it. Smoothing and then re-smoothing. Then she uses the water bottle to spritz my entire body, wet my hair, and slick it back from my face.

“Very pretty,” she says, and gives my chin a little squeeze. “The camera's going to love you.”

“Good for the camera,” I mutter. And I think about how that's not me. I've always been pretty sunny, light. But I feel weighed down now, heavier with each pound I lose. I lick my chapped lips, which I know will necessitate another five minutes of makeup touch-up, but I don't care. The sound of the surf pounds in my ear. It's so beautiful here. The clouds are wisps in a startling blue sky. The palm trees stir, and two white-sailed catamarans crisscross out near the horizon. I try to breathe and enjoy it, to remind myself how lucky I am. To remind myself that we'll be wrapped soon, and then I'm going to eat a cheeseburger the size of my face.

“Okay, clear the set,” Mia calls, and everyone hustles.

Finally. I close my eyes to let it all go, to pull Emma back into me. To be the sweet hopeful girl who's come here to make amends with a man she now thinks loves someone else.

Garrett lounges in the cabana where I'll join him. I just have to walk a few feet across the sand. Just have to walk, in my sarong, looking luscious for the camera. That's my job. Just to walk.

Brooks yells “Action.” I put a smile on my face, the smile meant for Garrett's character. My Mr. Knightley.

And I walk.

  
Chapter 37
  

Grey

I
arrive at Geoffrey's half an hour early, which gives me time to request a table with a better view of the Pacific, order wine for my mom, cancel the wine, then reorder it, second-guess the bouquet of peonies I brought, all as I'm grinding my teeth down to the bone.

Meeting her in a public place was a bad idea, but it seemed important that I make a bold gesture. That's how I went off the tracks nine months ago, when I stormed out of the house, then mired the Cobra in the ocean, so that's how I should get us back
on
track. I adjust the collar of my button-down and check my phone to see if Skyler sent a message. She knows I'm having lunch with Mom. No message, but I know she has a jam-packed shoot schedule today. I read through some of our old conversations. She hasn't mentioned Brooks. Not once. Not that she would mention him to me, but I am starting to wonder what's going on—or not going on between them.

I glance up and see Mom walking into the restaurant. She tends to draw the eye normally but today, wearing a yellow dress that's as bright as an egg yolk, smiling as she searches for me, it's like the sun just walked in. She reaches our table, and then we're hugging, tight and for a long time. I try to relax. I try to ride out the waves of emotion that rock through me.

Just like surfing. Don't fight it. Go with it. Lean into it. Feel it.

I know this is what I needed after so much time apart. Just to feel that she's real, and wants to be close to me.

When we sit down, we're both smiling twitchy smiles. She lifts the bouquet of peonies. “My favorite,” she says. “Thank you.”

“Is it weird I got them for you? Like date-y?”

“No. It's great-y.”

I laugh, because I didn't expect that. And she laughs, because I don't know why.

And there's too much going on in her eyes right now, so I mumble something about the wine and focus on repeating the Pinot Grigio's merits as given to me by our server. Crisp, zingy, with some delightful persimmon undertones and a wonderful, steely finish.

Mom laughs. “Really? All that?” She knows I couldn't care less about wine. She takes a sip, agrees with all the merits of the Pinot Grigio, and there's nothing else to do or say. We grow quiet; the restaurant becomes noisier, dishes clanging, people laughing, corks popping. It's not awkward between us. It's something tougher. It's painful. I've done this. I mean, she was a party in it. But it's, like, ninety percent on me. It's my move.

I pick a starting point—the night I left home—and start talking. My nervousness drops away almost immediately, and it's all flow now. Like singing, I'm just hooked into the way I feel, and the words come. They come pouring out.

I tell her how I always felt like I was letting her down because I wasn't racing off to college, like Adam. Because I was tougher on her than he was, rougher in general, directionless when it came to school, when it came to most everything. I tell her how I felt like she expected me to be something I could never be, a perfect kid with college plans and post-graduate plans. Taking a track that was measurable in semesters and degrees and startup companies, and how it felt like that was the only way I could make her happy. How I never felt like I was what she wanted—and that's when she interrupts me.

“Maybe that's how it came across, Grey. And I'm so sorry if it did. I never meant to push you to be something you didn't want to be. I just wanted you to have every opportunity you could in life. I wanted to give you everything you deserve.”

“It felt like you wanted to change me.”

“No, Grey. Never. I only want you to be happy.”

“And you didn't think I was?”

She hesitates. “It's not that I thought you were unhappy.” She sips her wine. “It's more that when anything happened, anything intense—happiness, fear, whatever—you'd retreat. I suppose there were times I wondered if you weren't holding yourself back from being as happy—as comfortable and easy—as you could be.”

I nod. I swallow. I breathe in and out and have to do all of it once more. “I never thought anything that mattered was supposed to last.”

“The things that last
are
the things that matter.”

“I didn't know, Mom.”

“But now do you?”

“Yes.” Jesus, I've missed her. “Now I know.”

We have to stop when the waiter comes and drones on about daily specials. Mom dabs at her eyes with a napkin, and we manage to get our orders in.

When we're alone again, she jumps right back in and says, “I should have never given you Lois's address.”

I shake my head. “It's okay.” I grab a roll from the breadbasket and butter it, then set it back down. “I guess I've always known she didn't want me.”

This is the hardest thing for me to say and, I see, for Mom to hear. We both need a few seconds to wrestle that one down. I finish my water. The busboy refills it. I'm still trying to get my breath.

It's the truth. There's no denying it. It's the ugly truth of how I came to be. My dad never loved my birth mother. She was just a pretty girl he knocked up while he and Madeleine were taking a break. I came into the world completely by accident. I was a burden to Lois before I was even born. It's possible I've felt that way with other people. With everyone. That I'm something you grow tired of and pawn off, like an unwanted pet.

I've never actually asked how much my dad bought me for. Monthly rent, it sounds like. I'm pretty sure, based on my conversation with Lois the night I saw her. But maybe it was more than that? I'd like to think he paid Lois a little more for me than that. Then my curiosity gets the better of me and I just freakin' ask the question.

“How much was I worth?”

Mom refolds her napkin. It takes her so long to look up, I'm wondering if she's going to hedge. But then she answers. “It was a set payment for some time. The first few years. But she . . . ​she was irresponsible with the money. So your father started paying the landlord and main utilities directly.”

“That was smart of him.”

“It was my idea. My suggestion.”

“That was nice of you.”

“She gave birth to you, Grey.”

“Yeah. She did. Wow. This is a lot.”

“I'm sorry, Grey. She doesn't know what she's missing. But it's my gain.
You
are my gain. And your father's and Adam's. I love you. You were a surprise, and you haven't always been easy, and I haven't always been a perfect mother, but I love you. From the bottom of my soul, I do. I have from the start. From the very first day I learned about you. Before we even had you, I did.”

“Even though I'm not yours.”

“You
are
mine. I've always felt so.”

Eventually, I find the word I want. “Same.”