Party Girl (19 page)

I wash up my face and pull my hair back into a bun. For some reason, looking a little better actually helps me feel a little better. I dig into my purse and find some Chapstick and some gum; I’m utterly grateful for both. Then I head back out feeling much more in control than I did on the way in.

When I come out Brody is leaning against the wall next to the door, and I wonder how long he’s been waiting for me. He stands upright and then looks at me with confusion.

“Where’s your coat?”

“Trash.”

His lips thin a little, like the idea bothers him, but he’s already pulling his jacket off and helping me into it. I start to protest but he silences me with a determined look. My arms shiver when they slide against the silk lining; it’s about a million times too big but it’s warm so I pull it tighter around me.

He holds onto my elbow, like I’m some elderly aunt prone to keeling over, and tows me back over to my seat near the nurses’ station.

“Did you call your parents?” I ask as I sit down.

He nods absentmindedly. “They were up in Whistler skiing with Liam and Marin—they’ll get the first flight out. Mom is freaking out though, and it won’t surprise me if she makes him charter a jet.”

I chuckle, but when he looks at me curiously I realize he is not actually kidding. I change the subject.

“Did the nurses tell you anything?”

“They don’t have any info yet,” he says, and runs his hand through his hair. “The doctor is supposed to come out and speak with us as soon as they have something to tell.”

“What do they—” I start to ask, but he cuts me off abruptly.

“Did she not tell you she is hypoglycemic?” He looks at me accusingly. When he sees the answer on my face, he swears harshly.

“She promised,
promised
, she’d tell you! Having a roommate is the whole reason my parents agreed to stop harassing her about living so far away from them.” His knee starts to bounce in agitation, his composure slipping with each sentence. “And I know she’s been so stressed with her thesis, but she
knows
better. She knows she has to take care of herself!”

My mind is racing again.
I can’t believe Max hid this from me.
My great-grandma was diabetic, which has something to do with blood sugar but I don’t know how similar the two are. I look to Brody, about to ask him to explain it to me. His head is in his hands, and he looks utterly lost. It’s shocking to see him so obviously upset.
When did he start falling apart?
Half an hour ago I thought he was going to be the grown-up here.

He runs a hand back and forth through his hair again in what I now realize is a nervous gesture. The helpless look on his face is so at odds with his usual confidence that it makes my heart hurt. All I can think about is that I want to make him feel better, and to do that he needs to think about something else besides his little sister being sick. So I start talking.

“I’m afraid of Bigfoot,” I blurt out.

Brody sits up and blinks like he’s not sure what I’ve just said . . . Honestly, neither am I, but I just keep going.

“It’s true. He, or I suppose it could be a she.” I wiggle my hands out of the sleeves and push them up on my arms. “
It
scares the bejesus out of me. When I was little my cousins used to threaten to tie me to a tree and leave me there overnight as a sacrifice. I was petrified.”

“But . . . Bigfoot doesn’t exist.” Brody is baffled.

“That you
know of
,” I tell him indignantly.

That earns me the smallest twitch of his lips. I keep going.

“I mean, someone breaks into your house, a robber or a mugger let’s say—”

“I don’t think muggers break in,” he says conversationally.

“Well, whatever, my point is that some
human
comes at you . . . You know what to do, what your options are. You can run or fight back, you can find a knife or crawl out a window—”

“You’ve thought about this a lot.”

“You have no idea,” I tell him, deadpan. “But a creature, or an alien, or a ghost . . . I mean, how are you supposed to know how to deal with that? You have no
idea
what they’re capable of. I’d probably pee my pants.” I’m telling him the absolute truth. Supernatural
anything
terrifies me.

I’m so wrapped up in the thought, it takes me a minute to realize Brody is laughing at me. His eyes crinkle around the edges with his smile, and my heart grows three times its size, just like the Grinch, because I —I!—am helping
him
feel better.

“Thank you for that—” he starts to say, but the sight of a doctor walking towards us has us both springing to our feet.

“Mr. Ashton?” the doctor asks.

“Yes?”

“I’m Dr. Lacour. I attended to Mackenzie tonight. She’s stable.”

The little knot in my stomach unravels a bit.

“But she’s still not awake. I believe she suffered a severe hypoglycemic reaction. It was advanced enough that she lost consciousness and appears to have hit her head. We gave her some stitches for the laceration, and it should heal up fine. I believe she’ll wake up in the next few hours, and then we’ll have a better idea of how she’s doing.”

I can see some of the tension leave Brody’s shoulders. He clears his throat once before he speaks.

“Thank you so much, doctor. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. What do you think caused this?”

“I’ll have to speak with her to be sure, but typically it’s a combination of not keeping her blood sugar up mixed with exhaustion, or even stress. We usually see this type of thing after several days of dehydration due to illness.”

I remember then. How sick Max has been over the last week. I didn’t even know to be worried about it.

“She’s been fighting the flu,” I croak.

The doctor looks over at me kindly.

“Well, that might do it. We’ll know more when she wakes up. She’s in a room if you’d like to go see her now.”

“Thank you.” Brody reaches out to shake his hand.

The doctor smiles at us and then directs us to Max’s room. I walk back through the hallways crowded with medical equipment and feel more nervous with each step. I haven’t visited many, but I’m fairly certain that I hate hospitals.

When we open the door to Max’s room, we both stop short in the doorway. She looks pale and sickly and so tiny in the bed, connected to IVs and a heart monitor. I absolutely hate seeing her this way . . . She’d hate it too. I walk right over to her bed, grab her hand, and sit down in the chair next to her.

“Max,” I call to her softly. “I need you to wake up so I can beat the crap out of you for this.”

Brody walks up behind me and reaches out to touch her as if reassuring himself that she’s actually there. He clears his throat after a moment.

“I need to call my parents. Are you OK if I step out into the hall?”

I nod, never taking my eyes off Max’s face. I hear the door open and close behind me.

I feel bone tired, weary down to my toes. I look at the clock on the wall; it’s almost four in the morning. The confirmation of time seems to release whatever tentative hold I have on my ability to keep my eyes open. I scoot closer to the bed, lay my head down on the mattress, and pull Max’s hand closer until it’s almost touching my head. I’m asleep before Brody comes back in the room.

It feels like seconds later that someone is shaking my arm. I open my eyes, confused, and look at the clock. It’s nearly 8:00 a.m. Someone jostles my arm again.

“My hand’s asleep, let go,” Max rasps.

My eyes fly to her and then quickly scan the room. We’re alone. I’m not sure where Brody is or when Max woke up. She wiggles her fingers, trying to get out of the death grip I’ve got on her hand.

I gasp. “You’re awake!”

“It would appear so,” she says, doing her best to sound sarcastic but the effect is lost in the whisper of her voice and the paleness of her skin.

“Don’t. Don’t even. I swear to God I will murder you myself if you try and act nasty to everyone this morning!” I scowl at her, and for a second she tries to scowl back but then her face crumbles. She looks away, blinking back tears. I don’t give her time to feel self-conscious. I jump up and throw my arms around her.

“You scared the crap out of me! Don’t ever do that again.” I hug her fiercely, unconcerned about all the tubes and wires I’m disrupting. After a second she gives in and hugs me back.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks. “I didn’t know it was going to—”

She’s cut off by the sound of the door opening, and Vivian rushes into the room, looking like she’s about to lose it completely. Charlie and Brody come in behind her.

“You’re awake!” Vivian runs over to the bed.

I try to get out of her way but she gathers me into a sort of group hug along with Max, and then she’s crying and hugging and kissing us both and I just let her hold onto me, unsure of what else to do. When Charlie walks over to tug her back I move to give him room next to Max.

“Let her catch her breath, Viv,” he says as he rubs slow circles on her back. When he looks down at Max he gets choked up. “You gave us a scare, baby girl.”

Max’s face crumbles again. I’m not sure any girl can hear her daddy cry without getting upset, even one as tough as she is.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how this happened. I was fine and then I felt light-headed, so I went to the kitchen for a snack and then I just got so . . . confused. I woke up here,” she says helplessly.

I inch closer to the door as Brody walks up to the bed. He gives Max a kiss on the forehead.

“Don’t worry about it now, OK? Just get better. We’ll figure it all out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” Vivian says with sudden ferocity. “I knew it was a mistake to let you live by yourself.” She shakes her head as if annoyed. “Maybe someday when you’re not so stressed with school, but not now. You’re moving home.” She speaks with finality.

“Mom,” Max groans, and at the same time Charlie says, “We can discuss this later.”

“No. Absolutely not. I listened to you the first time and look where it got us, Kenzie!” She gestures around the room spastically, tears rushing down her face. “You could have . . . I can’t even say the words. I can’t even say the words!” She’s nearly hysterical now, and Charlie’s trying to calm her down. I’m sure I shouldn’t be here for this conversation, but I’m unsure how to slip out without it being awkward.

“Mom, I know this scared you. It scared me too, OK? But I’m all right, it’s not going to happen again.” Max speaks to her carefully.

Vivian acts like she didn’t even hear her.

“You have to come home.”

“I won’t discuss this anymore,” Max says.

Her voice is stern, but her eyelids flutter with the effort to stay open. I can’t imagine this sort of argument is good for her. Vivian must sense her exhaustion too, because her voice grows gentle.

“I don’t want to upset you,” she says as she smooths Max’s hair out of her face. “We’ll discuss it later, OK?”

“No, we won’t—” Max says fiercely.

Her eyes slide to mine in the corner of the room. For one quick moment she looks at me beseechingly, and then her eyes dart back to Vivian. I follow her gaze and look at Vivian too. She has that intense mama-bear gleam in her eyes. This is an argument Max won’t win, and Max knows it.

“You need someone to take care of you!” Vivian tells her.

“I don’t—”

“You do—”

“I’ll take care of her,” I call over the top of them.

All their heads swing in my direction. Max looks like I’m her savior, and Vivian looks like she might tear me to pieces, but I hold my ground.

“I didn’t know she had this—” As soon as the words leave my mouth, Max’s parents turn and glare at her. She holds their look with one of her own, and I keep talking. “Condition. Which was wrong of her, and she can see that now.” I point at my friend, who looks weak and repentant, and I don’t doubt I’m telling the truth. “But I know now, and I’ll do whatever you need me to do so you feel comfortable.” Max smiles at me sadly, and Vivian turns back to her, ready to argue again, but I stop her.

“Mrs. Ashton?”

She looks at me warily.

“We all know Max isn’t the best at expressing the way she’s feeling. She’s one of the toughest girls I’ve ever met, and she’s fiercely independent. I think that’s why she didn’t tell me; she doesn’t want anyone to see her as weak. I think she must get it from you, because you’re pretty tough too.” I smile at her. “But if you make her come home, she’ll be miserable . . . And she’ll resent you. I can’t imagine how tough it is to worry about her when she’s not with you, but she’s an adult and you’ve got to let her try and do this on her own. I promise I’ll help.”

Vivian looks back and forth between Max and me. When she finally turns into Charlie’s arms and starts to cry, I realize she knows Max won’t ever move back home. Brody’s voice breaks up the awkward sound of crying.

“Marin and Liam are waiting to come in, but two of us have to leave first.”

“Of course.” I hurry over to grab my bag off the floor, and as I stand up Max grabs for my hand. She doesn’t say anything at all, just squeezes my hand so tight it hurts, and I squeeze back just as hard.

“I’ll check in on you later, OK?” I whisper.

She nods and I turn and follow Brody out of the room. As we walk down the hallway together I realize I don’t have a car. I try my best to lighten the mood.

“Would you mind giving me a ride home? I have to be at work in, like, an hour, because I’m pretty sure death or my own dismemberment is the only reason my boss would allow a sick day—”

Brody stops abruptly midstride. When I turn to see what’s wrong he grabs me and pulls me in for a fierce hug. I’m so stunned, I don’t move or raise my arms to hug him back; I just let him hold me while the last twelve hours of emotion pass back and forth between us. Finally he bends down and places the lightest kiss on my forehead, just like he did with Max.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

I’m too overwhelmed to speak so I just nod and let him lead me out to the waiting room.

Chapter SEVENTEEN

We have four more holiday parties in the following two weeks. I learn to hate gift bags with the intensity of a thousand suns. Every event has both regular gift bags and VIP gift bags, and each takes an extraordinary amount of time to pack up and cart around. Regardless of the cool packaging or setup, the party guests rarely show much enthusiasm, even though each bag contains several hundred dollars’ worth of loot. I wonder more than once why we bother at all.

Max comes home from the hospital halfway through that time. Her mom begs her to stay with them until after Christmas, but I think Max is afraid if she goes back at all, she’ll never be allowed to leave.

She hates doing it, but I make her explain to me exactly how her diet works and when she needs to test her blood or eat something to get her sugar back up. I am totally ready to play nurse like I’d promised, but it turns out there really isn’t much to do. Max has been dealing with this all her life, and she really does have it under control. She had ended up in the hospital after being sick for days and, as a result, dehydrated. As much as she’d known a coma was a possibility, I don’t think she’d truly taken it seriously since it had never happened before. But now it has happened, and even though she’ll never admit it, the experience scared her. She is more diligent than ever about taking care of herself, and because of that I go along with her demand: we will never discuss that night again.

I hover over her every minute I’m not working, but she finally gets fed up and says she’ll rip out my hair if I don’t leave the house for at least an hour. Which is how I find myself one weekend letting Taylor talk Miko and me into attending a coed dodgeball game. We’re supposed to help defend his team, the aptly named Dodge Chargers. I think the whole thing is a joke until I get there and realize it is an actual league, with uniforms and everything. I explain to Taylor that this new athletic revelation only ups his nerd ante, but he just laughs and pulls out thick sweatbands for both his wrist and his forehead . . . He says that dressing in weird seventies paraphernalia is half the fun of the game. I guess he’s right because everyone else is in some variation of the same.

Taylor and his friends are all really funny, if more than a little competitive. Miko refuses to get off the bench during the game, but I play and get pegged in the head by a member of the all-girl opponent team called the Ball-erinas. Afterwards we all go for drinks at a place called The Snake Pit, which isn’t nearly as scary as it sounds, and the team has us laughing until our sides hurt with some of their colorful stories. It’s a fun afternoon and one of those days that make me think I am actually putting down some little roots in LA.

The last month has been an emotional roller coaster. Max being sick and multiple holiday parties notwithstanding, Selah has been in a bad mood for weeks. I know that’s a silly thing to say, because she is always in a bad mood, but ever since the umbrella party and the interaction with Brody, I can’t seem to do anything right in her eyes. I spend the last remaining weeks before Christmas running myself into the ground. With my regular workload, her Christmas shopping, sending out her holiday cards, picking up her dry cleaning, couriering gift baskets, and all of the other whims she can dream up in the course of a day, I am utterly exhausted by the time I board the plane back home. Once I find my seat, I buckle in and am asleep before we take off. I don’t wake up again until we are pulling up to the gate at the terminal.

The second I turn on my phone I find four texts and seven e-mails from Selah, all labeled “urgent,” though most are questions about where she’s put something she can’t find or a request to arrange her oxygen facial. I sit in the seat dealing with each one, and by the time I finish, I am the last one off the plane.

When I walk out of the small Midland terminal Mama is already there, looking for me in the crowd. She looks exactly the same with her sassy blonde bob and the colorful outfit she’s recently snagged from Chico’s, no doubt. She’s so pretty and has one of the sweetest dispositions of anyone you’re ever likely to meet. Before I can stop myself I’m running towards her with my roller bag clunking awkwardly behind me. Then I’m in her arms, and we are both laughing, and just like that everything feels normal again.

Mama reaches out and squeezes my hips through my coat. “Baby, you’re so
thin
!” she scolds. I don’t want to get into a discussion about the downsides of my job, like rarely finding time to eat, so I slip my arm through hers and change the subject.

“I’m fine. Is Daddy in the car?” I say as we head for the door.

“No, he had deliveries due this mornin’, but we’ll head over and meet him for lunch.”

She eyes my figure again, worried. I have lost weight, sure, but in Texas we tend to run a bit on the curvy side so any loss is going to get noticed.

We walk arm in arm all the way to the truck, and once I’ve tossed my suitcase in the back I jump up in the cab to burrow down next to the heating vent. Out on the highway I take in the gray day around us. We pass by fields, big plots of land, and taupe-colored landscape in every direction. It looks sort of depressing. Why does the land I’ve looked at all my life suddenly seem so dreary, I wonder. And then I realize everything is so spread out and one-dimensional. You don’t think about it when you’re in a big city, but because of the tall buildings and billboards and the palm trees lining the streets, your eyes tend to travel up and around to see all the color and landscaping. In LA things are pretty simply for the sake of being pretty, and it makes everything here in Texas seem a little flat by comparison.

“So the jobs goin’ good?” Mama asks, pulling me out of my head. She’s lowered the volume on her
Christmas with Sandi Patti
album and keeps looking at me every few seconds.

“Yes ma’am, just hectic. But it’s great because I’m learnin’ so much.” My accent came back with a vengeance the second I stepped foot on Texas soil.

“Just don’t work yourself too hard,” she says, and looks at me pensively. “I know you think I’m bein’ silly, but you are thin, and you’ve got dark circles under your eyes.”

“Mama, I’m fine!” I singsong. “All I need is home cookin’ and some sleep and I’ll be perfect! Now tell me what’s goin’ on: did Rafe survive that knife attack?”

Mama fairly vibrates with excitement. She has to prioritize what to tell me first, because I’ve just thrown out a question guaranteed to get her talking about something besides me.

“Oh, Landon, you would
not
believe . . . Nobody knows who did it, and he’s on all these machines, and he looks just terrible, and Kate, bless her heart, found him in that alley. I don’t even know how she’ll get through that, I really don’t. And Nicole is having all of these fantasies about Eric even though she told him she only wanted to be friends, and, well, Sami and EJ are fightin’ again, but you know how Sami is. She’s been stirring things up since God was a boy.”

There are three things in this world my mama loves passionately: God, her family, and
Days of Our Lives
, in that order. The happenings of Salem are a huge priority for LuJuana Brinkley, and she is absolutely unreachable between the hours of one and two, central time, while her “stories” are on. We spend the whole ride home recounting the intricate plot points from the current season, and I am saved from prying questions for the time being.

I spend the next few days proactively sharing stories from LA. I figure if I cut them off at the pass with info, they won’t grill me to get more out. So I tell them about Miko and Max, my apartment, the trip to Sonic . . . really, anything I can think of to stay off the topic of my job. Both my parents believe in hard work, but I know they’d never understand the way SSE is run. I’m fairly certain that my status as an adult would be summarily dismissed if they ever found out the truth. They’ll likely remove me bodily from Los Angeles County if they get a whiff of the things Selah does and says.

On Christmas day I get sweet little texts from both Miko and Taylor wishing me well. Max sends me a picture text she’s snapped of a drunken Santa passed out in front of Pink Dot, which I guess is as close to a holiday greeting as I’m likely to get from her. I spend the whole of my weeklong holiday—an
excessive
vacation, as Selah has mentioned more than once—wearing sweats, eating my mom’s cooking, and watching old movies with my parents. It’s absolutely perfect, and by the time I land back in LA I feel energized and excited in a way I haven’t since I’d first moved here months ago.