“Not if I can help it.” I’m putting on a brave face, but I miss him. I think, anyway. Maybe I just miss the idea of him. The more distance I get from what happened, the more I wonder how much I actually loved him. My pride may be more wounded than my heart.
Jasper tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Good luck managing that in LA. Big city, small town.”
“I know.” I almost ran into him last week on a local hiking trail. I’d noticed him ahead and promptly turned around, got back in my car, and drove to a different trail.
“He’s saying you were on a break at that time. That he was upset and made a bad choice, but he didn’t cheat on you.”
I nod. This isn’t new information. Christian called me before it hit the news. He’d heard about it in the break room while brewing his K-cup. Perks of having publicists who work at the same firm, I suppose.
“Is that true?” The hope in Jasper’s tone irritates me. Forget women all over the world, Jasper is Tate’s biggest fan.
I give her a derisive look. “What do you think?”
She opens her mouth to respond but our mom walks in, interrupting her. “Jas, is that you? I can hear your voice but I can’t see you. Tenley has you facing the water.”
“She’s trying to lure me back home right before she leaves,” Jasper quips.
Mom rounds the island, stopping when she’s pressed up to my side, and bends down so she’s in the camera’s view. They exchange small talk, and I stay quiet. There’s been a shift in our relationship, although it has been hard to put my finger on it. Since finding out about their financial trouble, I’ve felt oddly parental toward them. I want to scoop them up, keep them safe, the way they did to me so many years ago. And then there’s another part of me that feels disappointed in them. In my dad, really.
“She’s insisting on driving that old Bronco out there,” my mom complains, and I glare at the screen.
“What else should I drive out there? My Porsche? I’m not trying to show up in Sierra Grande like a princess. Besides, the set director thought the truck would be great in the film, so Pearl might just become famous after this.”
“Infamous,” my mom mutters, and I gently nudge her in the ribs. She smiles at me, but the smile doesn’t move much of her face. All that Botox and filler. Needles will start coming toward my face soon too, if I stay in this business any longer. It won’t be long before I’m considered old, and the roles I’m offered will become that of the mother.
“Anyway,” I say pointedly, signaling it’s time to move off the subject. “Start talking, Jasper. Take the heat off me.”
Jasper tells us about spring in New York City. It’s nothing we don’t already know, having been there ourselves, but we enjoy the description, nonetheless. Changing seasons makes me wistful.
We maintain a few more minutes of chatter and then it’s time to go. I say goodbye to Jasper and blow her a kiss, and she tells me to try and not get murdered on my drive through the California desert to Sierra Grande. I stick out my tongue and close the laptop, the virtual equivalent of hanging up on her.
Mom pulls a previously frozen quiche from the oven and sets it on the stove. She’s not adept in the kitchen, and her personal chef is no longer around. She tried to tell me she wanted to learn to cook and that’s why she let the chef go.Trial by fire, she’d said in this forced flippant tone. Even then I didn’t believe her, and that was before I’d found out about the financial woes.
My dad walks in just as we’re sitting down to eat. He kisses the top of my head on the way to his seat, and I want to ask him where he’s been. What he’s been doing. If he’s sinking them even further into this pit they’re in.
Before I’d overheard their argument, underground gambling had just been a thing I knew existed somewhere out there in the ether, like the mafia and organ trafficking. Things people talk about, but they don’t feel real.
Until it hits you squarely in the center of the forehead, and you learn it has swept away all your parents’ financial resources and your father has an addiction. I feel badly for assuming the worst, for being suspicious with how he spends his time. I’ve read about it, and trust is one of the most difficult parts for the family members of addicts.
“I saw Pearl out front,” he says, setting a slice of quiche on his plate. “So I checked her fluids and tire pressure. Made sure you have an emergency kit in the back and plenty of water.”
My heart swells with love, and a wide streak of guilt runs alongside it. “Thanks, Dad.”
He smiles, his teeth perfect and white. “It’ll be good for you to drive out there alone. Clear your mind a bit. Things look different when you add distance.”
Mom makes a disapproving sound around the fork in her mouth. Dad winks.
By the time I’ve climbed into the Bronco and buckled myself in, they’ve each hugged me five times and wished me luck.
I pull out of their driveway, leaving the wind and surf behind. By the time I hit Palm Springs, I find my dad was right. Away from the glitz and glamour, the world feels different. Tate and my bruised ego are but a memory.
At the next gas station, I put the top down, secure my hair to the top of my head, and drive.
* * *
This is notwhat I was anticipating.
I set up the last of my bright orange road triangles and tent a hand over my eyes, peering out in both directions.
