Her eyes search the hills above us as she shakes her head. “I wasn’t supposed to do this without him. Anna, Drew, and I got by just barely. Some days I would call in sick for them because I couldn’t get them to school that day. And then…in high school, but with Simon…things fell in place, sort of. The girls didn’t need as much from me, and they had Simon too. But…he was a much better parent than I ever could be, so here I am, trying my best. For the triplets, but for him too.”
With Erica, Dad was the one to beg for more kids. He wanted to be the stay-at-home dad to rule all stay-at-home dads. He wasn’t shy about hinting at it, and of course Anna, Drew, and I were always encouraging him. Finally, Erica caved. It wasn’t that she didn’t want another kid with my dad. It was that she didn’t want to be pregnant. So when Erica suggested they use a surrogate, Dad happily agreed.
The surrogate was a hippie from West Hollywood named Petra. Just days before she was set to be inseminated, Dad was struck by another car on the 405 as it was changing lanes. He was in their blind spot.
Eventually, Erica decided to go through with the surrogacy. She said it was her way of healing, and even though it was excruciating, I’ll always be grateful that she made the decision to honor Dad by going through with his dream of having a baby. Even if they couldn’t do it together. The surprise, though, was that instead of one baby, Petra carried three.
It was a bumpy ride with Erica trying to find her footing, but their nanny, Roxanne, was her saving grace. Then two months ago Roxanne met a girl and fell in love and decided to travel the world with a backpack and a laptop.
That’s where I come in. Even though Erica is trying to be more present, the triplets have had a revolving door of sitters since Roxanne. And with little to no post-college prospects, it felt like the right thing to do was to come home and help out until Erica can find someone to be here full-time. I love the triplets dearly, but I also have to keep reminding myself that this is temporary and that hopefully someday—oneday—my creativity will come rushing back.
Erica takes a sip of her drink and sets it on the little glass table between us. “You know, I was a wreck over missing your graduation.”
“Honestly, it’s fine. The day was total chaos, and it’s such a long thing to sit through for five measly seconds.”
“When the show is done filming, we’ll throw you a big party, and I’ll see about getting in touch with some fashion industry contacts I may have. I just can’t believe someone didn’t swoop in and nab you the moment you walked across the stage.” She sighs. “Creative businesses are such fickle things. I’ll put in some calls, but until then, it just means so much that you’ll be here with—”
“Erica, can I ask you something?” Ever since Beck left, something has been festering at the back of my mind.
“Of course,” she says, still a little startled that I interrupted her. The list of people who interrupt Erica Tremaine is very short.
“When Beck was here…why did you shoot down the idea of me going on the show? It can’t just be the number of contestants. That’s fluctuated before…and I know you need me here with the triplets…”
“Oh, darling, it’s just a silly show. You wouldn’t want to waste your time with that. You’ve got so much ahead of you. Reality TV is a perfect fit for some people, but for others, it can haunt them for years.”
“Is it…Is it because I’m fat?”
She gasps and then chuckles nervously. “You’re not fat! Don’t say that about yourself.”
Erica and I have worked through a lot over the years. At first, I thought she was some vicious power-hungry Hollywood big shot who would eat my dad alive. But for as much as we’ve grown, the one thing she still can’t quite seem to make sense of is how to talk about my body.
“Erica,” I say firmly. “I know what I am. It’s fine. But is that why? Is that why you told Beck no?”
Her lower lip quivers for a moment and then she bites it, holding it in place. “Cin, the moment those girls walk into that château, they become internet fodder. I know you’re beautiful and perfect, but others might not be so kind. I can’t guarantee you any kind of special treatment once you’re at the château. Cameras start rolling and that’s it. I don’t think I could live with myself knowing that your father left me to take care of you, and I let you become just another thread on Reddit about why some loser hates…plus-size people.”
Something inside me bucks against that notion and says that I shouldn’t have to alter my life because of some internet troll’s opinion. But then again, I would never in my life go on this show. I have zero desire to be a part of something like that. One guy dating you plus twenty other women at once? No, thank you. And there’s something about Erica being protective of me that makes me feel wanted and safe. Like family. Real family.
“You know I’d never go on a show like that anyway. No one finds the love of their life on a reality TV show.” On a plane…maybe. Definitely not on a helicopter. I smile to myself and then dip my head down so I don’t look like some kind of daydreaming idiot.
Erica laughs, obviously relieved to change the subject. “Such a skeptic, aren’t you? What ever happened to magic? Fairy tales? Fate?”
I scoff. “I think fairy tales might be more like cautionary tales than anything else. And fate is just an excuse for people to be inactive participants in their own lives.”
We go back and forth like that for a while longer, laughing and talking about true love and statistical probabilities and nightmarish reality TV stars. I almost tell her about my random little meet-cute on the plane, because I know she’d eat that up, but soon I’m yawning so hard that my eyes are watering and I have to go to bed.
We say good night, and Erica gives me a kiss on the forehead as she whispers about how happy she is to have me at home. I can’t help but wonder if it’s because she loves me so much or the help I’m going to provide with the triplets. Either way, as I walk into the pool house and take a glance at the canopy of twinkling lights over the beautiful backyard, I can’t help but feel like this place isn’t my own. It’s just another stop on a long search for home.
“Mommy said not to wake her up!” a squeaky voice says.
“It’s almost lunchtime,” another says. “If we don’t wake her up now, she’ll sleep until dinner.”
“I’m hungry,” a third pipes in.
My speech comes out all garbled, so what I mean to say isI’ll be right there, but what I do say is “Bright bear.”
I force my eyes to open, but after sleeping so hard, even that simple act is dizzying. If it’s already lunchtime in LA, it might as well be happy hour in New York.
“I think she’s awake,” Gus whispers.
