Closure
∙Cat∙
I check my phone as the waiter brings me another Coke. I smile in gratitude and take a big gulp, wondering where on earth Lucas could be. After waking from my stupor yesterday (seriously, who knew partying with my mother could knock me on my butt so hard?), I checked my missed calls and tried calling him back. Twice. But he didn’t answer.
And he hasn’t called back.
What sucks is that I have this eerie feeling I can’t seem to shake. A prickling on the back of my neck. A sense that someone is watching me, or something big is about to happen. I’m sure it’s just this mystery with Lucas. My overactive imagination making trouble where there isn’t any—that and my thrown-off sleep schedule. Nothing that copious amounts of sugar can’t cure.
As I take another long pull off the sweet nectar, nearly draining the filled glass in one go, I deposit my iPhone back on the table, in clear sight in case it goes off. Although my mother is Miss Popular whose phone hasn’t stopped ringing this morning, my screen remains black.
I frown around my straw and lift my eyes to see Ransom watching me. “Everything okay?”
Even though I’m majorly stressing, I swallow my mouthful and smile. “Yeah,” I say, stabbing my drink with my striped straw. “Just being a girl. We enjoy inventing drama where there is none.”
He nods as if he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t push it. After throwing Caterina an annoyed glance, he dive-bombs into his French toast. I stare at him for a minute and then go for another gulp of soda.
Ransom is another mystery I’d like to solve. Ever since he mentioned his run-in with a psychic, a dozen questions have floated in mind. Three in particular.
Obviously, the answer to that question would only confirm what I already know is true. It was Reyna. I’m as confident about that as I am that something is up with Lucas. And while I’m trying very hard not to freak about my relationship, knowing my gypsy girl has a hand in the rest of the madness helps everything else fall into place.
This is fate. Ransom is meant to be here, and I’m meant to know my mom. The world of attention and limelight may feel like a pair of ill-fitting sneakers, but in the end, everything will work out fine. It has to. Destiny has sanctioned it.
I just need to acclimate.
After a few more minutes of quiet eating—well, Ransom and me quietly eating while Mom chatters away on her phone—she finally sets it down. Smiling at us, she asks, “Now then, where were we?”
I’m tempted to say nowhere, since you’ve had your phone glued to your ear from the moment we arrived, but I bite my tongue. Going for positivity, I say, “I have news.” This gets both their attention. “Dad’s wedding has been rescheduled. It’s next week in Santa Barbara, and the two of you are invited.”
That took no small effort on my part. They don’t mind Rance, but Jenna wasn’t too keen on revealing details about the big day to Caterina again. Eventually, though, they agreed that if she was going to be a part of my life, they needed to start getting along. Much to Dad’s shock, the world didn’t end at the premiere. They were a little twitchy about how late I was out, but in the end admitted that maybe Mom wasn’t as bad as we’d once painted her to be. Maybe it was possible for people to change after all.
“Next week?” Caterina asks. Her right eye squints, and she fidgets with the silverware.
I nod, that eerie feeling pricking the base of my skull again. “Saturday.”
She averts her gaze. That’s not good. But before I can work up the courage to dig, her ringtone goes off again. I don’t know if I’m more ticked or relieved. She picks up her phone and squeals at the display, and I shake my head at her untouched brunch.
I’ve officially unearthed the secret of celebrity diets. They don’t eat. Their food grows cold before they can.
“Darling!” she answers, and despite the weirdness, Ransom and I exchange a smirk. Her voice changes are majorly weird. I’ve heard her speak normally. I’ve seen glimpses of the everyday woman underneath the pancake mask. But when certain people call, or bigwigs come up to say hello, Caterina Angeli goes from girl-next-door to flirty temptress on a dime.
Nodding eagerly, Mom says, “Oh yes, I’m fully prepared. I even read through the script again last night because I love it so much. I have such a vision for this role. It’s as if it was made for me.”
That eerie feeling multiplies by a thousand as I turn and mouth to my brother, “Role?”
Ransom shrugs, clearly as clueless as I am. He leans back in his seat, dropping his fork and abandoning his plate. For a teenage guy who packs away food, that doesn’t help my attack of nerves at all.
“How wonderful!” A smile splits Caterina’s face so wide I worry it’s going to crack. She snaps her fingers at the shaggy minion sitting behind us. I’ve recently learned his name is Brice. She pointedly lifts an eyebrow at him and asks the caller, “Tuesday?”
Brice consults his phone and nods. Caterina pumps her fist in the air. “We can do Tuesday. If you need me, I’ll hop on a plane today, in fact. I’m good to go whenever production is ready.” She nods again and gives Brice a thumbs-up. “How sweet. Tell Steven I look forward to working with him, too. He’s absolutely brilliant.”
Good grief.
As the B.S. continues to grow thicker, the knot in my gut travels north. It lodges in my chest, tightening it, making it hard to breathe. I’m not totally sure why. Mom hasn’t said anything overly shady or troublesome…other than being willing to leave town at the drop of a hat. Without a second thought about Ransom or me. But she probably didn’t really mean it, right? Just Mom being overly dramatic as always.
Still, my spidey senses are on full alert.
Grabbing what’s left of my soda, I chug like there’s no tomorrow.
This is what I’ve gathered so far.
Whoever is on the phone is important. He or she has obviously offered her a role, one that has her excited, and she thinks was made for her. I have no clue what that could be. It sounds as though a dude named Steven will be either her costar or the director and there’s a meeting of sorts on Tuesday.
This Tuesday.
The tightness in my chest pulses. Mom promised she’d be around for a while. A few weeks she said, but at the very least, I assumed she’d be here next Saturday. I want her at Dad and Jenna’s wedding. I want to see them all getting along. Having her there, looking at photographic proof later, will make this new chapter in my life feel real. Like I’ll finally be able to close the door on the past, and start fresh.
Mom laughs. “Fantastic. I’ll bring my new favorite director a box of Cubans then.” She winks at Brice, and he jots it down. “Okay, sounds good. Ciao!” Caterina air-kisses the phone and disconnects.
Ransom and I lock eyes.
“Thank God mimosas have champagne!” She waves an arm to flag our waiter, and I scream at my pulse to slow the heck down.
“Good news?”
“Marvelous news,” she corrects me with a full smile. Her off-camera one I’ve only caught glimpses of here and there. She reaches out to take both our hands and says, “I’ve just gotten a new lease on life. Career wise, at least,” she says with a wink.
I squint in utter confusion. Come again?
Our young waiter appears tableside, and Caterina’s smile turns flirtatious. I bite back a groan as she says, “Three mimosas and a bottle of your best champagne, hot stuff. We’re celebrating.”
The guy’s eyebrows shoot up as she wiggles hers. He glances around our table warily. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’ll have to see ID before I can serve everyone alcohol.” Everyone of course meaning Ransom and me, the underage duo. No one’s mistaking Mom for twenty.
I snort at the thought and quickly hide my smile behind a napkin. Then I see Caterina’s frozen expression, and the napkin isn’t needed. Uh-oh.
“Are you serious?” she asks, her voice rising at the end.
Wincing, I quickly scan the couples nearest us. As I expected, they’ve stopped eating, choosing instead to watch the scintillating action developing at table nine. Awesome.
The waiter adjusts his collar and nods uncomfortably. “Sorry, ma’am.” Every time he says the word ma’am, Mom’s face tightens. He transfers his weight and adds, “It’s the rules. And the law.”
Caterina’s lip curls like she just sucked a lemon. “Do you even know. Who. I. Am?”
My jaw drops. Like, falls off and hits the table.
I’ve grown up hearing celebrity horror stories. Everyone has. But Dad has never thrown his name around. Even when I’ve suggested he should. Now as I watch Caterina crane her neck to see beyond our waiter, I’m really glad he’s always chosen to ignore me.
“Where’s your manager?” she orders.
In an instant, Sweet and Timid Waiter transforms into Mr. Feisty. His head rears back like he’s prepared to do battle, and the screech of Brice’s chair snags the rest of the room’s attention.
This is gonna be ugly. I don’t see any cell phones recording, but it’s only a matter of time.
As Brice whispers to Caterina, I jump in to calm Mr. Feisty. Quickly pasting on a sympathetic smile, I announce to the table, “Really, it’s no big deal. At all. I don’t even like champagne.”
Everyone’s focus snaps to me, and our waiter takes a much-needed breath. He does not want to go toe-to-toe with Caterina Angeli.
Then Ransom says, “Me neither,” and at his sharp tone, we all look to him. His guitar pick is back out, flowing across his hand like water. “I never drink,” he says, voice like steel. “My mother is an alcoholic.”
My eyes go wide, and as patrons sneak smirks at Caterina, I predict what tomorrow’s headline will be. As for Mom, although her face blanches, she quickly recovers.
“I had no idea your adoptive mother battled such an illness. Well then,” she tells our waiter with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Make that one mimosa and two orange juices.”
I bet there will be spit in it.
Sure enough, the gleam in the waiter’s eyes confirms I will not be drinking any more beverages for the remainder of our meal.
As he takes off for the kitchen, Mom turns to Ransom. “Was that necessary?”
My brother lifts an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to get to know us, Mom. Isn’t that why we’re here? To bond and become a happy family,” he says, repeating the publicist’s words from the red carpet almost verbatim. “Motherhood is the greatest role there is, after all.”
The snark is enough to give Austin a run for his money.
Caterina’s heavily lined eyes flare. “Of course it is,” she agrees. “But do you think airing family laundry in public is the best way to do that?”
“I’ve learned from the best,” Ransom replies, and my hands fist under the table.
This is turning into a ping-pong match, one that I want no part in—public or otherwise.
“But that is why we’re here,” Rance pushes. “Isn’t it? That’s the reason you brought me to California, why you called Cat out on national television. To become a family. Right?”
His final word acts like a verbal gauntlet, and I don’t blink, I don’t move, as I wait to see how Caterina will react. I feel like I’m missing something, something big, and I’m equal parts curious and terrified. Our mother removes her napkin from her lap, dabs at a clean mouth—she hasn’t eaten a thing—and twists the white linen in her hand. The longer my brother’s questions hang in the air, the more I want to escape.
Caterina takes a sip of what must be lukewarm coffee, then sets down her cup. “It sounds as though you’re fishing, Ransom. Is there a particular question you’re trying to ask?”
Rance chuckles cynically and shakes his head. “You know, not really. This has been nothing but an experiment for me. Fodder for future lyrics.” His hardened gaze swings to me and softens a fraction. “A chance to know my sister. For that, I guess I can thank you. But, no, I don’t have any questions…”
He lifts an eyebrow, silently urging me on.
Stone-faced, I sit there, pretending I have no clue what he means. Mom, Brice, and a few nosey patrons turn their attention to me, but my focus remains on Ransom. On his strong, understanding eyes resting under stubbornly quirked eyebrows.
My chest squeezes painfully.
The thing is, I do know what he wants. Ransom is daring me to get my closure. To get the answers I’ve waited to hear for ten years. To ask the question we both know needs to be asked.
“Who was on the phone, Mom?”
Rance gives me an encouraging smile, and taking a breath, I look at Caterina. For just a second, the deer in the headlights kicks in. It’s gone as quick as it comes, but it was unmistakably there, and my back teeth click. I repeat, “Who?”
Mom shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “Oh, that was just Michael Layton. He’s directing It’s a Quest, a movie I’ve expressed interest in.”
As she speaks, my mind flips back to meeting with Mr. Layton at the premiere. He knows Dad, so he went out of his way to come over and say hello…then he and Caterina went to a booth to talk with a group of men in suits. Producers. A burst of air expels from my lungs.
“He was calling to offer me a role,” she continues with a wide smile, the kind I’ve gotten used to seeing on magazines, television, and the red carpet. The one that doesn’t stretch her mouth or make her eyes laugh. The kind that isn’t real. “I’ll be playing the role of Julianne Rhodes’s mother. Isn’t that great?”
I nod slowly, puzzle pieces falling in place. Julianne was there the other night, too. She’s your typical rising teen actress, entitled and plastered on teenybopper walls worldwide.
She’s also sixteen. My age.
“Mmm-hmm.” My lips are sealed shut, holding back the word vomit building inside. I inhale a long, cool breath, and as my head bobs, I realize I’m rocking in my chair.
Not because I’m sad. I’m not. I’m not scared or angry, either. Energy is zinging through my system, pulsing in my veins. Chill bumps explode on my arms. A cold sensation runs down my spine, and the rest of the restaurant fades away as I say, “And the reason he called you now, two days after you met with him at the premiere is…”
I purposefully trail off, wanting her to fill in the blanks. Curious if she’ll admit the truth. The reality Ransom has obviously discovered as well.
Interestingly enough, even with a captive audience eavesdropping, Caterina doesn’t disappoint. “Michael called today because the decision was just finalized,” she admits, sitting back in her seat. Brice looks nauseous. “The studio has known of my interest, but they hadn’t been convinced. Something about my image, and no one in America believing I’d be the right fit for the role. Can you imagine that?”
I snort, and as I shake my head and tears prick my eyes, the snort becomes a full laugh.
“You not motherly?” I ask, realizing and not caring that the entire restaurant is listening. Physically unable to sit still, I rub my hand along my jaw and clench a fist. “I mean, you gave your first child up for adoption when he was born, and then abandoned the second when she was only five. You never once looked back or thought about us…not until you needed something, apparently. What more could they want? That’s Mother of the Year material right there!”
Brice pushes to his feet, calling out, “Check, please!” then scampers off to find help.
Ransom stares like a proud papa, and Caterina looks at me like…like…I don’t even know. A week of spending time together, and my mother is still a stranger. I’d honestly thought we’d started to bond. That I was getting to see past the façade and had a chance of a real relationship with her. A shot at that sappy mother/daughter fantasy I’d always dreamed about. But I was kidding myself.
Then a thought slams into me with the force of a Mack truck. My insides squeeze, and my heart flutters.
“You know, I used to think I needed answers from you. A reason why you left. I thought I needed that to be whole. I also wondered if I was missing out, not having a mom. But see, I do have one. One who’s good and kind. Who cares for me unconditionally, even when I treat her like crap. Who takes art lessons to understand me better and does my hair for events she doesn’t want me to go to.”
I shake my head as the truth washes over me. Heals me. And I notice several cell phones held up and recording my speech. I glance around with a smile, not caring.
“Jenna has been more of a mother to me in the last year than you’ve been in my entire life. So yeah,” I say, standing up and pushing my chair in. “It is a shock that they’ve offered you that role. Because frankly, you as a loving mom? I don’t buy it, either.”
I stand there a moment, nodding my head, relishing the sensation of speaking my mind. Not caring that it’ll be all over YouTube before I can even hail a cab. Owning how I feel, regardless of whether it makes a scene. Then, with a shrug of my shoulder, I grab my phone from the table and walk away.
And head toward my future.
Outside the restaurant, the noise of the city hits me in the face. I slide on my sunglasses, not to hide from the waiting paparazzi but simply because it’s freaking bright out here. Ignoring the bazillion questions flying at me, I walk to the street for a cab and find Jack waiting.
The look in his eyes says he somehow already knows what I did—I guess it’s his job to know.
The smile on his lips says he approves.
“In need of a ride, Miss Crawford?”
He tips his head toward the black Bronco waiting curbside, and I pat him on a bulging bicep. “Jack, my man, you read my—”
“Cat!”
Turning, I watch Rance run through the restaurant door and promptly squint into the morning sun. I throw my hand in the air, waving it above the crowd. “Over here!”
He searches until he finds me, then shoulders his way through the maze of photographers. When he reaches me, he slumps with his hands on his knees, out of breath.
“Want a ride?” I ask, darting a questioning glance at Jack who nods. “The company will be tall and brooding, but there will be significantly less drama.”
The words come out of my mouth, and they sound like me. But as Ransom straightens and watches me in concern, I realize I’m not all here. It feels like I’m floating. Talking without thinking. Standing without feeling my feet. Like an out of body experience.
My brother puts his hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
The warmth of his hand seeps through the cotton of my shirt. My head begins to spin a little, and I quickly glance at the cameras pointed at us. “Totally,” I say, pulling on my old smile—or is it a grimace? “Let’s blow this Popsicle stand, huh?”
Jack tugs open the door, and Ransom helps me inside. He doesn’t let go of my hand as we scoot across the bench seat, and he pulls me flush against him when we sit.
“I’m proud of you,” he whispers, wrapping his arm around me. The scent of his leather jacket and maple syrup clouds my head. “That wasn’t easy, but you killed it. You should’ve seen her face when you left.”
I nod wordlessly into his chest as Jack guns the engine and peels away from the curb. Out on the road, headed for home, the full weight of what just happened catches up to me.
And I begin to cry.