California Girls
“And specific.”
“I want what I want.” Some of her courage faded. “What do you want?”
He cupped her face in his hand. “You, Ali. I’ve always wanted you.” He brushed her mouth with his. “Want to move your things upstairs?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled. “In a little bit. First I think we should have sex.”
He grinned. “You do, huh?”
“Yes. Right now.” She looked around. “On the kitchen table.”
He chuckled. “It’s gonna be cold.”
“I trust you to keep me warm.”
She trusted him with a whole lot more than that, but keeping her warm was a great place to start.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Zennie didn’t like being pregnant. There—she’d said it. Okay, not out loud, but she’d thought it. Actually, being pregnant was fine, it was the hormones that were going to do her in.
She felt fragile. She’d never felt fragile in her life. She was emotional spun glass, with tears always ready to rise to the surface and a heart that felt broken. She’d cried twice the previous day. Twice! Who did that? Gina and she still weren’t speaking, which was hard, but so was everything else in her life. Deciding what T-shirt to wear to help out her mom on a Sunday afternoon seemed impossible. Commercials made her weepy. She wanted to hold kittens and save whales and have someone big and strong hold her tight and promise everything would fine.
Not anything she wanted to dwell on, she told herself as she drove to her mom’s place to help with yet more sorting. Zennie hoped they wouldn’t find anything emotionally significant because she didn’t want to have a meltdown in front of anyone. Bad enough to sob at home.
When she got to the house, she found her mom was out and only Finola was at home.
“Mom’s off with her theater friends and Ali’s not coming,” she said by way of greeting. “She went up to Santa Barbara for the weekend. Probably for the best. Getting away would make things easier.”
“What things?” Zennie asked.
Finola surprised her by smiling. “Thank you for not remembering. I have felt like I go from bitch to bigger bitch lately. It’s good to know you can be thoughtless, too.”
A normal sister kind of comment that would have been fine any other time in her life, but not right now, Zennie thought, tears filling her eyes.
“How was I thoughtless?” she asked, her voice shaking.
Finola stared at her. “What’s wrong with you? Are you crying? You never cry.”
“It’s the hormones,” Zennie said, wiping her cheek. “I’m a mess. I’ve gone through more boxes of tissues in the past three days than in my entire life. I hate it.”
Finola surprised her by pulling her close. “You are a mess. I kind of like it.”
The hug felt good. Zennie hung on longer than she would have before, and Finola didn’t let her go until she was ready. When they stepped back, Zennie promised herself she was going to power through.
“The hormones are supposed to get better in a few weeks,” she said. “They’re what cause morning sickness. It’s the surges or some such crap. So far my stomach’s a rock, but I’m crying twenty times a day. It’s humiliating.” She tried to shake it off. “So what did I forget?”
“Yesterday was Ali’s wedding day.”
Zennie collapsed on the sofa and covered her face. “I’m the worst sister ever.”
“You and me both. Only Mom remembered. I thought about sending flowers, but seriously, what would the card say? Sorry you got dumped and now it’s your wedding day? Maybe we should just take her to dinner later this week.”
Zennie nodded. “Poor Ali. She has to feel terrible. She’s all alone, living in pain, knowing Glen walked out on her. I can’t believe I forgot her wedding day.”
Finola eyed her. “Yes, it was awful. Now let it go.”
“How can I?”
“I liked you a lot better when you were stuck-up and sanctimonious. I’m just saying.” Finola motioned for her to stand. “Are you going to be like this when we go to the gala together? I’d really rather not have you sobbing every five seconds. People will start to talk.”
Zennie followed her sister into the dining room. The table and chairs would be easy to get rid of, but the massive hutch was another issue. The upper cabinets were all filled with dishes and glasses and serving pieces, while the cabinets and drawers below overflowed with crap from their lives.
“I won’t cry at the gala,” Zennie said. “I’ll take a supplement.”
Finola stared at her. “They make supplements for that sort of thing?”
Zennie rolled her eyes. “Of course not. I’m pregnant. I can’t take anything. I can barely drink almond milk without worrying I’m damaging the fetus. It’s hell. If the baby were mine, I think I could relax a little, but it’s not mine and yet I’m completely responsible. Every decision I make has to be considered with the baby in mind.”
Finola grinned. “You’re regretting the pregnancy.”
“I’m not and don’t sound so gleeful. It’s just a little harder than I thought. The crying and my boobs hurting and Bernie monitoring every single thing I eat or breathe. We’ve had the most perfect surfing weather and I can’t go. It’s hideous. But once I stop crying, I’ll be fine.”
“You want coffee.”
Zennie groaned. “Yes, and a glass of wine and I don’t usually care if I drink. But yes, wine and sushi. I want to go in a sauna. I want to run until I’m so exhausted I barf. I want to not be careful.” She looked at Finola. “It’s only been a few weeks. I have months to go.”
“It will get easier.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because the human spirit is amazingly resilient. This will become your new normal and you’ll move on. Look at me. I still can’t decide if I would sell a kidney to get Nigel back or if I want him dead, and last night I met a man for drinks.”
Zennie stared at her. “You didn’t. How was it?”
“Awful. He offered to sleep with me, either for revenge or to clean out the plumbing. He was pretty open to either.”
Zennie shuddered. “Sex sounds awful right now.”
“Sadly, it does to me, too. And I’m not pregnant.” She touched Zennie’s arm. “I know I wasn’t on board before, but there’s a very good chance you’re doing the right thing.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I kind of am. I made the statement to be nice, but now I realize I actually mean it. You’re a good person, Zennie. I’m sorry you’re suffering. Now let’s start with the drawers.”
Zennie grinned. “Could I have a second to enjoy the compliment?”
“I don’t think so.”
They each pulled out a drawer and set it on the dining room table. Zennie sorted through half-used pads of paper and a couple dozen pens. There were paper clips, old circulars, playing cards, some batteries and a hair clip in the shape of a butterfly. She found old report cards and sorted them into three piles, then held up a roll of pennies.
“We’re rich,” she said, waving the roll.
“Good to know. Oh, look.” Finola passed over an envelope.
Zennie opened it and saw ticket stubs to a Kelly Clarkson show, along with backstage passes. She turned the tickets over, remembering how much she and Ali had wanted to go to the concert. Zennie had begged and somehow her dad had come through. The three of them had been in the fifth row, dead center. After the show, they’d gone backstage where they’d met Kelly. She’d been sweet, posing for pictures and signing autographs before offering them cupcakes from the crafts table.
“Don’t start crying,” Finola ordered.
“Too late.” She held up the tickets. “This was my first concert. Ali’s, too. We got to meet Kelly and the band.” She managed a strangled laugh. “I remember wearing my backstage pass lanyard around my neck for a week until my teacher made me leave it at home. I thought I was so cool and special.”
“You were both those things.”
Zennie sniffed. “Don’t be nice to me. It’s dangerous.”
“Sorry. You were a spoiled little brat who didn’t deserve a backstage pass.”
Zennie nodded. “Better. Thanks.”
Finola laughed. “Wow, hormones really are powerful. I had no idea. I have a lot more respect for Mother Nature than I did, let me tell you.”
“Me, too.”
They finished with the drawers. Finola went into the kitchen to make them a snack while Zennie sat at the table, fingering the passes.
She missed her dad. Was this what Ali meant when she talked about Dad not being there for her? Zennie had to admit it sucked.
She pulled out her phone and took a picture of the tickets and passes, then texted it to him.
Remember these? What a great night and a great memory. Dad, you’re wrong not to support what I’m doing. I can only help out a friend this way because of how you raised me, so you’re as much to blame. Not talking to me is ridiculous. I’m your favorite—we both know it. So stop acting like this. I’m pregnant and I need my dad.