Starlight (Peaches Monroe #2)(73)
Author: Mimi Strong

My parents had invited me to the house for dinner, but I’d declined, saying I was tired, even though I wasn’t that tired.

I tied the heart-shaped Mylar balloon to a dresser drawer, so it could bob around in my room until the helium leaked away.

Whacking the balloon with my finger and watching it rock in the air, I had to laugh. I’d missed Kyle so damn much while I was out of town, but forty minutes with him was more than enough.

I used to feel guilty about that, back when I’d come home from college for a visit and spend more time partying with my friends than seeing my family. I don’t feel bad about that anymore, though, because self-torture gets old, and life is hard enough without being your own worst enemy.

It’s easy to doubt yourself.

Every time I’ve been asked about my pregnancy, my memory shifts. My father says the clues had been there all along, just like in a great detective novel. According to him, I’d wrinkled my nose at certain foods the same way my mother had during her pregnancies. He hadn’t noticed the weight gain—not exactly, but he had been bothered by my louder footsteps on the staircase. He says that when I was on the phone that night, my moans had sounded exactly like my mother’s when she went into labor with me. Everything clicked in that brilliant brain of his, and he just knew what was happening. He’d even guessed I was in the en suite and instructed the EMTs to check there for me.

I’ve thought about those same clues a million times. There was a blouse I’d thrown away in disgust because it made me look pregnant, and when I say I was still getting my period throughout, what I should say is I wasn’t, and I didn’t care. My mind was hazy, and whenever I thought about my period… I changed the topic. But I must have known. On some level. I stopped going over to Toby’s house, and offered him no explanation. We’d been having fun, so why had I stopped? I think sometimes that another person lives inside me, and keeps my secrets from me. I’m not ill, like one of those people with multiple personalities, but I think I have secret closets in my head, where I put things I don’t want to think about, and the door is clearly marked: Deny, deny, deny.

My phone was ringing. In yet another classy Peaches move, I’d fallen asleep on the floor of my walk-in closet, on a pile of towels.

The call was coming from an unknown number in California.

“Hello,” I said chirpily, finding it odd the underwear company would call after ten o’clock at night.

A male voice: “Happy to be home again?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Keith. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all about me already. Way to kill a guy’s self-esteem,” he joked.

“I deleted your phone contact so I wouldn’t be tempted to drunk dial you.”

There was a pause.

“Keith?”

“I guess I shouldn’t have called,” he said.

I sat up and pulled down a shawl to cover my arms, so I wouldn’t feel cold and sound cold. “I’m glad you called.”

“Long distance relationships don’t work. I’m not trying for one, but I’ve been thinking about you all day. Did you see your little boy?”

I wrapped the shawl tighter against the goose bumps on my forearms. “Yes, he came with my parents to pick me up. He gave me a balloon, and then he drove me crazy. My mother has the patience of a saint.”

“Are you going back to your bookstore tomorrow?”

“Afraid so. There aren’t a lot of modeling jobs here in the Beav.”

“Really? I’ve always heard that the hot spots for the fashion industry are Milan, New York, and Beaverdale.”

I laughed and looked down at the chipped nail polish on my toes. Already the veneer of LA was peeling away.

“Keith, I really admire you.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re flying off to Italy, starting this amazing career, and you’re not even scared.”

“I’m f**king terrified. I just hide it under a big smile and a spray tan.”

“You’ll be fine,” I said, and I meant it.

We talked for another hour, both of us having to plug in our phones to keep going. I could have stayed on the line until dawn, but I heard Shayla come in the front door and call my name.

I said goodbye to Keith, and he told me to “take care.” When I ended the call, I wondered if that was the end for us. I started downstairs to greet Shayla, then paused just long enough to program Keith’s phone number back into my contacts list, just in case.

I ran down the stairs and straight into my roommate’s arms. She put her hand over my mouth and pretended to stage-kiss me, both of us swaying back and forth laughing our asses off.

I was home.

Even as we laughed and play-wrestled, I felt something sharp and bright in my chest, where heartbreak had been. Keith hadn’t left a scar or a wound, but something else. Our shared experience lived on, near my heart. Tiny and brilliant, like a diamond.

Maybe I had changed, or maybe I had just gotten older, the way Keith had when he finally gave in to birthdays. They call this process growing up, and I think I know why. With every new experience, your view of the world broadens, and your own life starts to look smaller, because you’re up above things, like a plane flying over.

CHAPTER 27

Thursday morning, I walked out the door of my house with my Pop Tart in one hand and my cell phone in the other. Mitchell sent me some funny photos from LA and told me about a wacky photo shoot they were doing that day, with some half-naked girl and a hundred white rabbits.

I didn’t believe him about the rabbits until he sent me a photo.

Mitchell: They’re multiplying! I swear. I just re-counted and there are 105 now.

Me: I’m so f**king pissed that I didn’t get any bunnies.

Mitchell: Shoot me now. I was holding one for a close-up and it pooped little chocolate balls right in my hand.

Me: Chocolate?

Mitchell: Yes! I’ll gather them in a basket and mail some to you.

I walked by my neighbor, Mr. Galloway, who called out, “Can’t wait to see your new photos!”

Stopping near his rose bushes, I pretended to be offended. “Mr. G! You do know it’s an underwear campaign, right? That means I’ll be in my skivvies.”

His cheeks reddened, and he pulled his glasses off his long, fine nose and cleaned them on his shirt, flummoxed for a minute.

“Just teasing,” I said, laughing. “I hope everyone sees them, because they’re going to be gorgeous. I’ll autograph yours.”