The Revenge Games Duet

I wander toward the exit, smiling politely as I pass the crew. There are a few younger kids hanging around that stop and ask me for a selfie. I happily oblige, though desperate to find out what the big news is.

At the end of the hall, there’s a small conference room which I slip into, closing the door behind me. I hit dial on Mom’s number and wait impatiently for her to answer.

“Kid, can I call you back? I’m just in the middle of writing this complicated scene, and my characters are screaming at me,” she says in one breath.

“Uh… no,” I argue back. “You don’t just vague-text me and leave me hanging. Hand your characters a Xanax and tell them to chill out.”

Mom laughs, letting out a sigh. It’s the same sigh she often lets out when she’s caught in the middle of a deadline and brought back to reality.

“Okay, you have my attention.”

“Mom,” I yell in frustration. “What’s the big news?”

“Your brother will be in town tomorrow. He has some news, and has asked if you can come home.”

My brother, Ashley, hasn’t been home since last year, busy with his own life and career. This proved a point—as his twin sister—that we do not have the ESP thing going on. The last text he sent me was yesterday, and it was a picture of his injured foot which completely grossed me out.

“He’s gay, is that it?” I joke.

“Your brother gay? The tabloids have a fascination with his love life which all involve women. I don’t know how I raised a man-whore child.”

I laugh softly. “Because it’s in your blood. You write romance novels, Mom. You’re a New York Times bestseller. Even when you’re not writing, you’re sending out this romantic vibe to everyone around you.”

“Romance is one thing, kid, your brother is entirely another.” She chuckles. “So, can you fly back tomorrow?”

My parents live on the east coast, in a small town just outside of Connecticut with my younger sister Tayla. As much as I miss being home and the quiet life, flying out is always a hassle. Over the past year, paparazzi have had a fascination with my movements and followed me wherever I go. A reason why I reduced the trips back home.

“I guess I can swing it. We’re not filming till next week, and Wes is flying to Amsterdam for a photoshoot tonight.”

“Great! I’ll get Daddy to pick you up at the airport. I miss you, kid, it’s been too long.”

“I know, Mom.” I sigh, hanging up my cell after saying goodbye.

You’d think that being a twenty-six-year-old woman I’d have my big-girl panties permanently on, but on occasions like this when something seems off and not right, I miss my mom a lot. Living across the country might as well be across the ocean. We have a relationship most people envy as I can easily call her my best friend. We text several times a day, anything and everything she knows about my life. I respect her opinion, and we rarely argue about anything unless it’s who might win The Bachelor.

Growing up with a mother who writes romance has its ups and downs. I didn’t know it at the time, but Mom’s one of the most respected and successful romance writers in the world. Her books have been translated in every possible language, and she often attends signings across the globe.

My first memory of her leaving us for the weekend was when I was five. I cried because Dad’s a shitty cook, and I didn’t want anyone to cook besides her. Self-centered and a brat.

As I grew older, I became fascinated with her career and began reading her books in my teens. The only thing I skim is the sex scenes. Mom’s a great writer, but some things are best left a mystery in my opinion.

People often ask her, “Where do you get your inspiration from?” and “I bet you live an exciting life.”

Sure, Mom and Dad love each other, but Dad’s always the beer-drinking, nut-eating dad that yells at the television when his team lets him down. He’s a sports fanatic, who has very little time for romance. At least, that’s my observation.

I make my way slowly to the interview room to find Wes waiting for me.

Something’s amiss.

His normally styled hair looks like he’s just run a marathon—it’s sweaty and stuck to his forehead. He’s quick to shove his cell in his pocket, focusing his attention on me. “Em, we have to go. My flight leaves tonight, and I’m not packed.”

“Yeah, okay,” I respond while he reaches out for my hand. “Mom called me. She wants me to fly home for the weekend.”

“To Connecticut?”

“No, to the moon. Yes, to Connecticut. Something about my brother being in town with a surprise.”

“I don’t like you going there alone.”