A Chance Encounter

“How bad was it?”

“A couple dozen. They were asking her questions…” She flinches. “Asking who Kendall’s dad is.”

Shit. I knew this would happen.

“He’s dead,” I say, lying to my sister for the first time ever. The lie rolls off my tongue, though, because that’s the story Sophia tells, and that’s the story I’ll tell until my dying day.

She nods. “Do you have a name?”

“No, no name. No information will ever be given.”

She eyes me for a moment then nods. She knows I’m hiding something, but she also knows I’m not going to tell her what it is. “Okay. So, we say it’s a private matter and leave it at that.”

“Are the rumors true?” Jordan asks. “You putting your house up for sale? Moving to New York?”

“Rumors?” I laugh. “You heard that shit from my sister.”

“Didn’t hear it from you, though,” he notes. “That makes it a rumor.”

“Yeah, it’s true. I’m making New York my home.”

He nods. “Well, then I guess Nic and I will be as well.”

My gaze flings over to my sister. “Seriously?”

She shrugs. “With you and our parents in New York, that only leaves me on the West Coast. Jordan and I talked and we’re moving too. When we get back next week, we’re going to start looking for a place.”

“Hell yeah.”

My phone buzzes with an incoming text, so I check it.

Dash: We’re on the plane. Miss you already.

Me: Miss you more.

Dash: Impossible.

This week without my girls is going to suck, badly.

CHAPTER TWENTY

SOPHIA

I look at my phone for what feels like the millionth time. It’s been ten days since I’ve seen Easton. It was only supposed to be seven, but he had a few interviews he had to do in California, so he decided to fly back and do them, as well as meet with the moving company to go over what to pack and get rid of, since his house is being put up for sale and he’ll be living here with us. He wanted to make sure all of his loose ends were tied, so once he comes back, he won’t have to leave again. Now that his tour is over, he’s officially on break—no interviews or obligations, aside from him working on his next album, which he can do here.

We’ve texted and talked on the phone every day he’s been gone. He even had a dozen pints of Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream delivered. A couple days ago, when I hit five months pregnant, he sent Kendall a whoopie cushion because apparently that’s the size of the baby. She’s been blowing it up and leaving it everywhere for me to sit on. I had Nicole buy him a beer from me since my chart says the baby is the size of a pint of lager. I think he won that round…

Today is Valentine’s Day and I expected at least a Good Morning! Happy Valentine’s Day! from Easton, but it’s almost three o’clock and he’s radio silent. I texted him wishing him a Happy Valentine’s Day a couple hours ago, but it’s showing as unread. I don’t get it. He never goes this long without checking his texts.

Kendall comes barreling out of school, with a huge smile on her precious face, and flies into my arms. “Mommy! Look at all the candy and cards I got,” she says, opening her cardboard mailbox we made and decorated for today. “So many people love me.” She giggles, ripping a wrapper off a heart-shaped sucker, and pops it into her mouth.

“So many people do love you,” I agree, walking us back to the black Escalade, where our driver and security detail await. Easton was right. While we beat the paparazzi at their game of “Who is that woman?” it hasn’t stopped them from following us around and snapping pictures while throwing personal questions at me. Nicole got an injunction to stop them from going too close to our home, but the streets and sidewalks are free game. Thankfully, so far, Riggins, our security guard, has been able to wait in the vehicle when I pick Kendall up at school. He walks with me to class because he doesn’t like not being able to see me, but he doesn’t go into class with me, and he stays back so nobody knows who he is or what he’s doing.

“I have an extra lolli,” Kendall tells Riggins. “Do you want it?” She extends her hand and Riggins smiles—he’s a serious dude, so it’s more like a grimace, but it’s his version of a smile.

“Thanks, Kendall,” he says, “but I don’t eat sweets.”

Her eyes widen. “At all?”

“Nope. Only good fuel goes into this tank.”

She shakes her head in confusion. “Fuel? Like gas?”

Riggins chuckles. “Yep.”

She scrunches her nose up in disgust. “Gas is for cars, not people. You’re going to get sick.”

“He doesn’t mean it,” I tell her. “He means he eats food that’s good for him, like fruits and veggies. Your body is like a car and food is like the gas. You need good food for it to run.”