"Does that mean you're keeping the baby?" I ask hopefully.
"I don't know," she hedges. "Mom's going to talk to one of my cousins to see if she might want to move in with us. To help out."
I poke her in the arm. "You'll have to get a bigger place."
She laughs weakly. "Yeah. We’re probably going to move."
We sit there in silence for a while. My mind is reeling, trying to wrap my head around all the coming changes.
"It will work out, you know," I say, trying to sound convincing. "I'll help out any way I can—with whatever you need."
"Thanks, V. Sorry I didn't tell you before. It's just..."
"Yeah, you knew I'd kick your ass."
Lauren smiles. “Yeah.”
I shake my head at her. “A teacher,” I sigh.
“A rock star,” she shoots back.
We look at each other, and laugh. What a mess the two of us are. Good girls gone bad.
What are we going to do?
Chapter 34
Without Lauren at school, the days are so long. But they’re nothing compared to the night.
I dread the night. I lie in bed, unable to fall asleep. I can’t stop thinking about Zane. What is he doing? Is he lying in bed, thinking of me? Or is he with Alaina Skye—or some other gorgeous woman? I could find out. All I have to do is check any of those celebrity websites that chronicles Aiden Cross’ every move.
But I can’t go there. I change the station whenever I hear his honey and sex voice come on the radio (which is all the freaking time). I can’t even stand to see his picture on the magazines in the store. It just hurts too much. I can't see Zane anywhere in Aiden's electric blue eyes. I miss Zane. I keep replaying that night we spent together in the hotel. I lie in bed and my body aches with the loss of his. I toss and turn all night, restless with a bone deep misery.
I know this is pathetic, but I check my phone all the time to see if he’s called or texted. Why would he, right?
I try to get on with my life. I work at Sunset Park during winter break, and it helps a lot to keep busy. What doesn't help is the Christmas music, playing over the intercom all day and all night. Even the residents complain. Helize threatens to stab the life sized Santa in the dining room if someone doesn’t turn it off. I kind of want to see her do it—it would so make my day.
So I started another book. It’s not from my Breaking Time series—which I swear I’m going to start working on very soon. It’s about a normal high school girl who meets and falls in love with a prince. Only she doesn’t know he’s a prince—she thinks he’s just a regular gorgeous high school guy. Because he’s disguised as a regular high school student…
Okay, so it’s more like a diary than fiction. But writing it is a kind of catharsis for me. The girl’s name is Rose and the secret prince is named Zeke. I know—who ever heard of a prince named Zeke, right? But his real prince name is Adrian George Harris, Prince of Valdania. I’m giving Rose an unrealistically happy ending, though. Fiction should be a place of lollipops and escape. Real life is depressing enough—I, for one, don’t want to read about make believe misery, too.
Christmas day.
I was doing just fine, putting on a happy face for Mom. She loves every holiday, especially Christmas, and now that Bill keeps shoving money at her, she can afford to go all out. The house is like Christmas town. When I walk down the stairs, I half expect snowflakes to start falling on me. There’s tinsel everywhere. I trip on it sometimes, when I’m half asleep.
Our enormous fake Christmas tree has a mountain of present piled beneath it. Mom, wearing a cute little elf hat, starts passing out presents. There’s just me and Bill, but she calls our name each time to receive yet another beautifully wrapped gift. Even Bill is smiling at her exuberance. He looks rumpled and so cute in his gingerbread men pajamas.
I get practically a whole new wardrobe, boxes of expensive technology, and cotton underwear from Grandma Mercer. Why does she insist on sending me flowered panties every Christmas? It’s so weird. I wear them when I have my period. Which happens to be right now, yuck. No wonder I’m so cranky.
“This one’s yours, too,” Mom says, handing me a thin flat box. Her eyes are shining like, I don’t know, Christmas stars, or something.
I accept the lightweight gift warily. Judging by the way she’s eagerly watching me, I’m guessing this is the important present. “Thanks,” I say.
“Open it!” she exclaims as I study the fat little reindeer wrapping paper.
Because it looks like she might pee herself with excitement, I quickly unwrap my present. A bright red shirt box. I open it up, move aside the tissue paper to find what look to be a white shirt.