Dollhouse (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Kass

K
ass lay down on her old bed, tugging the quilt up to her chin, still reeling from Kamille’s news. She could hear the strains of “Jingle Bells” coming from downstairs, and laughter, and the unmistakable
pop!
of a champagne cork.

What an
awful
Christmas.

Kass used to love this holiday, especially when her father was alive. When she, Kamille, and Kyle were little, he even dressed up as Santa Claus and pretended to come down the chimney. He and Kat would go crazy with the presents, the decorations, the food, everything.

Kat tried to keep some of the old family traditions going, like the funny notes from “Santa” in each of their stockings and the rice pudding with a single almond in it, on Christmas Eve. Whoever got the almond was supposed to be the next one to marry. (Last night, Bree was the winner, so the system was obviously flawed.)

But somehow, it just wasn’t the same without her father. No offense to Beau. But he was no David Romero.

And David Romero would have never allowed the likes of Chase Goodall to marry his daughter, much less date her. He had been so smart about people, with what he used to call his “bullshit radar.” He wouldn’t have fallen for Chase’s smarmy, all-American, nice-guy act the way Beau had. It was so painful, watching Chase sucking up to Beau and pretending to be interested in his ancient baseball stories.

Kass sighed.

She glanced around her old bedroom, which she hardly ever used anymore. It was very similar to her
old
-old bedroom back in their other house (the one she thought of as their “real” house); her mother had made sure to paint the walls of this one the identical shade of peachy apricot and arrange her belongings in exactly the same way. There were the trophies from her debate tournaments and ice-skating competitions. There was her National Honor Society plaque.

And there was her old dollhouse. She and Kamille used to play with it for hours: feeding their dolls, bathing them, putting them to bed. There was a nasty dent in one corner of the roof, from when Kamille had gotten mad at Kass about some stupid thing or the other and kicked it down the stairs. She and Kamille had fought about that for days . . .

Kass’s gaze shifted to her desk, to the souvenir snow globe from their family trip to New York City, and the photo-booth pictures of her and Kamille from high school, and the maroon USC mug filled neatly with pens and pencils.

Next to all that was the slender white box she’d bought at Rite Aid yesterday, when she’d realized that her period was late.

“Stop stalling,” she told herself, and got up from bed.

She knew that she was probably overreacting. Even though she was as regular as clockwork, period-wise, it was possible to be off because of stress and other factors. The last month or so had been sheer insanity, with exams and papers and catching up on holiday shopping (which she usually finished well before December—but not this year).

And, of course, the SHE.

But Kass needed to be sure. Now more than ever, since Kamille had decided to go and get herself engaged to her sleazy, two-faced BF.

Making sure there was no one in the hall, Kass took the box and tiptoed quietly to the bathroom next door, which she used to share with Kamille. Benjy seemed to have taken it over; there was a can of shaving cream and a razor on the sink, and tiny beard hairs all over the place. Plus a pair of rumpled black boxers on the floor.
Ew.
She locked the door, went over to the toilet, and sat down.

Kass pulled the instructions out of the box and read the tiny print once, twice, three times. She wanted to make sure to do this right. Pee on the stick? How was she supposed to pee on something so small? But, whatever. She pulled down her panties and positioned the stick. And started to pee. And stopped to inspect the stick. And started to pee again, stick in place. Was she doing this right?

Afterward, she did as the instructions said and placed the stick on a flat surface—i.e., the sink—using a clean tissue to keep it from being contaminated by Benjy’s disgusting little beard hairs. She checked her watch and started timing. Five minutes. Okay. While she waited she read the instructions once more, in English
and
in Spanish. She learned all about HCG, human chorionic gonadotropin, the hormone the test was supposed to measure in her urine. If she had a certain amount of it, the test would come out positive. Two thin blue lines. If she didn’t, it would be negative. One thin blue line.

“Kassie!
Dinnerrrrrrrrr!”
She could hear Bree shouting up the stairs.

“I’ll be right there!” Kass shouted back.

She glanced at her watch. Thirty seconds to go. Then twenty. Then ten . . .

Taking a deep breath, she looked at the white pee stick lying on the counter.

Two blues lines.

No.

There had to be a mistake. Kass picked up the stick and held it up to the light, shifting the angle this way and that.

There they were. Two solid, unmistakable blue lines.

“Kassie!!!!!”

Kass began shaking all over.

PART IV

June Gloom

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Kamille

K
amille studied her reflection in the mirror, at the way the shimmery ivory fabric clung to her figure in a sexy-but-not-slutty way.

“I looooove this dress!” she squealed. “It’s a Vera Wang. What do you think, Kassie?”

No response. Kass was sitting on a chair flipping through a bridal magazine. Actually, it wasn’t even a bridal magazine. It looked like a workbook from school.

“Kass? Kassidy Marie Romero?
Hellooooo?
Um, Kass? It would be nice if you could join us today,” he added irritably.

“What?” Kass glanced up from her workbook and adjusted her glasses. She had started wearing them a couple of months ago, and they made her look even more egghead-y than she already did. “Oh. Sorry. Spanish homework. Yeah, that dress is fine, Kam.”

“That’s what you’ve said about
all
the dresses I’ve tried on today,” Kamille pointed out. “Kassie, you’re my maid of honor. I really need you to step up here.”

“Sure. No problem.”

Kamille ran a hand over the ruffly bodice, making sure the tiny microphone was still securely taped to her boobs, and turned her attention back to the mirror. Being filmed was her new “normal” ever since Hank and his crew had started following her (and her family and Chase) around Los Angeles and documenting the wedding preparations.

She still had mixed feelings about selling the TV rights to her and Chase’s wedding to the Life Network, which was producing a reality series called
Happily Ever After.
When Giles had pitched the idea to her back in January, she’d said no at first. But the money was good—no,
great
—and Chase had really been into the idea. So she’d finally agreed, and she’d gotten the rest of the family on board, too.

The rest of the family except for Kass. Sure, Kass had
technically
signed on. She had
said
she was willing to go along with the shoots, which took up a lot of time and energy and were a new and bizarre kind of intrusion into all their lives. Kamille still wasn’t used to having cameras present during meetings with her wedding planner (the fabulous Courtney Powell) . . . heart-to-heart talks with her mother about the ups and downs of marriage . . . and dates with Chase. Especially the dates with Chase. Kamille felt so self-conscious arguing or making out or whatever in front of the cameras, knowing that a TV audience would be seeing the footage in just a few months.

But.
Kass was Kamille’s maid of honor. Not to mention her best friend in the entire world, and, of course, her big sister. So why couldn’t she make more of an effort? If Kamille could get over her camera shyness, so could Kass.

Instead, Kass had been acting like a zombie ever since production began . . . frankly, ever since Christmas, when Kamille and Chase announced their engagement. Kass was supposed to be superhappy and supportive, all giggly and girlie and throwing Kamille lingerie showers and such. Instead, she was basically sleepwalking through her role as maid of honor, on and off camera. And it was already April. The wedding was only two months away! Kamille needed Kass more than ever now, since Chase was so busy with the start of the baseball season.

Could Kass get over her Inner Envy Bitch or whatever and be there for Kamille, already?

Hank gave a signal. “And . . . we’re rolling!”

Kamille beamed at the mirror. “This is my favorite dress so far. What about you, Kassie?”

But Kass was scribbling away in her Spanish notebook, oblivious.

“Stop, stop,
stop
!” Hank rubbed his eyes. “Why don’t we take a break? Meet back here in fifteen? We’ll go grab some coffee, and . . . Kamille? Can you talk to your sister, please?”

“Um, sure.”

As soon as Hank and the crew had left, Kamille sat down next to Kass, being careful not to wrinkle the dress, which cost more than all the dresses in her closet at home put together. She took a deep breath, trying to channel “calm” and “patient,” which were not exactly natural to her.

“Kass, what’s going on?” she said, calmly and patiently. “You’re totally not into this. The wedding, I mean. And every time I try to talk to you about it, you just get all weird and quiet.”

Kass said nothing.

“Kassie!
Talk
to me!” Kamille’s voice grew more shrill. So much for calm and patient. “I can’t
stand
this anymore! What is wrong with you, anyway?”

Kass lifted her head. “You can’t marry Chase,” she stated simply.

“What?”

“You can’t marry Chase. He’s no good for you.”

Kamille balled up her fists. Was her sister out of her mind? How
dare
she? “What kind of horrible, bitchy thing is that to say?” she shouted. “You’re just jealous because Chase and I are madly in love and you don’t have a boyfriend! That Eduardo guy dumped you because you’re totally uptight about sex! You need to see a shrink! You need to—”

“I’m pregnant,” Kass blurted out.

Kamille started. “W-what did you say?”

“I’m pregnant. I’m five months along.”

Kamille’s gaze dropped to Kass’s stomach. She couldn’t make out a baby bump. On the other hand, she
had
noticed that Kass was into even baggier-than-usual clothes recently.

“Oh . . . my . . . God!” she gasped. She reached over and hugged Kass, then immediately backed off. “Ohmigod, I’m sorry! Did I hurt the baby? Ohmigod, congratulations! Why didn’t you say anything before? Are you happy? Is Eduardo happy? I’m such an idiot, I thought you guys had broken up, but obviously I was—”

“He and I aren’t together. And he’s not the father,” Kass interrupted.

“He’s not? Then who is?”

Kass shook her head. “Never mind.”

Kamille stared at her sister. Her head was reeling. This explained so much about Kass’s behavior lately. It was the pregnancy hormones. Kamille had heard that they were way, way worse than the usual period ones.

“Does Mommy know?” Kamille asked her. “And the rest of the family?”

“Nope. Not yet. You’re the first.”

“Wow, really?”

“Really.”

Kamille smiled and hugged Kass again, more gently this time. “Sweetie, I’m
so
glad you told me. And I’m totally going to be there for you! I’ll be your labor coach. Can I be your labor coach? And I’ll go to Lamar classes with you!”

“You mean Lamaze?”

“Yeah, Lamaze! And we can go shopping for baby stuff together! There’s that supercute baby store next to the Starbucks in our neighborhood. You’ll need a crib and a high chair and a stroller and lots and lots of baby clothes. And all those random little things, too, like bibs and sippy cups, and what did Kyle used to call them when she was a baby? Kikis and nanas and babas.”

As Kamille babbled on, she was vaguely aware that Kass didn’t seem all that psyched about Lamaze classes or baby clothes or kikis or nanas or babas. But that was okay. Kamille understood now why her sister seemed so out of it. Single motherhood, raging hormones, getting fat . . . it couldn’t be easy.

Kass had always been there for her, the perfect big sister (except these past few months . . . but she had a good excuse). Now it was time for Kamille to take care of Kass. She would see her through this pregnancy, even help her raise the baby as much as she could. Of course, Kamille would have a new husband and
their
children to think about soon enough. But for the moment Kass would be her priority. Kass and her beautiful new baby. Kamille’s niece or nephew.

Unless . . . the father planned to be in the picture? But Kamille didn’t think this was the right time to ask. She would wait for a better opportunity, when Kass wasn’t acting quite so
moody.

Chapter Thirty

Kass

“Y
ou’re pregnant?” Kat gasped. “As in, babies-pregnant?”

“Yeah, that’s what
pregnant
usually means, Mom,” Kass replied. “I’m keeping it. It’s due in August. And that’s about all I’m going to say on this subject.”

She peered at her watch. “We should get to work. The rest of the staff’s going to start arriving any minute now, and we’re booked solid through ten o’clock.”

Silence. Kat and Beau stared at her with stunned, deer-caught-in-the-headlights eyes. Kyle pulled out her phone and started texting—probably to Benjy (who along with Bree was spending a rare weekend with their mother, Angie, at her Brentwood house). Kamille squeezed Kass’s hand under the table and smiled encouragingly.

Kass wondered why no one was saying anything. And why did she have to pee again? Did all pregnant women spend their entire days peeing? She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and glanced around the dining room, trying not to feel like a complete freak. She could hear Fernando prepping back in the kitchen; other than him, they were the only ones there, at least for the next few minutes when more employees started arriving.

Kass had picked this setting to break the news to the family, for precisely that reason. It limited their ability—specifically, her mother’s ability—to have a nervous breakdown and/or ask a million personal questions that Kass had no interest in answering.

Beau was the first to break the silence. “Well, you know we’re all one hundred and ten percent here for you, honey,” he said awkwardly. “Money, TLC, help with the baby, a place to live . . . whatever you need, sweetheart.”

“Thanks.”

“I think it’s totally cool,” Kyle said, continuing to text. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Kass. You’re like the family slut now!”

“Kyle, that’s quite
enough
!” Kat snapped. “Kassidy, who is the father? Is he going to take responsibility?”

Oh, God.
Kass wondered how many times she was going to be asked about Annabella’s dad. Annabella Grace Romero. She’d had a vivid dream last night that the baby was a girl, and that she had named her after Grandma Romero and Grandma Ferguson.

“That topic is way off-limits,” she stated firmly. “Anyway, I have a plan. I talked to my adviser, and we figured out that I can take the fall semester off and still have enough credits to graduate with my class next June. Of course, I’ll have to hire someone to take care of the baby spring semester onward. I’ve already signed up for this website that has a database of qualified nannies.”

“Oh, really?” Kat folded her hands on the table, which meant that she was about to give a lecture. (Kass and her sisters knew that gesture well.) “I’m not sure if you’ve thought through the economics of having a child on your own,” she went on primly. “How do you plan to finance this nanny? We pay you a good hourly wage here, but you only work part-time, and that’s not enough to cover child-care costs. And what about health insurance premiums? And grocery bills? Are you planning to breast-feed or bottle-feed? Do you even know what formula costs these days? And don’t even get me started on the price of disposable diapers, especially the so-called environmentally responsible ones—”

“Mom, I’ve already thought through all these things. And more,” Kass cut in. She adjusted her glasses, which she’d had to wear these last few months because the pregnancy hormones were wreaking havoc with her vision and she couldn’t see as well with her contacts. “I know this isn’t going to be easy. It will probably be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But this baby is coming in four months, and she—I mean, she
or
he—is my responsibility. Yes, I’ll have to make sacrifices. But I will make it work.” She added softly: “I have to.”

But her mother wasn’t finished. “Have you been seeing Dr. Chen regularly?” she rambled on. “Are you taking prenatal vitamins? Have you had an ultrasound yet? Are you getting enough calcium and protein in your diet? And folic acid? What about pregnancy yoga classes? They offer those at the gym, you know? And what about—”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. Was that enough yeses? Mom, please don’t worry, I’ve got this under control.”

Kat sniffed. A tear rolled down her cheek. “How can you say that? You’re going to have a baby! Ohmigod, I’m going to be a grandma!” she exclaimed.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” Beau said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Kass sounds like she knows what she’s doing. She always does.”

Yeah, well, not exactly,
Kass thought. Her sexual awakening aside, the SHE had been her lowest moment, ever. And now she would pay for it for the rest of her life.

She
had
considered terminating the pregnancy. It was just after Christmas, when she realized that
not
terminating would mean the end of her education, her career, and her ties to the family. To Kamille, especially. She kept picturing Kamille’s face—
all
their faces—when she announced that she was pregnant with Chase’s baby. The image of it made her want to curl up and die.

But she couldn’t go through with an abortion either. She just couldn’t. It was an impossible dilemma. She stayed in bed through New Year’s, telling everyone she was sick. The fog of despair and indecision had actually lasted for several weeks. Kamille kept asking her what was wrong, and Kat, too; she told them both it was a lingering bad cold.

Then, slowly, gradually, she came out of the darkness. She decided to keep the baby. She formulated a course of action: how to juggle her classes, her job, and being a single parent. This was what she did best: organizing, strategizing, making lists. The start of the new semester and being back at school helped to sharpen and focus her mind.

Her
other
big decision had been to not tell Kamille (or anyone else) about the baby’s paternity. She would keep Chase’s identity a secret. Of course, it meant that Kamille would marry him not knowing what a complete and total scumbag he was. But if that was the price to pay for Kamille and the family not hating Kass forever and ever . . . well, then, so be it.

And then there was Eduardo. Who had called . . . and called and called. She hadn’t returned any of his messages for a while, and then finally gotten her act together long enough to e-mail him and say that she had met someone else over the Christmas break. It was a cruel, horrible lie, and sure to make him never, ever speak to her again. But she didn’t know how else to break things off with him. She cared about him so much, but there was no way she could be with him when she was pregnant with Chase’s baby.

As for Chase . . . thankfully, he had stopped coming by her and Kamille’s house altogether. He had even stopped coming to the Sunday Night Dinners. It was easy enough for him to avoid the dinners, especially once spring training began and he was on the road so much. And miraculously, Kamille didn’t seem to suspect that anything was wrong.

Except for one tiny detail. The stupid reality show. Why had Kamille and Chase agreed to air their wedding (and all the preparations leading up to it) on national TV? Everyone was expecting Kass to be a chipper, gung ho cheerleader of a maid of honor for those millions of future viewers. Instead, it was all Kass could do not to throw up whenever Kamille wanted to discuss wedding details with her on-camera (should it be a daytime or evening ceremony? . . . should they write their own vows or rip off something from the Internet?), or talk honeymoon (St. Lucia or Paris? . . . hotel or private condo? . . . should they squeeze in a quick getaway between games or postpone until the end of the season?).

Kass sighed. She would just have to do better. She had become quite the actress lately in her real life. Why not do it for the TV cameras?

K
ass inserted her key in the lock, pushed the door open, and stumbled into the front hallway. She was so tired from work that she could barely stand. The fatigue was the toughest part physically, besides the cravings (salmon for breakfast—WTF?—and chocolate anything 24/7) and the constant trips to the bathroom. Not to mention the mood swings and the headaches and the weight gain and the vision thing and the itchy belly (why?). How did other women do this? At least the morning sickness had stopped, sometime after Valentine’s Day. (The irony of vomiting on that particular holiday hadn’t escaped her.)

The family meeting earlier had gone well. Sort of. They had all behaved pretty much as she’d expected, and Kamille had been happily clueless. It was all Kass could ask for.

Just then, she felt a strange movement in her stomach.

“What was
that
?” she said out loud. Had she eaten something bad? Maybe the salmon and chocolate binges were catching up to her? Was she sick? Or, God forbid, was she going into premature labor?

She reached under her shirt and touched the curve of her belly gingerly. It happened again: a soft, almost imperceptible fluttering, like butterfly wings grazing her insides.

Kass gasped. And giggled. Ohmigod, the baby must be kicking!

“Hey.”

Kass screamed. Chase was standing in the doorway to the living room, smiling sheepishly.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologized.

Kass took several deep breaths, trying to still the mad racing of her heart.

“You okay?” Chase asked her.

“What in the
hell
are you doing here?”

“I let myself in with my key.”

“Kamille gave you a key?”

“Ages ago. Look, I wanted to talk to you. I figured this was the only way. Kamille’s waiting for me back at my house. She thinks I’m having a beer with my manager.”

“Yeah, lying to her is like second nature to you, isn’t it?” Kass scoffed.

“I could say the same thing about you.”

Kass glared at him. “What do you want?”

“Kamille told me. About the baby. Is it mine?”

Kass knew this conversation had to happen sooner or later. She took another deep breath and told herself to just repeat the lines she’d rehearsed, over and over.

“No, it’s not yours,” she said calmly. “The dates don’t add up.”

“She said you’re five months pregnant. We . . . that . . . was five months ago.”

“So what?”

“So you’re a liar.”

“And you’re an idiot. The father’s a guy I dated. We did a DNA test, and it’s a hundred percent match. I won’t tell you his name, because he’s not in my life anymore, and he’s not going to be in the baby’s life either,” Kass fibbed.

Chase looked startled. “You did a DNA test?”

“Yeah. We did a DNA test. So please get out of my house. Now. I’m tired, and I need to get to bed.” Kass added, “And please leave me your key. Kamille shouldn’t have given it to you without asking me.”

“You haven’t said anything to her, have you? About—”

“No. And I never will. And neither will you.”

“Believe me, I won’t.”

“Good!”

“Yeah, whatever.”

They stared at each other for a moment, like two opponents on either side of a line in the sand. Kass had forgotten how insanely good-looking he was. But she didn’t feel anything in response, like attraction or lust or longing. She only felt anger and regret.

And, of course, anxiety. Could Chase tell that she was lying through her teeth? Was the memory of that fateful night buried in his subconscious beneath all those booze-soaked brain cells? Someday, somehow, would he recall that he had been too drunk, or horny, or lazy, or all of the above to open that brand-new box of Trojan Ecstasy condoms? Or would he even demand a DNA test of his own?

Then
what would he do?