Falling for the Ghost of You (33 page)

"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 sch
ool, 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 gor
geous woman?  I could find out.  A
ll 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 (wh
ich 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 s
he doesn’t know he’s a prince—s
he thinks he’s just a re
gular 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 Chris
tmas, 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.

More clothes?  I paste a happy smile on my face and pull the shirt out, shaking it out to unfold it.

My smile sort of dies on my face when I see what's written in pink glitter on the front.

Big Sister.

For real.

I
drop the shirt and gape at Mom—
who is capturing my reaction on camera.

"Really?" I say.  "Is that...?"

Weird words run through my mind:  safe, legal, practical...none of them really fit the situation.  I don't know how to react.

"I'm pregnant!" she exclaims gleefully.

"Well...congratulations!" I say, and I get up to hug her so she doesn’t think I’m not happy for her.

I include Bill in my smile, and notice he's red with embarrassment and pleasure.  Mom reaches o
ver and squeezes his hand.  If Mom gets any happier, she may burst
.  I'm a little freaked at the thought of being a big sister for the first time, but I can get over it for her.

Oh, my god.  A baby.  Everyone's
turning up
pregnant these days.

"Have you seen a doctor yet?  Everything's okay?" I ask nervously.

"Everything's wonderful, honey," Mom assures me.  "They're going to monitor me a little more closely since I'm a bit older than the average mom."  She makes a funny face.  "But the doctor says so far so good!"

"Well...that's great.  Just think--you'll have another kid to embarrass the crap out of after I've left the nest."

"This is true," she admits happily, pushing the sagging elf hat off of her eyes.  "I'll still embarrass you when you come visit, though.  Wouldn't want you to go through withdrawal."

"
Thanks, you’re always thinking of me
."

Bill gets an emergency call from work, which he has to take, and with an apologetic look at Mom, he disappears into the den.

There goes the father of my future half brother or sister,
I think.

Hey, that baby could do a lot worse.  I realize I reall
y like Bill.  I'm glad he seems
pleased by the model pirate ship I got for him.

Mom wants me to try on the Big Sister shirt she got me.  It ends up being a size too small.  She keeps looking from my chest to her own petite one, frowning mournfully.  I hope she doesn't ever consider getting implants after the baby.

"Violet, I have to tell you something."

Mom scoots over to me on her knees and hunkers down in front of me, looking me in the eye.

"What?" I ask fearfully.  She looks so serious, it must be something bad.

"I talked to Zane."

I inhale sharply.  My hands start to shake, and I have to suppress the sudden urge to pounce on my own mother and assault her with a barrage of questions. 
What did he say?  How is he?  Did he talk about me?

“Oh,” I say finally.  “I…uh…why did you…what did you talk about?”

Mom raises an eyebrow.  “Quite a bit, actually.  Turns out I have a lot to say to the young man who took my seventeen year old daughter’s virginity.”

I am absolutely mortified.  I can feel my face pale with the horror.  “Mom!”

“Wait, it was—Zane was your first, right?”

The blood suddenly returns to my face with a vengeance.  “Yeah, Mom.  Ugh.”

“Hey, not like it isn’t weird for me, too,” she says, straightening her shoulders indignantly.  “Zane is my stepson, after all. 
But…w
e came to an understanding—let’s just leave it at that.  Anyway, he wanted you to have something.”

Mom hands me a little square-shaped box.  I stare at her, stricken.

“Whatever it is, I can’t accept it,” I whisper, staring at the tiny foil wrapped present like it’s going to bite me.  “We broke up.”

“He said he got it for you about a month ago, and he wants you to have it.  No strings attached.  He says you don’t need to contact him, or anything, and he’s not taking it back, so you might as well keep it.”  She chuckles a little.  “He knows you so well.”

I start to protest.  “Mom…I—I…I can’t—”

“He loves you, you know,” she says softly.  She grabs my hand and gently places the box in my palm.  Then she lightly touches my cheek.  “You love him, too, don’t you?”

So easily, the tears start falling from my eyes.  “Yeah,” I half laugh, half sob.  “I do.”

“Oh, Violet.”  Mom reaches for me and hugs me sympathetically.  “My poor girl.”

I pull back awkwardly.  “I’m okay,” I say quickly, wiping my face.  “So...do you know what this is?”  I gesture with the box. 

Mom grins mischievously.  “Yep.  And the only reason I’m okay with it is because of how he feels about you, and because I know he can so afford it.  Come on—open it.”

I take a shaky breath.  The box weighs almost nothing.  Is it…a ring? 

I quickly banish that crazy thought.  Of course not.  It’s a goodbye present, not a promise for the future.

I unwrap it carefully.  Inside the box is a little black…remote?  I look up at Mom uncertainly.

She’s beaming.  “It’s the remote to your Bentley convertible!  It’s parked in the drive.”

“No way.”

We rush outside, Mom giggling like a school girl along the way.  I run out the front door, and—there it is, sitting in the driveway, gleaming in the mid morning light.

A shiny purple Bentley convertible.

“Oh, my god,” I gasp.

I can only stand there with my mouth hanging open.  Mom takes the remote and uses it to open the doors.  Then she pulls me over so we can check out the interior.

It's beautiful inside.  All the buttons and dials and displays overwhelm me.  The dark gray leather seats are just luxurious.

I sit b
ehind the wheel and feel like—l
ike a rock star.  “I can’t keep this,” I tell Mom
in an awed voice.

She’s sitting in the passenger seat,
poking at what looks to be a phone in the middle console.  “Zane was very clear
that he wasn’t taking it back,” she says.  “
He wants you to have it, Violet.”

I grip the steering wheel with both hands, my shoulders slumping.  “Out of guilt.”

“Violet.  Keep the car.  Enjoy it.  Start smiling again.”  Mom smoothes back a lock of my hair.  “You’ve only got a few more months until you’re off to college.  Just…take it one day at a time.  Okay?”

I close my eyes and see Zane’s face.  I
quickly
open them again.  “Okay,” I say.  “I’ll try.”

No regrets.

Yeah, right.

I help
Mom clean up our Christmas morning mess,
then
I hop in my old Toyota with a bag of gifts and head to Lauren’s.  After doling out presents and accepting my own, I pull Lauren aside and hand her the keys
to my car
.

“It’s old, but you know it runs good,” I tell her while she stares at me, dumbfounded.  “You can use it, or trade it in, or whatever.”

“Are you kidding, V?”  Lauren tries to hand me back the keys.  “You can’t give me your car.  What are you suppose to drive?”

I rub my forehead uneasily.  “Um…we
ll, Zane kind of…bought me a new one
.”

Lauren’s mouth falls open.  “Seriously?”

“Yeah.  Drive me back home and you can see it.”

I ha
ve
to bul
ly Lauren into taking the Toyota.  In the end, I guilt
her into it by bringing up the fact that it would make it much easier for her family if there were two cars—especially when the baby comes.  Finally, she gives in, and surprises me by giving me a tight hug.  Lauren never hugs.  Must be the hormones.