How had I gotten myself into that situation?
I banged my head on the table. Trinity grabbed my ponytail. “You’re too pretty to have a bruise on your forehead.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks. I think.”
“So. Are you going to go see him or what?”
*
I decided to visit Astin and apologize. If nothing else, at least then my conscience would be clear.
To avoid getting seen together and fueling the press, I went to visit him at his apartment. I had no idea if he’d be in, but I really hoped he was. Sort of. A part of me also hoped he wouldn’t answer so that I could at least say I’d tried.
Unfortunately, he answered. He didn’t look happy to see me, but he let me in anyway.
I stared through the wall-to-ceiling window on my left. It looked out over the New York skyline. I loved cityscapes and wished I could’ve stared out through the window forever, but that wasn’t why I was there. I snapped my attention back to the inside. His apartment was pretty big, with an open-plan kitchen and living area. Stairs were to the back, leading to what I assumed were the bathroom and bedrooms.
“How are you?” I asked, desperate to fill the silence. He hadn’t said anything since I’d walked through the door.
“Fine. You?”
“Yeah. I’m OK.”
He turned to face me, as if waiting for me to tell him what I wanted.
“I just wanted to apologize for the other day. It was weird,” I said.
“Apology accepted,” he said. I wasn’t sure I believed him. It mostly seemed like he wanted to get rid of me as quickly as possible. “How’s Jack?”
“He broke his arm and has stitches on his forehead.”
“Oh. What happened?”
“He fell down the stairs. Then he asked me to leave when he found out what happened between you and me.” I couldn’t look at him. I’d spent the whole conversation staring at my stilettos.
“Oh,” said Astin.
“He figured out it was you. He knew I’d wanted to sleep with you, and I thought it would be a good way to get back at him—”
“You slept with me to get back at him?”
Shit. I hadn’t planned on mentioning that.
“No. That’s not what I meant. I mean, I wanted to sleep with you. I did. But I thought he’d get jealous and see sense and—”
He crossed his arms. “So I’m just a toy to you, is that it?”
I chanced a look up at him. His jaw was tight.
“No! Of course not!”
“Turns out you really are as shallow and selfish as everyone says,” said Astin.
Ouch. I mean, ouch. Hearing that from him burned. I had it in my head that he was such a nice guy, so his words stung almost more than when Jack had called me a career-obsessed bitch. I was not shallow and selfish. But I didn’t have any proof that I wasn’t. The way I’d treated him was selfish.
“Can you please just leave?” said Astin.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Just stop.”
Feeling like a total idiot, I left with my head low and my ego bruised. I’d hurt a perfectly nice guy because I’d been so hellbent on revenge against Jack. And where had it gotten me? I’d lost Jack and Astin in less than a week.
*
As usual, when the story broke about me, my team got together to discuss it. It was me, my manager, Mike, my agent, Maria, and three people from marketing and PR. They changed so often that I didn’t bother learning their names.
We sat in a glass meeting room in Maria’s office building. I hated those glass meeting rooms. I felt like a caged animal, especially since we always got together to discuss me and my career in them. Most of the time I’d get beaten down and told I wasn’t good enough and needed to work harder, too.
Maria clasped her hands and placed them on the table. “You need to be more careful, Tate. We can’t afford stories like this. Good girls don’t cheat.”
“I didn’t cheat! How many times do I have to say that?”
The temptation to curl up into a ball was strong, but I forced myself to sit upright and hold my ground.
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is if other people believe it. And it looks like they do,” said Maria. We’d worked together for years, but it was increasingly feeling like a dictatorship where my opinion didn’t matter anymore. Since I’d asked my mom to stop coming to meetings with me a few months ago, they were getting worse, too.
“So what am I supposed to do? I can’t control the way people think!”
I looked to Mike for support, but he avoided my gaze. Some manager he was lately. I swear he was scared of Maria.
“We’ll schedule in some damage control interviews. Or maybe just one with a really big-name journalist,” said a blond guy from PR.
“Yeah, that’s good,” said Maria, nodding. “You can half-answer questions, but don’t answer anything directly. Brush them off like we taught you to.”
The blond guy scribbled in his notebook.
“Is that really necessary?” I said. I hated giving half-answers to questions. People picked up on it, and it never made me look as good as Maria seemed to think.
“Is kissing someone in an alleyway when you’ve only just broken up with someone else really necessary?” said Maria. God, I hated her.
*
My mom invited me to help her move out in an effort to take my mind off Jack. And Astin, although she had no idea what the full story was there and never would. There was no way she’d understand. Not that I understood what she was doing. I really, really didn’t want to help her move out. Not after the way I’d found out about my parents’ divorce. Or the fact that they were divorcing in the first place. But it didn’t feel right for one of her friends to help. It was my family, my problem. The big downside to being an only child was having nobody else to share the burden with.
She’d already taken a bunch of boxes to her new place. It wasn’t nearly as nice as where I’d grown up, but there was only her to pay the bills and she didn’t earn as much as Dad, so I guess it was to be expected. They had a prenup that said she wouldn’t get any money he’d earned since they’d been together and she was fine with that. She had her own business and her own money, but it would never bring in as much as movie producing.
Everything left of hers in the apartment was the long-forgotten, mostly neglected stuff that no one ever wants to sort through when they move. Even less so when they’re about to divorce. All of Daddy’s stuff was still there, which probably made things even more awkward for her. It did for me.
But Mom needed my help and there was no one else. So the day after seeing Astin—despite feeling awful—I turned up at my childhood home and started to help my mom pack up the last of her things. Her lawyers had told her to clear all her things out. Something about it helping her to move on. Ugh. I supposed I understood the logic. It made sense to do it when my dad was overseas working on a project too. It gave her longer to sort through it all without the risk of running into him. Although I hoped she would, so that the two of them would see sense and get back together.
I was going through a box from the back of her closet when I found a picture. It was of her holding me as a baby and beaming. I didn’t look very old, but my mom didn’t look disheveled or like you’d expect a new mom to look. She had no pregnancy belly left and no visible weight gain, either. Not that that meant anything. Some women didn’t put on weight during pregnancy and some didn’t go through a difficult childbirth. Still, she looked a little too polished for someone holding a newborn.
Curious to see what else was in the box, I started flicking through it. It seemed to be a box of my old baby things. Some more photos, a tiny hat, and a couple of items of clothing. I didn’t recognize or remember any of it. Not that that was surprising.
At the very bottom of the box was a piece of paper. I picked it up and examined it. What the actual? It was an adoption certificate. For me.
4
/> Tate
You took me for granted in a way I never thought possible
While acting in a way that was so reprehensible
I’m left wondering what I should do
And if I’ll ever be able to forgive you.
— “Forgive You,” Tate Gardener
“Mom? What’s this?” I asked, carrying the adoption certificate into the living room, where she was covering vases in bubble wrap.
Her face went white when she saw the paper in my hand.
So she recognized it, then. What did that mean? Was she not my mom?
She took the paper from me and went even paler.
“Why do you have an adoption certificate for me?”
Taking my hand, she guided me to the sofa. Keeping hold of my hand in one of hers, she used the other to wipe at her eyes as she cried.
“Am I adopted?” My mouth went dry as I stumbled over the question I already knew the answer to.
She nodded.
I pulled my hand away from her. My chest tightened. Twenty years and neither of my parents had thought to mention it? My heart thudded in my chest. I could hear the blood pulsing in my ears. I could barely hear whatever my mom was trying to say to me. But I had to know: “If I hadn’t found my adoption certificate, when would you have told me?”
She pursed her lips.
Never, then. The blood pulsed in my ears. Everything around me began to spin. What the hell kind of parent lies to their child for their whole life?
“I have to go,” I said, standing up and running out of the apartment.
If she tried to stop me, I didn’t hear her. The world around me closed in. My outer vision was blurry; I could only see a few feet in front of me. I had to get out of there and go somewhere that would make me feel better.
I hopped into a taxi and went to Trinity’s apartment. She let me in, a confused expression on her face. Thank god she hadn’t started filming her next project yet.
As soon as I was in the safety of her apartment, I burst into tears. Trinity wrapped me in her arms. Her long, dark hair tickled the back of my neck as I sobbed. She guided me onto the sofa, rubbing my back to try to console me.
“What happened?” she asked as my sobbing finally subsided. She handed me a tissue from the box on the coffee table.
“Apparently I’m adopted.”
“What?”
I handed her the scrunched-up adoption certificate. “I just found this in the back of Mom’s closet. Or whoever she is to me.”
Trinity studied it, then passed it back to me. “Parents are such shits.”
“Mine were good to me until recently!”
“All parents are the same,” said Trinity. Her mom had died of an overdose when she was a toddler, and her dad was a notorious Hollywood asshole. She’d emancipated herself from him almost five years ago. I couldn’t really blame her for her attitude. It wasn’t like she’d had good experiences with her parents. Mine had been so amazing until lately. Or had I just refused to see what was right in front of me the whole time?
“What do you need?” she asked. “Vodka? Gin? Something stronger?”
“Food,” I said. My stomach rumbled. “Mom and I were about to go for lunch, but I can’t bring myself to go back there and go out with her now.”
“I’m on a juice cleanse,” she said.
“You can’t be on a juice cleanse if you’re still drinking alcohol.”
Trinity shrugged. “I can offer you a green juice or we can order something in.”
“I’ll have the green juice.”
*
The green juice wasn’t as bad as I’d expected it to be. It was actually nice. Trinity and I fell asleep on her sofa watching American Idol. My parents tried to call me several times, but I ignored them. So my parents were at least talking about me even if they weren’t talking about how to fix their relationship, then. I texted them, saying I was fine but didn’t want to talk to them, and left it at that. I didn’t want them to worry about me, but I also wasn’t ready to speak to them. There was too much to process.
“What kind of parent doesn’t tell their kid something like that?” I said to Trinity as she made breakfast juices the next morning. I sat on a barstool, swinging my legs.
She hesitated, taking whatever she wanted to say out on a carrot instead. “Scared ones,” she finally said after putting the carrot into the juicer.
“Scared of what?”
“Losing you, probably.”
“That doesn’t justify lying about it!” I said, flapping my arms.
“Never said it did. That’s not what you asked.”
I thumped the edge of the kitchen counter.
“Can you go take your mood out on some weights and not my kitchen counter, please?” said Trinity.
“Sorry,” I said, rubbing where I’d just hit. It wasn’t like I’d done any damage. It was marble; it was more likely to damage me.
As we drank our breakfast juices—that weren’t nearly as nice as the night before—someone knocked on the front door. I opened it to find Liam—my friend, and Trinity’s costar/crush—on the other side.
“How’s my favorite child star?” said Liam.
I glared at him. It was a running joke between the two of us that we were part of the child star machine. He was breaking out of it. I wasn’t having as much luck.
“Sorry,” he said as he walked through the front door. “You know you have Trinity and Camilla for the emotional support. I did, however, bring baking ingredients, since I know you stress bake.” He held up a canvas bag and we headed into the kitchen.
“No I don’t,” I said.
“Hey,” whispered Trinity as Liam and I entered the kitchen. He really did turn her to jelly.
“Hey,” he said, flashing her his cheesiest grin. He turned back to me: “If you don’t stress bake, why are there three cakes on the counter?”
I sighed. “I usually share them with the crew, but since we’re not filming right now…”
“I get to eat them,” said Trinity with a grin. She put her hands on my shoulders. “Well, when my juice cleanse is over anyway.” She gave the cakes a wistful stare, then picked her breakfast juice back up from beside them and resumed drinking it.
Liam put the carrier bag onto the counter. “I feel you. My nutritionist has made me cut out carbs. Man, I miss cake.” His stare at the cakes mimicked Trinity’s a moment before.
“Boring,” I said, unpacking the bag. “Oooh, vegan butter. I was low on that. Thanks.” There was also some flour, egg substitute, vanilla extract, and dark chocolate. “Anyone would think you’re hinting at me making cookies.”
Liam tried to suppress a grin but failed. “Me? Never.”
“Do you ever stick to what your nutritionist tells you?” I asked.
He hopped onto a barstool and grinned, then began examining the cakes on the counter. “This is like the last movie but on steroids. I’m pretty sure they’d have me on steroids if they thought they could get away with it.”
“You’re not that small,” I said. I took a plate out for him, then placed a knife in front of each cake so that he could sample each one. As predicted, he took a small slice of each.
“No, but they like their heartthrobs bigger now, apparently.” Liam ran his hands through his hair to get it out of his face. It flopped back down, sitting pretty much how it had before.
“There’s nothing wrong with how you look,” whispered Trinity. She was leaning against the opposite counter, staring at Liam but too afraid to get any closer. It would be cute if they hadn’t been doing the same dance for years.
Liam grinned. “I know. Shame they don’t.” He turned to me: “Anyway, let’s talk about you.”
“Let’s not,” I grumbled.
“What did your parents say when you spoke to them about the adoption thing?”
I flinched at the A-word. “I haven’t spoken to them about it yet.”
Liam frowned.
I stared at the counter. “I�
�m just too…I don’t even know how I feel. What am I supposed to do?”
“How will you know until you’ve spoken to them?”
I stirred my breakfast juice with a metal straw. “I guess I know that will open up a Pandora’s Box of questions and answers I’m not sure if I want.”
“But that are also unavoidable,” he added.
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“Sorry,” he said. “What about your birth parents? Are you going to try to meet them?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest. I was too busy being pissed off because I was lied to.” I hopped onto a barstool beside him. Trinity stayed in her spot in the corner, watching and listening but not speaking.
“Which is allowed too. But anger isn’t a good look on you long-term, you know. You’re too pretty for wrinkles.”
I stuck my tongue out at him.
“So mature,” he said with a laugh. “This lemon cake is amazing by the way.” He pointed to it with his fork.
“Thanks. The secret is lemon verbena. It adds more depth to the flavor.”
“Huh,” he said before shoving another forkful into his mouth. “I have no idea what that is.”
Trinity and I laughed.
“It’s an herb. It’s really good in tea too. Grows like crazy,” said Trinity. She pointed to a pot on her kitchen windowsill containing the lemon verbena that was in the cake. It was about a foot tall. “I have to cut it back and make infusions so that it doesn’t go wild. The tea is good for digestion and stuff, so let me know if you need it.”
Liam smiled. “Thanks. Do you think it’s something my nutritionist would approve of?”
Hollywood Parents Page 2
