Auctioned to Him Book 8

by Charlotte Byrd

  “Sure, of course,” I say quickly. “You’re my sister.”

  Brie drags her large duffle bag into my living room and plops it down on my couch. She then heads to the refrigerator and opens it. I follow close behind her and quickly move her duffle bag to the floor - God only knows where this thing has been.

  “Fuck, this thing is like a desert. How are you surviving?”

  I shrug. “I haven’t shopped for a while.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.”

  She looks into my freezer and helps herself to a pint of ice cream. Without bothering to get a plate, she just grabs a spoon and digs in.

  If I weren’t so used to this, I’d be offended. But this is just Brie Willoughby being Brie Willoughby. And no matter how different we are and how I’d never admit it out loud, or much less, to her directly, I’ve missed her.

  Brie is my stepfather’s daughter. My parents got divorced when I was eight and my mom started tutoring kids to make extra income. The pay was the best in Greenwich, Connecticut, where a lot of hedge fund managers and other finance people lived, and that’s where she met Mitch. Mitch paid her $200 per hour to tutor Brie, who was five years old at the time. It’s not that Brie was really behind on anything. It’s just that everyone else’s kids got tutored so it was expected by her school, to keep her from falling behind. Mom also said that Mitch wanted a warm female presence around his daughter after her mom died suddenly from cancer. Apparently, the slew of nannies that took care of her around the clock didn’t exactly cut it. Mitch worked long hours and Brie was pretty much left alone except for the household help. Well, Mom started out as his household help but that didn’t last long. They fell in love and, six months later, he asked her to marry him. They got married in Nantucket when I was eleven and Brie was nine.

  “Mom and Dad are pretty awful sometimes, aren’t they?” Brie asks, opening a box of cereal and shoving a big handful of it into her mouth.

  “Do you want a bowl? Or milk?” I ask sarcastically.

  “You don’t have any milk.”

  “I have a bowl.”

  “No thanks.”

  I smile. Brie isn’t the type to take people seriously who aren’t being direct. And if you obfuscate your true intentions or passive aggressiveness, she will just go ahead and ignore that on purpose. I find it mildly annoying when she does it to me, but I find it hilarious when she does it to my mom who has her share of passive aggressive tendencies.

  “So what are they doing this time?” I ask.

  “Mom isn’t happy about my new buzz cut, as you can imagine, but she won’t come out and say it. Instead, she sent me pictures of a wig that I might like. A wig!”

  I laugh. “Seriously?”

  “It’s like she thinks that I didn’t get this hair cut because I wanted it. Like it’s something that happened to be me.”

  “Well, you know Mom. Looking attractive is quite important to her,” I say. Brie glares at me. “Not that I think you look unattractive. What I mean is that she is pretty conservative about what women should look like.”

  Wow, I really put my foot in my mouth with that one. But Brie just lets the whole thing run off her shoulders as if it’s nothing. One of the reasons why she buzzed her hair is to not look like a regular girl. We both know that.

  “So, what do you think about it?” she asks.

  I look at her hair, or lack thereof. She’s not completely bald, but it’s definitely a close shave. I can see every nook and cranny in her skull.

  “I like it.”

  “You liar.”

  “No, I like it because you like it. It’s like you aren’t wearing any armor. You don’t have anything to hide behind. I’ve been noticing that you haven’t been wearing much makeup recently either. Is it for the same reason?”

  “Noticing? When? You haven’t seen me in —“

  “Months, I think,” I say. “But I do follow you on Instagram and Snap.”

  “Oh, right.” She shrugs.

  “Yeah, well, I haven’t really given it much thought. But I guess there might be something to that. I’ve always felt like makeup created this barrier between you and the world. And it was always odd that only girls wore it. Like, why do we have to insulate ourselves against the world? When guys don’t have to.”

  “Um…because we’re women. And men are still in charge. Not as much as they once were, but for the most part,” I say.

  “Well, fuck that,” Brie says.

  “I agree.”

  “Hey, you know what Mom would say now?” Brie asks. I shake my head. “That men might be in charge, but it wouldn’t hurt anything for me to go out there into the world looking attractive.”

  I laugh. “Yep, that’s pretty much true.”

  “Of course, she never once stops to think about what attractive means. And how different cultures have different definitions of female beauty and beauty in general than we do.”

  I know exactly what she means. “Mom is pretty set in her ways,” I say. “So, what did Mitch say about this?”

  Brie has called my mom Mom ever since she married Mitch, her dad. But because I still see my biological Dad and I still call him Dad, I never felt comfortable calling Mitch Dad, since he’s not really.

  Brie shrugs. “Nothing really. Dad couldn’t care less.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is. And you know, he just said he had to go to work. As always.”

  Mitch works a lot and not because we need the money. It’s his way of surviving in the world. It’s his way of checking out of difficult situations. Some people have drinking or drugs, others have yelling…Mitch has his work. He’s a workaholic who probably needs to get treatment, but because it’s so socially acceptable in this country to be addicted to working, no one thinks it’s a big deal.

  “I’m not sure Mom is just upset about my hair, though,” Brie says after a moment, closing the box of Cheerios.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Eh, she wasn’t exactly thrilled when I told her about the other thing I was thinking about.”

  “What?” I ask. She hesitates. “What? Tell me.”

  “You’ll just get upset.”

  “No, I won’t. I promise.”

  “You know how much I hate empty promises like that. I mean, you can’t really promise not to get upset because you have no idea what I’m about to say.”

  I laugh. “You’ve been in college way too long,” I say after a moment.

  “Well, it’s funny that you should bring that up. I’m actually thinking of taking a break.”

  “What?”

  “Just for a semester. I want to go traveling. Central America, I think.”

  I shake my head. “But what about Swarthmore?”

  She shrugs. “It’ll still be there when I get back.”

  “But what about your friends? They’ll all graduate before you."

  “Well, many of them won’t. People are already starting to take gap years just like they do in Europe. I think it’s a really good idea. I mean, how the hell do we graduate and go out in the world without actually seeing any of it? How real people live.”

  I shrug. “You know me, I think travel is really important. I love to travel. But what about your education? Your degree?”

  “My degree in anthropology will just have to wait,” Brie says. “It’s not exactly the most useful thing in the world.”

  I shake my head. “You know how much I hate statements like that. I mean, a university degree isn’t just about its usability. What you learn in those classes defines you as a person, more than you’ll ever know. I had no idea how much my contemporary literature class would influence my writing. Even though I just write romance.”

  “Oh, yeah!” Brie’s eyes light up. “By the way, Mom told me about that. Holy fuck, Ellie! I got your books and…well, you’ve got quite an imagination.”

  I blush. I didn’t exactly want to get into all that. No yet anyway.

  Chapter 5 - Ellie

>   When I can’t hide the truth…

  Brie is fascinated by my writing career or rather career. Not really sure what to call what I do at this point. It’s not bringing in enough money to pay even half the rent on this place, but luckily I have the money that I got from Aiden. My heart skips a beat at just the thought of him. Everything is so different and he still doesn’t know a thing. Mainly because I can’t bring myself to tell him.

  “So…how is all that going?” Brie asks.

  “The writing? Really good actually, lots of people are buying the books, but, you know, it’s not much money. The first one is only ninety-nine cents and Amazon only pays me 30% from that. So I make about thirty cents from each book sold.”

  “Wow…that sucks.”

  “I have two other books in the series and they cost $2.99. I make 75% from that, but still, given how long it takes to write a book and how people mainly want to get free books or ninety-nine cent books, it’s pretty hard to make a living.”

  “Do you do that Kindle Unlimited thing?”

  “Yep.”

  “I joined. I like getting books from there.”

  “As an author, you have to be exclusive with them, so your books can’t be anywhere else. And the pay? Well, it leaves much to be desired.”

  “How much?”

  “$0.0045, the last time I checked. Less than half a cent per page read.”

  “How much is that?”

  “About 90 cents for a 200 page book.”

  “Really?” Brie asks. “How the hell does anyone make any money?”

  “They don’t. Not really,” I say with a shrug. “Unless you have a huge following. But in romance, it’s really hard. All the readers want free books. Most readers also complain if a book is priced above 99 cents.”

  “Why the hell is that?” Brie asks. “I mean, everyone pays like four bucks for a cup of coffee at Starbucks and that’s just some beans.”

  “Exactly. But for some reason, people think these books just fall out of the sky. Like it doesn’t take me a month or so of hard work to write them. And I work alone. I mean, I have a proofreader, but I also do all the other self-publishing stuff alone. I make the covers and do the formatting and upload to Amazon. It all takes a lot of time and resources.”

  “So, why do you do it?”

  “Because I love it. I love writing. I love this story. And I love the feedback that I get from the readers who are really into this series.”

  Brie nods. “I really hope I get some sort of passion like this.”

  “I sort of hope you don’t,” I say. “I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was a kid. I was obsessive about it. It’s the only thing I ever imagined doing. And now? Well, I am doing it. People are buying the books, but I’m still not making much. Not like if I had a real job. But if I had a real job then I wouldn’t be able to do this. And that’s the paradox.”

  “Still, I wish I had a good answer for what I want to do with my life,” Brie says. “Especially when Dad asks me the question.”

  I smile. Mitch is not one to keep his mouth shut about how worthless he thinks the anthropology degree from Swarthmore is.

  “So, let me get this straight,” I say. “He doesn’t approve of your major but he still doesn’t want you to take a semester off to travel?”

  “He says that he’d be fine with it if I was going to study abroad, took classes, but not just to travel. I don’t know what his problem is, Ellie.”

  I do. He’s a dad. He doesn’t want his little girl tramping around some third world country all alone. It would make him feel a lot better if she went there through some program with some other equally idealistic kids her age. But I can’t say any of this to her right now. I have a new wave of nausea come over me and I barely make it to the bathroom.

  The sheer volume of vomit is no longer the same as it was. So, the anti-nausea medication is definitely working, but it hasn’t taken it away completely.

  “Are you okay?” Brie knocks on the door and then comes in when I don’t reply. I wonder if I should lie for now or tell her the truth.

  But she picks up the bottle of Diclegis from the bathroom sink. “Why do you have this?” she asks.

  “Why?” I ask, not sure how I should respond.

  “Ellie, this is anti-nausea medication that Kim Kardashian took when she was pregnant.”

  “Oh, really?” I play dumb. “And how do you know that? I didn’t know you cared so much about reality stars.”

  “I don’t. But no matter how much I try to block out contemporary culture it still seeps in,” Brie says. “Now, don’t avoid the question. Why the hell are you taking this?”

  “Because the over-the-counter stuff didn’t work,” I say after a moment and bury my head in the toilet.

  Brie stares at me. I wipe my mouth and get up off the floor. I grab my toothbrush and brush my teeth. I glance at Brie in the mirror and note the deer-in-the-headlights look on her face. Perhaps there were more sensitive ways of telling her the big news. The problem is that she will be the first one to know and I’m not entirely sure that’s right. If anyone should be the first to know about this, it is the father of the baby. The problem is that I still haven’t made up my mind how I feel about all of this.

  “You’re…pregnant?” she asks after a moment. I wipe my mouth on the towel hanging behind me and nod.

  “Ellie?” she asks, seeking further confirmation.

  “Yes,” I finally say, turning to face her. “I’m pregnant.”

  Chapter 6 - Ellie

  When we talk about it…

  Brie is more stunned about the pregnancy news than I honestly thought she would be. I am only three years older, but we have always been on somewhat different wavelengths on just about everything in our lives. In many ways, she is more courageous than I am. She’s the one who wants to stand up to our parents and challenge their world views by going out on her own. On the other hand, she readily admits that she’s lost. She wants to travel because school doesn’t feel right anymore and she’s scared of graduating. Graduation is an end point and, without a firm plan, there isn’t really much to do afterward. It’s decision time and she’s not ready.

  “You know you don’t have to have your life figured out at twenty-two,” I say to her over a cup of hot tea. “I know that all those people in your class who have plans for graduate school or law school or have jobs lined up. They make it seem so easy. They make it look like it’s no big deal. But it is. It is a big decision and a big deal.”

  “Thanks for taking the pressure off, sis,” Brie says sarcastically.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, not really.”

  “Okay, what I mean is that many people your age feel like, if they don’t have it all together, if they don’t know what to do with their life right at this moment, like it’s all over or something. Like you’re going to waste your time or make a mistake. And all I want to say is that it’s okay to make mistakes. It’s okay to not know where you are headed. Because you’ll figure it out eventually.”

  “Like you?”

  “Haha. I guess you figured me out. I’m saying this as much for me as for you.”

  “You don’t have it figured out?” Brie asks.

  “Not even close.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  She wants to know what I’m going to do about the pregnancy. I don’t have the faintest idea.

  “I don’t know,” I say after a moment. “But making myself crazy about what this all means for my life isn’t going to help any. That’s what I’ve been doing this whole time since I found out and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere.”

  “And where do you want to go?” Brie asks.

  I think about that for a moment. “I’ve never thought of that before. Hmm, I don’t know. The thing is that I never really wanted to be a mom.”

  “You didn’t?” Brie asks.

  I shake my head. Brie and I are sisters but we’re not like many other girls out there. We didn’t
spend our childhoods talking about weddings, babies, and marriage. No, we made up stories and played pretend. But rarely about relationships.

  “Did you?” I ask.

  “Actually, I did,” she says after a moment. “I do, I mean.”

  “Really? You want to be a mom?”

  “Well, maybe not right now, but I think it will be kind of cool, you know? To have a little kid to play with.”

  “You don’t just play with them you know,” I say. “They’re a ton of work.”

  Brie gives me a mysterious coy smile.

  “What?” I ask. “What’s that about?”

  “I know you, Ellie. And I know that right now all you’re thinking about is all the things that you won’t be able to do with a baby. Like you think you won’t be able to be yourself anymore. That the baby will make you some sort of mom-character. And as this mom-character, you’ll have to sublimate everything about yourself. Like you’ll have to get a minivan, a house in the suburbs, and a mortgage. Maybe you’ll even have to cut your hair.”

  Shit. Holy mother-fucking shit. She’s spot on in her analysis. I have actually thought all of these things.

  “But those are just the decorative things about what it means to be a mom. Just because other people are like that, it doesn’t mean that you have to be. It doesn’t mean that that’s the kind of life you have to lead.”

  I nod and look away. My eyes are actually watering and I don’t want her to see me cry.

  “You don’t have to cut your hair just because you have a baby, Ellie,” Brie says, putting her arm around me. A big tear rolls down my cheek. She wipes it away and gives me a kiss on the forehead.

  “It’s so stupid,” I finally say. “But I actually thought those things.”

  “I know you did.”

  “I don’t know why,” I mumble. “I mean, I know…rationally, that I’m in charge of my life. And plenty of people have good lives - fulfilling lives - with kids. And that the kids just add to their lives. But whenever I see kids out there with their parents…well, they just seem so all-encompassing, all-consuming that I feel like the parents are drowning.”