The Gravity Between Us (New Adult Contemporary Romance)

by Kristen Zimmer

  “You bet.” I kiss his cheek, then bolt up the steps to my room.

  “Good night,” he calls after me.

  ❄ ❄ ❄

  Saturday morning I wake up from a restless sleep in a cold sweat to disheveled sheets. I had this crazy nightmare where I was being chased by zombies down the highway. I was on foot, trying to zigzag my way through heaps of wrecked cars and piles of lifeless bodies. It’s the kind of dream I used to have when I was a kid and had watched a scary movie right before going to bed.

  I don’t feel well. I’m worn out, and the last thing I want to do is play stupid miniature golf with my father. But I made him a promise, so I force myself to get up and grab some clothes from my dresser.

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the floor-length mirror on the way out of my room. I look perfectly revolting in my old, thread-bare track pants and an MSU hoodie I stole from Payton last summer. If Lawrence knew I was considering going out in public like this, he’d have my hide for sure. Screw it. If anybody truly cares enough to examine what I wear while I’m on vacation, they can all have a good time and go to hell while doing it.

  I hobble down the stairs to the kitchen where I find my dad sitting on a stool at the chic, slate coffee bar. He’s fully engrossed by his newspaper. “I made coffee,” he motions toward the countertop without looking up at me. I pour myself a cup before taking a seat beside him.

  “You’re my savior,” I say after taking a sip.

  “Of course I am.” He grins. “You look awful.”

  That’s my dad! Always straightforward. “Then I look exactly how I feel.”

  “Would you like to skip father-daughter day?”

  I shake my head. “Not on your life. A date with Dad is one of the best dates a girl could go on.”

  “Should I assume that you’ve had your fair share of bad dates recently?”

  “You’ve been spending too much time with mom!” I wag my finger at him. “You’ve picked up her tendency to get on my nerves.”

  He raises his hands as though he’s been caught in the middle of a bank robbery. “I’m just being a dad.”

  “Sure, sure,” I say. “Can we go play golf now?”

  ❄ ❄ ❄

  I’m mobbed at Mini Golf Palace the second we walk through the entrance. My dad is so alarmed by it. This is the first time he’s been out with me since the hype around In Heaven’s Arms began. Prior to that, I had to deal with the occasional fan, and I was happy to do so. I guess when you star in a multi-million-dollar movie that starts its PR months before its release—and that has been deemed “the must-see movie of the year” by nearly every film critic in existence—you should learn to anticipate an insane reaction from people when they recognize you. It would have been nice if someone warned me this would happen before I took the role.

  I sign some autographs and pose for pictures. Once I get all the obligatory celebrity BS out of the way, we pick out our clubs and mosey over to the course.

  “Does that always happen when you leave the house?” Dad questions as he putts and sinks the ball into the first hole.

  “Sometimes it’s worse than others.”

  “It must be hard, not being able to do much of anything without being noticed.”

  “I’m getting used to it.” I putt and miss the hole completely.

  “So,” he says with a long pause. I always fear that pause. It usually means he is either gearing up for a big speech or a series of nosy questions. “Do you want to talk about what was on your mind when you came home last night?” he asks as I am smack in the middle of a putt. I miss the hole again.

  I need to talk to somebody about the million things going on inside my head or I’ll go nutterbutters. Since Payton is unquestionably out, that really only leaves my dad. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  He places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Whatever it is, Pumpkin, you can tell me. You know that.”

  I take a quick glance around to make sure there is no one in hearing range. The last thing I need is some crazed attention whore relaying a private conversation between my father and me to the media. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Payton recently.”

  “All right.”

  “I mean, I’ve been thinking, like, a lot of weird things about her.” Please comprehend what I’m getting at so I don’t actually have to say the words.

  “Explain ‘weird things,’ please.”

  Damn it. There is no way to handle this discretely, is there? “It started when I was on set in New Orleans. I had this racy scene that I was enormously freaked out about so I called Payton to calm me down like I always do. She gave me great advice—picture that I’m being intimate with someone I’m comfortable with. And the person I pictured was her. Ever since then, I’ve been on edge around her. I can’t stop thinking about her in that way.”

  He shifts his weight from foot to foot, clearly uneasy. “So, you’re saying the weird things you’ve been thinking about Payton are sexual things?”

  This is too weird. Talking to my father about anything even remotely resembling sex has always been out of the realm of reality for me. But sex is kind of what my whole malfunction is about, isn’t it? “Yes. Physical things, I guess.”

  “And you’ve never had these kinds of thoughts about her before?”

  “No!” I blurt out. “I keep telling myself that it’s because I’m scared of losing her. You know, because someday she’ll find a girlfriend and leave me behind. But the more I think about it, the less I’m sure that that’s actually what’s going on. I’m so friggin’ confused, even more so after last night when I thought she was going to kiss me and…”

  There’s a flash of concern in his eyes. “She tried to kiss you?”

  “Dad, are you listening to me? She didn’t try to kiss me. I thought she may have wanted to.”

  He scratches his chin. “Perhaps you should be having this conversation with your mother?”

  “That’s never going to happen! I need someone to listen to me, not freak out about how I’m making poor decisions, sending the wrong signals, or whatever stupid thing I know she’d say.”

  “Sweetie, what you’re talking about now is kind of a big deal. I think she’s better suited to–”

  “You’re out of your mind if you think mom is the right person to go to when something is ‘kind of a big deal.’ She has a meltdown if I wear a dress with a low neckline. How do you think she’d react if I so much as hint that I have feelings for a girl?”

  “You’re right.” He hesitates to say it, but I’m glad he does. It means he finally gets that his wife is ill equipped to deal with anything she doesn’t like. “When you told me the other day about your big plan to have Payton move out to LA with you, I thought it was a great idea… But now I’m not so sure. Living with her might just serve to confuse you even more.”

  “It might, I don’t know. What I do know above all else is that Payton is the only person who manages to make me feel like I’m not an alien from planet Glamouria. She doesn’t treat me any differently now that I have fame and money.”

  “Well, if she makes you feel normal and grounded, I’d say stick with the plan.”

  “Right.” I should let this heart-to-heart die right here, but I need to know that no matter what happens my daddy will have my back. He’s the only parent I have that I can really count on. “If I came home six months from now and said, ‘Dad, I’m gay. I’m never going to be with another guy again,’ promise you wouldn’t hate me?”

  If I were to stroll up to him and coolly smack him in the face with my golf club, I don’t think he’d be any more surprised than he is at this very moment. “Kendall, you’re my daughter. I could never hate you. I will always love you and be proud of you. Unless you were to become a career criminal, then I probably wouldn’t be so proud.”

  I laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m not into crime.”

  “Good! Are you feeling better now?”

  Astonishingly, yes. I give him a quick nod. “Thank
s, Dad.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says as I swing through the sixth hole and again fail to sink the ball. “Let’s forget about golfing and go to lunch.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “I like that idea a lot.”

  ❄ ❄ ❄

  Payton calls me early Sunday morning. I don’t pick up. Avoidance! It’s yet another first in our friendship. This whole thing is seriously messing me up. It’s too complicated. I never should’ve come home in the first place. If I would’ve gone back to LA after wrapping like I’d originally planned, none of this would be happening. And you’ve reached a new low by lying to yourself! I could be in LA, New Jersey, or on the freaking moon and it wouldn’t make one iota of difference. I’d be dealing with this regardless of my location. This is a life thing.

  My phone buzzes again. Payton. I take a deep breath before answering. “Hey.”

  “Hey. My mom is home, finally. Are you coming over?”

  I sigh inwardly. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Are you okay? You don’t sound right.”

  Are we so close that we’re psychically connected or something? I hope not, or keeping things to myself is going to end up taking a huge chunk outta my ass. “I’m okay, a little tired.” And a smidge homosexual, apparently. Wait, what? For crying out loud, Kendall, stop obsessing over it!

  “Okay,” she says. “See you in a while.”

  “Bye.” I disconnect and scramble to get dressed.

  I never used to care about looking awful around Payton. She’s seen me with a stomach virus. She’s seen me without any makeup, wearing sweatpants. She’s a girl. Now I’m dressing up to the nines with the specific intent of getting some kind of reaction from her? If she doesn’t think I look smoking in this get up, she won’t ever have a single carnal thought about me. I’m wearing a short, backless drape dress, white knee-high buckle boots, and a full face of makeup. Basically, I look like I’m headed to a photo session for the cover of some fancy magazine instead of across town to have a serious sit-down conversation with my best friend and her mother. I’ve come to the conclusion that if I were into girls, it wouldn’t be any easier than being straight. I’d still have that ‘dress to impress’ nonsense embedded in my brain.

  A few minutes later, I knock on Payton’s door. She opens it, eyes wide and wary. Good. I’d like her to be as uncomfortable around me as I’ve been around her lately, which is about the meanest thing I’ve ever wished on anyone.

  “You look nice,” she says casually.

  Nice? I was aiming for hot to the extent of blood boiling. “Thanks,” I reply, feeling somewhere between oddly disappointed and sort of relieved.

  “Mom’s in the kitchen. I told her we needed to talk, so she’s pretty much bracing herself for nuclear fallout.”

  “She should take the news of you moving out fairly well then.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.”

  We walk into the kitchen. Mrs. Taylor is at the table, looking precisely as Payton described. “Hello, Kendall.”

  Payton pulls out a chair for me.

  “Hello,” I return.

  “Okay, Mom,” Payton begins as she sits down. “Let’s skip the pleasantries and get right down to the issue at hand.” She sounds like she’s in a business meeting. It’s strange hearing that tone from her.

  Mrs. Taylor searches my face for some kind of hint as to what may be coming. I make sure to divulge nothing through my expression. “Okay, Payton,” she says. “What is the issue at hand?”

  “After the semester is over, I’m moving to California with Kendall. Before you get upset, let me just say that I’m not quitting school. I’m transferring to the Music Academy of Los Angeles.”

  Mrs. Taylor is staring at me like she’s thinking about ripping my throat out for taking her baby girl away from her, which, I suppose I am. She gestures to Payton. “This isn’t exactly what I meant when I said you should expand your social circle.”

  “Mom, I really want this. Do you have any idea how many MALA alumni have gone on to make music for movies and TV? This could be my shot at turning my dreams—which I always felt were kind of unattainable—into reality. Grandpa would support me if he were here. I think he’d be proud of me for following in his footsteps and for being so completely dedicated to music. He’s the one who had me banging away at the piano by the age of three in the first place.”

  Oh, she’s playing the ‘ridiculously talented grandpa’ card. That’s smart. Mrs. Taylor can’t possibly argue that. And she doesn’t. She huffs, defeated. “Kendall,” she says pointedly, “you take good care of my kid, you got it?”

  Like there’s a chance I wouldn’t? I smile. “I got it.”

  “And Payton, you’re going to call me at least once a week, right?”

  Payton nods. “I will, I promise.”

  “I guess there isn’t anything left to say.” Mrs. Taylor pushes away from the table and moves toward Payton. She pulls her into her arms and holds her close. “My baby really is all grown up.”

  “It was bound to happen sooner or later,” Payton says.

  “I was hoping for later.” Mrs. Taylor releases Payton from her grasp. She moves to exit the kitchen, but stops as she’s about to pass me and pulls me into a hug. “Be careful with her,” she murmurs into my ear.

  I want to ask her what she means by that. What, is Payton breakable? But I let the inkling pass. “I will.”

  She lets me go and leaves the room.

  “That went over much more smoothly than I thought it was going to,” Payton mumbles.

  “I have no idea why you were expecting anything less.” I nudge her. “Your mom has a long history of being rational.”

  “True. Thanks for being here.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say as she leads me from the kitchen, through the living room, and right to the front door. “Are you kicking me out?”

  Her face contorts into a startled expression. “What? No. I assumed you had somewhere to be.” She shrugs. “You’re all gussied up. I thought maybe you had something to do in the city today, important people to meet with or whatever.”

  “I just met with them.”

  “Then I guess you’ve got the rest of the day free.” She laughs a sweet, throaty laugh, and my heartstrings come undone. I realize at that moment how completely helpless I am against her. She’s like a cyclone, this fascinating yet deadly force of nature that carves a path straight through my defenses no matter how hard I try to fortify them. So, why do I bother trying at all? I’m not sure if I’m ready to be swept away. I’m not ready to leave the sorry, little shelter I’ve built myself. Once I step into the storm, everything changes.

  “Actually, I have to help my mom with something. I’m sorry, I just remembered. ”

  “It’s cool.” She says it as if she means it, but her eyes say otherwise.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say, though I already know I won’t.

  “Sounds good.”

  I don’t hug her goodbye. I simply get into my father’s car and drive.

  ❄ ❄ ❄

  Looking at myself in the rearview mirror, all I can think of is how downright ridiculous this whole situation has become. It isn’t just about Payton anymore, is it? Beyond her, it’s about an absolute reclassification of my sexuality. And I am not gay. I’m just… not. How can I be? I’ve dated more guys than I can count on two hands and ten toes. Lesbians don’t date men, and I do. End of story. So what if the physical attraction I’ve felt for the dudes I’ve dated thus far has been lackluster, lukewarm at best? Maybe they’ve all been too pretty to incite any kind of serious desire in me. Maybe I need a cowboy—some ruggedly handsome, Stetson-wearing, scruffy-faced macho man. Or maybe you’ve only dated pretty boys with soft, feminine features because you’re genuinely attracted to um, females. No! No, goddamn it, I am not! Shut up, brain, or I’ll lobotomize you!

  I fiddle with my hair, watching my reflection and forcing myself to not think about this anymore.

&n
bsp; CHAPTER FIVE

  Payton

  Kendall doesn’t call me for three days. It’s Thursday afternoon, Thanksgiving, and she’s hopping on a Red Eye back to LA before the sun is up tomorrow. I guess it’s good that I’ve been busy helping my mom prepare dinner all day. I’d probably be going out of my mind if I had a tick of idle time.

  Mom’s got this idea in her head that she has to teach me absolutely every last recipe she’s ever made before I move out, or else I’ll starve to death in LA. At the moment, I’m not sure I’m moving out there at all.

  “Mom, this stuff is gross.” My hands are covered in turkey filling. The wet, sticky consistency is making me cringe. “I’m not gonna go hungry because I don’t know how to stuff poultry.”

  She looks at me as though my words have wounded her. “You let your grandfather teach you everything he knew about music, but you can’t let me do the same with food?”

  “I love music. And I’m good at it. I’ve never been any good at cooking. That’s why I’ve always left the mastery of meal-making up to you.”

  “It’s a useful thing to know. Wouldn’t you like to impress a future girlfriend with your culinary skills?”

  “Why would I want to do that if I could just serenade her? She’d be putty in my hands!” I fake a maniacally sinister laugh.

  “You are so cocky sometimes,” she says with a smirk. “So much like Grandpa.”

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is. If anyone stood a chance of making it in music, it was him. You’ve got his tenacity.”

  I smile at that. Being compared to my grandfather is probably the biggest compliment I could ever be paid. I’m about to launch into a big speech about his awesomeness and how much I miss him when the doorbell rings. My aunt, uncle, and cousins are joining us for dinner. “I’ll get it,” I say and clean the bready goo off of my hands with a dish towel.

  I’m taken aback the second I open the door. Kendall is leaning against the railing. She’s in a pair of yoga pants and one of my cozy oversized hoodies looking like she hasn’t slept a wink in days. It’s such a stark contrast from the last time she was here that I’m immediately worried about her health.