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  When I brought Caleb home for the first time, my father noticed me. It was as if he could finally look at me now that I had secured a man of Caleb’s caliber. Not only was my new beau from money, he was well spoken, respectable, and ambitious … and he knew a damn lot of sports trivia.

  They’d invited us for dinner. I watched them from my perch on the sofa. My dad laughed at everything Caleb said, and my mother buzzed around him like he was a blue blood. My sister was sitting next to me — so close our legs were touching. When we were together, we were always this close. It was a quiet rebellion against our parents. You try to create a divide between us, but we resist. When my parents were distracted with Caleb, Court elbowed me in the ribs and wagged her eyebrows. I burst into laughter.

  “Methinks you did good on this one,” she said. “Any good in bed?”

  I pulled a face at her. “Why would I be with anyone who was not?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I dunno, Lee, remember that guy from high school? The one with the chin dimple?”

  I snorted into my glass of wine. Kirby, that was his name. The name in itself should have told me everything. You could not take a man whose named sounded like a video game avatar seriously. Especially when his head was between your legs and he started humming Kiss while making aggressive jabbing motions with his tongue.

  “Women, not girls, rule my world, I said they rule my world…” My sister sang the lyrics, squeezing her eyes shut and biting her lip like Kirby used to do.

  We erupted into laughter, earning a disapproving look from my mother. I swear that woman still had the ability to make me feel fifteen. I looked at her defiantly and laughed louder. I was twenty-eight fucking years old. She couldn’t control me anymore.

  I thought everything went splendidly until we climbed into the car. Caleb was holding the door open for me when he suddenly said, “Your dad’s a chauvinist.”

  I blinked in surprise. He didn’t say it as an accusation. It was more of an observation. It was a true observation. I shrugged.

  “He’s a little old fashioned.”

  Caleb pulled me into a hug. He was looking at me strangely, his eyebrows drawn and his mouth pulled into a thoughtful pucker. I’d come to know this as the ‘I’m psychoanalyzing you’ face. I wanted to pull away so he couldn’t see into me, but pulling away from Caleb was like shutting yourself in a freezer. If he was shining on you, you wanted to stand under his warmth, soak it all up. Pathetic. It was also beautiful. No one had ever given me as much warmth. I clung to his arms, and let him psychoanalyze to his heart’s desire. I wanted to know what he was seeing when he looked at me so intensely. He broke the spell, suddenly grinning.

  “So, I guess you’ll be staying home, barefoot and pregnant?”

  I raised my eyebrows. When he said it, it didn’t sound so bad. “Will this be in your home?” I asked. I was being coy. He kissed the tip of my nose.

  “Maybe, Baby.”

  He let me go too soon. I wanted to stay there and talk about whose baby I was pregnant with, if the floor my bare feet were standing on was hardwood or tile? If we’d be living in a two-story or a ranch house? My head was spinning. That was as good as a proposal for me. The man was golden. He even made my father look at me like I was human. We’d only been together around eight months, but if I played my cards right I could have my ring by spring. That was a happy night for me.

  It didn’t take me long to realize that Caleb was my empty planet.

  Chapter ElevenPresent

  I jump up when I hear Caleb’s car in the driveway. We’ve been together for over five years, but I still get butterflies whenever he walks into a room. I try not to look needy, but when his key turns the latch and he steps inside, I fling myself at him. I need him to forgive me. I’ve been in perpetual twilight since he stopped smiling at me.

  I catch him off guard, and he laughs as my weight slams him into the wall. I have my legs wrapped around his waist and my nose pressed to his. I want to make out with him like we used to do when we first met, but the first thing he says is — “Where’s Stella?”

  The smile drops from my face. I hate that. How am I supposed to know?

  I sigh and slide down his body, disappointed. “Probably with whatshisname.”

  Caleb narrows his eyes at me; his mouth is a straight line.

  “Did you spend any time with her today?”

  “Yes,” I snap. “I fed her this morning because the manny was late.”

  The muscles in his jaw pop as he grinds his teeth. They pop. I flinch.

  Pop ... flinch … pop … flinch.

  I feel self-righteously angry. It wasn’t unusual for mothers to rely on nannies to take care of their babies. In my circle, it was perfectly normal. Why did he always have to make me feel inferior?

  I curl my upper lip across my teeth. “Do you think Olivia would have made a better mother than me?”

  For a second, undisguised anger flashes across his eyes. He turns away, turns back to me, and turns away again like he doesn’t know whether or not to confront the fact that I said her name.

  I want a fight. Every time he looks at me like I’m a big, fat disappointment, my mind goes to Olivia. It’s like shifting gears for me; Caleb’s disappointed eyes trigger it. Suddenly, I’m in that magical place where I release the clutch, the gas pedal goes down, and my mind is racing toward Olivia. Fuck. That. Bitch. What power does she have over him? I want to run at him, pound my fists against his chest for always mentally comparing me to her. Or am I the one mentally comparing myself to her? God, life is so messed up.

  Just then, Sam comes into the room with the baby. The anger on Caleb’s face melts away, and all of a sudden, he looks like he’s about to cry. I know that look; he is relieved — relieved to have something other than me. I turn and walk toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Caleb asks.

  “I’m hanging out with Sam tonight,” I say. I avoid Sam’s face and snatch up my purse.

  “Let’s go, Samuel,” I snap. I see him stifle a smile as he ducks his head obediently and walks to where I am waiting. I am out the door and down the stairs before Caleb can say anything. I hear them exchange words behind me, but I am halfway to Sam’s car, and I decide that stopping to eavesdrop will ruin my credibility. Caleb is probably warning him about my tendency to become belligerent when drunk. Sam comes jogging out a minute later. Without a word, he opens the passenger side door for me, and I climb in. He drives a Jeep, the kind that has no roof or real windows. I settle into my seat and stare straight ahead. I’m going to destroy Olivia. I’m going to find her and beat the crap out of her for ruining my life.

  “Where to?” Sam says, looping around the driveway.

  “Call that slutty looking cousin of yours,” I say. “We’re going wherever she is.”

  He raises his eyebrows at me but doesn’t move toward his phone.

  “She’s at Mother Gothel tonight,” he explains. “You ever been there?”

  I shake my head.

  “Great. It’s your kind of place.” He shifts his Jeep into traffic, and I grab onto the door to steady myself. This was going to be a long drive.

  Mother Gothel is not my kind of place. I announce this loudly as we walk through the door. A bouncer with half a dozen face piercings checks our IDs. He eyes me in a way that makes my skin crawl, and I grab on to Sam’s arm.

  “What the hell is this place?” I whisper as we enter into a room lit by electric blue lights.

  “A hookah bar,” he says. He raises his eyebrows, “An emo hookah bar.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Why would she come here?” I was thinking of all the classy bars on Mizner Avenue, just a stone’s throw away from this depressing rat hole.

  “She goes through phases,” he says, nodding towards the bartender. “Last month it was tea rooms.”

  He orders two dirty martinis. As I take mine, I wonder how he knew I drink them?

  “Aren’t you going to lecture me about liquorfying my breast mi
lk?” I say over the rim of my glass. He groans and tries to take it from me.

  “Shit, I forgot,” he says. “It’s hard to remember that a cold shrew like you is actually a mother.”

  I grunt and hold it out of his reach. Touché.

  We make our way over to a table, where a small group of people is clustered together. I see Cammie’s blond head bobbing around animatedly, as she tells a story. When she spots Sam her face breaks into a smile … until she sees me. Her blinks come in rapid succession, like she’s trying to expunge me from her vision. I smile sweetly and head in her direction. This bitch has info on Olivia. I can feel it. I bend down to kiss her on the cheek. I like to keep my greetings European.

  “Sam,” she says tightly, “I didn’t know you were bringing a … guest.” She cocks her head in a way I’ve only seen Southern Belles do. I place her accent to Texas.

  “First night out since baby?” she asks me.

  Sam grunts from behind me. I spin around to shoot him a warning look and then turn back to Cammie.

  “Sure,” I say. “Sam was kind enough to let me tag along. Cool bar!” I look around in mock interest. When I look back at her, she’s on the tail end of an eye roll.

  She motions towards two available chairs. I take the one closest to her, and Sam sits down next to me. She makes introductions around the table. The group is composed of two attorneys, a professional skateboarder that keeps shooting looks at Cammie’s exposed cleavage, and a number of pierced, tattooed lesbians.

  For the next hour, I listen to them prattle about the most dull topics in the world. I play with my hair and try not to yawn. Sam watches me in amusement as he contributes to their conversation. Twice, he catches me unawares by asking my opinion on politicians.

  “Really, Sam,” I finally snap when no one is listening. “Can you not?”

  He grins. “Just trying to be friendly.”

  How does someone with so many tattoos know about politics? Am I stereotyping? Too bad. I lean close to his ear so only he can hear me. Cammie frowns.

  He’s gay! I want to scream at her. And, even if he weren’t, seriously, I don’t do sloppy men.

  “I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you can get everyone out of here so I can talk to your slutty cousin alone.”

  Sam stands up and claps his hands. “I’ll buy everyone a shot, except for Cammie.”

  Cammie rolls her eyes but stays seated. Everyone else follows Sam to the bar, laughing and clapping each other on the back.

  She looks at me expectantly, like she’s on to my scheme.

  I swear this bitch and I speak the same language … in different accents.

  “Olivia Kaspen,” I say. Her face registers nothing. “Do you know her?”

  Her lips curl into a smile, and she dips her head once to acknowledge that she does. I feel searing heat start in my chest and spread outward. Emotional fireworks, if you must. I knew it! I lick my lips and pull a cigarette from my purse.

  “That’s how you know Caleb,” I say. She nods that awful smile still on her lips. I inhale and watch her through my lashes.

  “Why does he love her?” This was the first time I had ever verbalized the question, though I had pondered over it for God knows how many years. Olivia was attractive — if you were into sluts. She had too much hair and wide-spaced eyes, but I had been around her enough during my trial to know how men responded to her. She was aloof, cold. It was mysterious. Goddamn men and their goddamn mysteries. I had never seen her smile. Not once. It was hard to believe someone as alive and warm as Caleb could have feelings for an emotional prune.

  Cammie is watching me, trying to decide how far she wants to go with her answer. I wonder how well she knows Olivia. It had never occurred to me, until now, that she might be good friends with her.

  Eventually, she clears her throat. “Well, she’s a bitch like you. Caleb has always been attracted to the Cruella De Ville type. But, I suppose if you want an honest answer…” her voice trails off. The band comes on stage and things are starting to get loud. I lean forward, hungry for her answer.

  “They spark,” she says. I jerk back. What the hell did that mean? “When they’re together, it’s like putting a hurricane and a tornado in the same room — you can feel the tension. I didn’t believe in the cliché of soul mates until I saw them together.”

  I’ve heard enough. I am sick to my stomach. I look around for my ride and can’t see him anywhere, but Cammie’s not done.

  “I know you got pregnant on purpose,” she says, plucking my cigarette from my fingers and taking a draw. I blink at her, too intrigued to argue. How could she possibly know?

  “Now, you’ve got the guy … and the baby. You won. So, why are you asking about Olivia?”

  I consider lying, telling her that I’m making sure she is gone for good or some bullshit like that.

  She smirks. “You want to know why he loves her, Leah?” She overemphasizes the ah in my name. I flinch.

  What a bitch.

  I shake my head, but the little blond is smarter than she looks.

  She stubs out my cigarette. “You won’t find an answer to that from anyone but Caleb. If I were you, I’d let it go. Go enjoy the life you stole for yourself. Olivia won’t be showing up at your doorstep crying, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  I feel my face heat as I remember the time I followed Caleb to Olivia’s apartment. That was inside information. The little bitch is probably her best friend.

  “He wouldn’t leave me for her even if she did.” I say this with more confidence than I feel.

  Cammie raises her eyebrows and shrugs. “Then why do you care?”

  I swallow hard. Why do I care? It isn’t like I grew up in a home where my parents were madly in love. My mother married my father for money, she’d told me so on numerous occasions. I have my guy, so why am I picking at the scab?

  “I — I don’t know.”

  “It’s not fun to play second choice, is it?” She plucks a piece of tobacco from her tongue and flicks it off her fingertip. “There is a possibility that you feel like you’re worth more than being Caleb’s marriage of pity, and if that’s true then you should jump ship now. It’s only a matter of time before the Caleb/Olivia saga starts up again.”

  Her words sting. I shift around in my chair as pain courses through me. “I thought you said she moved on?” I hiss.

  “Yeah, so?” Cammie shrugs. “Their story will never be over. She’s married, you know? So, technically you have some time to make your husband fall in love with you.”

  I can’t hide my surprise. She hadn’t married Turner, that’s for sure. He’d blown up my phone after she broke things off with him, begging me to appeal to her on his behalf. Stupid Turner.

  After the whole amnesia debacle, I broke into her apartment and found letters from Caleb, dated to his college days. It didn’t take long to figure out she was his ex-girlfriend, trying to pull a fast one on him. I blackmailed her into leaving town and then hired a private detective who tracked her to Texas. A friend was attending the same law school as Olivia was, so I made a call, traded some Super Bowl tickets, and BAM! Next thing I knew, they were engaged. The luck! Turner was a tool. How a woman could go from Caleb to that half-wit was beyond me. Either way, I thought she was out of my life for good until Caleb hired her to be my attorney — and a good thing he did, because she won the case and saved me from ten years in state prison.

  I don’t say any of this to Cammie, whose southern accent is suddenly making me uncomfortable. Was she the friend Olivia had gone to live with in Texas?

  Nothing further passes between us, as Sam chooses to resurface at the table at that exact moment. I stand up to leave. Cammie is no longer looking at me, she’s kissing the skateboarder who is cupping her chest in one hand and holding the other above his head as he makes the Black Sabbath horns with his fingers.

  I turn, disgusted, and follow Sam to his car.

  “Did you get the answers you needed?” he says when
we are on the road.

  I look at him in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

  He tucks in one side of his mouth and looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “She’s my cousin, and she’s a blabber mouth. She told me about that chick.”

  I stare at him, openmouthed. “You knew she was friends with Olivia, and you didn’t tell me?”

  “That’s what you were hoping for, weren’t you? You wanted to know if she knew her?”

  He’s right, but I’m still angry.

  “I’m your boss,” I say. “You should have told me. And, what kind of gay man are you, anyway? You’re supposed to love gossip and drama.”

  He throws back his head and laughs. Despite the world of bad news swirling around my head, I smile. Maybe he’s not so bad. I decide to stop trying to get Caleb to fire him.

  When I get home, Caleb is already in bed — not ours, but the twin bed in the baby’s room. I check the milk supply in the fridge, luckily there is enough frozen for a day or two — enough time for the dirty martinis to work their way out of my system. I roll my eyes. Caleb will probably check my blood/alcohol level before he lets me pump again.

  I go to bed, still wearing my clothes, sadder than I’ve ever felt.

  Chapter TwelvePast

  My sister was so beautiful it almost hurt your eyes to look at her — and God, that’s all I did in those early years. She was younger than me. Only by a year, but still. It was kind of awkward to idolize your baby sister. It was hard not to, since the minute she walked into a room, every eye was stuck to her like she had some sort of ethereal fairy magic flowing from her pores. For a long time, I believed that once I hit a certain age, I would get some of that fairy juice — no such luck. I looked like a malnourished, crack ho with braces and twelve hundred dollar sneakers. Courtney made me want to die — especially when she dated and then disposed of all the boys I liked. I could never be mad at her for it. We were a team — Court and Jo — until Jo decided she wanted to be Leah, and then it was Court and Lee. Despite our closeness, as we got older there was no denying the chasm our differences caused. Our friendship wavered for a year in middle school. She left me for the cheerleaders. I watched her make new friends from my seat in the social bleachers, picking bread from my braces and trying to figure out why my boobs hadn’t come in yet.