“Sure, Paige,” Houston says, stepping to me again. He puts one hand behind my head, steadying it and cradling me to him. He kisses my forehead, his lips brushing against my skin. “We’re dating.”
His eyes stay on mine as he backs away. He gets my fear. I so don’t understand his lack of fear. Maybe things are less scary on his side. He already has the kid. I’m eighteen. Those three years between us—sometimes they feel massive.
I back into my room, and when I close the door, the enormity of the last hour hits me. It seems a decision was made. Maybe I made it. Maybe it was made for me. I’m excited about it. I’m terrified. I both want to cry and laugh at the same time.
I’ve gone mad.
I realize suddenly I haven’t spoken to my mom in more than a week. And at some point, I’m probably going to have to share where I’m living with her. Unless I move out. Would dating be more appropriate if I moved out?
I consider texting Cass. There’s so much to catch her up on. I know Cass won’t tell my parents. My sister keeps secrets. Yet one more thing she’s better at than I am. But I’m the leader.
I’m the leader.
I decide instead to keep my worries to myself. For the next hour, I freshen up, changing into a white-lace dress and cowboy boots. I touch up the ends of my hair, spraying curls into place. I opt for the pink lipstick, a subtle shade for me—different from the bold red I usually go with. This color says youth. But it also says strong.
The longer I look at my reflection, the more I remember how I used to feel in high school and before. That girl is still in there. There’s a knock at the door downstairs, and I listen to Leah sprint down the steps. I hear the formal voice Joyce uses with their guest—and it makes me smile, because now hearing her talk to someone else, I realize how informal she is with me.
Houston’s door is still closed when I step from mine, so I head downstairs before him, a tiny part of me also a little jealous that Leah is hugging another girl about my age, excited by someone other than me.
Leah, Leah, Leah.
And then the visitor stands tall, her jet-black hair clearing her face, the shiny red of her lips like a bullet, aiming for my artery. She aims to shoot me dead. And she did not come here tonight to visit Leah.
She did not come here for Leah at all.
Chandra came here to see me.
Chapter 13
Houston
I know we said we’d wait to be more public about…things, but then she put on cowboy boots. And a white lace dress? There’s symbolism in that—something about virginity, and NOT virginity. Her legs make me bite my knuckles. I bite them every time she walks by. She’s walking by…a lot.
She’s being…weird. Flirty maybe?
Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just nerves.
She keeps moving around the living room and kitchen. It’s like she can’t get settled. She’s like a damn feral cat. She doesn’t seem to know where to stand, or where to be. Damn, I think that’s my fault. I shouldn’t have made revealing that there’s an us such a big deal, shouldn’t have let my mom make it a big deal.
But it is…a big deal.
Of all days for Cee Cee to show up—I’ve been in a room with her maybe five times in my life. The first time I met her was when Leah was born. She was the only one from the other side of the family—from Beth’s dad’s side—to show up. Martin Campbell’s name means oil around here. He’s a bigger deal in Texas, his name on buildings and rigs off the coast. I remember the first time Beth told me who her father was. She was sitting in the passenger seat of my shitty-ass car, coming home from a football game, and one of her father’s trucks drove by, with the silver and black CAMPBELL logo on the side.
“Fuck you!” she screamed as it passed. She didn’t talk the rest of the way home, and when she got out of the car, she slammed the door. I waited in her driveway for two hours until she came back out, shutting herself inside the car with me again. She proceeded to tell me the saddest story I’d ever heard—at least until our own story happened. Her dad had a mistress, and another daughter, and then one day, he decided to pick them instead.
As much as they share a father, they’re nothing alike. Martin Campbell passed all of his traits down to Cee Cee—harsh, abrasive, entitled; the litany of unflattering yet confidence-boosting attributes goes on. Bethany was always completely her mom—generous, cautious, and fragile. I’ve never met Cee Cee’s mom, so I can only guess she sways more on the Martin Campbell way of living.
Beth’s dad—Cee Cee’s dad—has never met Leah. I offered, a few days after she was born. My dad was my world, and I felt like it was important. I kind of thought maybe, if he just saw this beautiful little girl, he’d get it, that his heart would soften a little. He told me, in not so many words, that he wasn’t interested in meeting “some bastard granddaughter” of his. What irony that his bastard daughter was now standing in my house. A few days later, paperwork showed up at the door for our signature. He wasn’t interested in knowing her, but by god he would buy her. The trust paperwork was pretty straight forward, bestowing her with nearly half a million dollars when she turns twenty-one. Bethany wanted to say no, but I’m not a fool. I know Martin Campbell’s money means a good life for our daughter. That money means more than college—it means she gets to be whoever she wants. I talked Beth into signing. And I can handle seeing Cee Cee once or twice a year to make sure it comes to her.