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As close as I was to Santa Monica, Venice was more about the art culture than the film industry. Sure, we had sightings here and there, but I was usually too wrapped up in my own thing to care much about it.
Until Ian.
Then fame had been an education in itself.
And what the hell was I supposed to say about everything? Margo’s story wasn’t mine to tell, and at the same time I didn’t even know what I should say. “I sort of dated Ian Kagan. Ish. Could I have the guac?”
“Wait, wait. You can’t just drop that bomb as you’re asking for a condiment.”
“Which part? That I actually dated someone?” I narrowed my gaze at Justin. “Since when did you know musicians?”
“I don’t, but the way you said it means he was more than some schlub. And Kagan? Hasn’t that guy been here before?”
I swallowed. “You mean Simon. Yes, he’s been here plenty since he’s in Nick’s band.”
J
ustin snapped his fingers. “Right. Holy shit—um, sorry Ma.” He corrected himself when our mother opened her mouth.
She just gave him a sideways look and nodded.
“Holy crap. He’s that singer dude that came out of nowhere and told the world he was related to Simon.”
I leaned back in my chair, my guac forgotten. “Since when do you watch British talent shows?”
“I may have been seeing a girl into the shows.” Justin tore his napkin into strips.
Which was code for Justin had crushed on a chick then did his due diligence to get her to talk to him. I knew very well how my brother operated. Especially since the orchard had many seasonal workers—especially of the female persuasion.
I picked at a pepper on my plate. “Yeah, well, I sort of dated Simon’s brother.”
“Is this the piece of…crap we need to kill?” Beck stuffed another tortilla full of fajita fixings.
“No.”
“He made you cry, he needs to die. No discussion.” Then my oldest brother shoved half the fajita in his mouth.
Justin sat up straight. “Wait, he messed with you?”
“All right, guys. Bring it down a level or eleven. We broke up and it wasn’t exactly a good break up, but he didn’t do anything bad.” Mostly. He only lied to me since the first day we met. No big.
“So, you came back home because of a man?” My mother set her fork down very deliberately.
“No, I didn’t come home because of Ian. I came home because I failed. Like that one better?”
“Now Zoe.” My dad’s gentle voice tightened my throat.
“It was a mix of both. I screwed up in a lot of ways and figured out a lot more. I just needed a place to put myself back together. Home is supposed to do that, right?”
Beck leaned over and covered my hand. “Home is always where you go, Z. We’re just glad to have you back.” Beck went back to his food. “Still gonna kill that kid when I see him.”
“No murder talk at my table.”
I covered my mouth with my napkin to hide the smile. It was good to be home.
Nineteen
“Hey, you.”
