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Lena cackles. “Maybe can help you with DP too. Just FYI—”
Maybe reaches and out and smacks Lena across the shoulder soundly.
My eyes go wide and I chuckle. “I’m afraid to get into that one at all.”
Ruby snorts. “Probably a good choice.”
“I’m also scared to be in a room with my friends ever again at this point.”
Cassie shrugs. “At least you’ve always got us. Congratulations, you’re officially one of the girls.”
“You’re a part of the club,” Maybe adds.
“If you need anything, you can come to us,” Winnie says.
“And trust me, young man,” Greer whispers with a wink. “When it comes to navigating Hollywood with a pregnant woman, you’re going to need us.”
The rational, statistics-driven part of me wants to tell them they have it all wrong.
But the crazy hope blooming inside my chest calls bullshit.
Holy hell. Is everything about to change?
Pretty sure it already has, dude.
Harrison
My mind is a battleground of rational what-ifs and calculated should I’s? But my heart doesn’t seem to give a fuck, only spurring irrational feelings I most likely shouldn’t be feeling.
But my present situation doesn’t allow much time to dig through all the unanswered questions.
We’re back in LA, and tonight, back on the awards circuit. This time, it’s the Oscars. After spending an entire week in near anonymity with Rocky in New York City, being relegated to the background of her life feels particularly cruel.
There’s no more uninterrupted alone time, no more sleeping—yes, just sleeping—in the same apartment and waking up and having a quiet breakfast together, no more helping hands to the small of her back, no more listening to the baby through the hard flesh of her belly—no more holding hands just to hold them.
The only thing I currently have to look forward to is her newfound enjoyment in secretly texting me whenever she finds a moment when Heidi isn’t on her ass about a million different things that all revolve around the same damn thing—keeping her celebrity status as picture-perfect as possible.
Rocky: The baby wants tacos.
She’s all glammed up, in the car behind the one I’m in, minutes away from making another red-carpet appearance at what is apparently one of the biggest nights of the year, and she’s texting me about tacos. I fucking love it.
Me: The baby wants tacos? Are you sure it’s not you wanting the tacos?
Rocky: I am a mere pawn in our baby’s food game. And, right now, she’s craving chicken soft tacos from Taco Bell something fierce. Extra cheese.
Me: How does HE even know about Taco Bell? Like, he knows that soft tacos already come with cheese, but it’s not enough so they need extra? Seems prodigious.
Rocky: Obviously prodigious is how it should seem because SHE is the smartest baby in the history of babies.
A laugh escapes my lips, and the two men in the car with me, Heidi’s eagle-eyed assistants, look up from their phones and straight at me.
“Sorry,” I say and shrug. “Just saw a funny meme about tacos.”
Both Wilson and Toby glance at each other before going back to ignoring my existence completely, and I busy myself with typing out another message.
Me: If you’d like, I’ll make a Taco Bell run for you later.
Rocky: I’ll pass that information on to the baby. As I stated previously, I am a mere messenger. But I have a feeling SHE would very, very, VERY much like.
Me: Great. Tell HIM I aim to please. ;)
A scant five minutes later, the car comes to a stop and I’m shuffled out with Wilson and Toby, and we clear a route through an escalating crowd for the car that follows.
Of course, I haven’t been given any actual clearance to talk to people at all—not even for the sake of making it look like I’m working—so I just plod along looking useless most of the time.
Wilson and Toby prep the first reporters and then step dutifully to the side to make a wall in front of me, as if I’m going to make some sort of charge to the front lines.
Christ. Hollywood is weird.
I settle into position and watch avidly as the limo carrying Heidi, Ben, and Rocky pulls up to the curb and the door opens with the help of an awards show attendant.
Flashes start going off before you can even see anything, and when the person who’s climbing out turns out to be Heidi, they pause briefly.
She’s a professional, though, and clears the area quickly as Ben climbs out of the car first. He smiles big for the cameras, reaching around his front with both hands to button his fancy velvet-lapeled coat. It’s almost an afterthought when he finally reaches down to take Rocky’s hand as she works to climb free of the car with six months of baby skewing the ratio of her weight and a fifty-pound dress trying to suck her right back into the seat.
