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Milana
“What would you say is your greatest fear?”
Emerson is sitting with her legs crossed in front of Entertainment News’ ruthless reporter, Kitty Seinfeld.
“I find that my answer continues to change as I grow older. What I once feared, I no longer do. I guess it would be having my daughter learn some lessons the hard way as I did.”
Kitty is quick to fire off another question. “What if your daughter chooses your same path? If we’re being candid here, you’ve made some questionable choices in your personal life, and it has attracted drama.”
Kitty is a machine—a machine of drama. She’s a typical blonde-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful woman with a face that screams cheerleader back in high school. I often think that women or girls like this had it easy. Never having to defend their ethnicity or explain why they don’t look white, nor look full Asian. Fits into a size two and hasn’t dealt with trying to find a foundation that matches your skin tone because your skin is this weird, pale-looking color that’s not considered ‘normal.’
Breathe. Nonsense rambling isn’t helping calm your agitated mood.
Truth. I don’t like the way she drags Wesley’s name through the mud. Though he probably deserves it.
She isn’t the only interviewer who asks about him. Frankly, I’m sick of it. No matter where we go, people are desperate to know about him. How he’s doing, if Emerson and Wesley still remain friends, who he is dating. It surprises me how little they focus on Logan given he’s her partner, not Wesley.
The interview carries on for another thirty minutes. Question after question, and despite Kitty’s forwardness, Emerson is a pro. Emerson dominates the room, and it’s clear that it puts Kitty in a foul mood. By the end, her questions are just stupid.
“Thank you.” Kitty extends her hand to Emerson, a fake smile in tow. It’s brief, and the moment she pulls away, she shouts for her assistant and demands that she get out of this rat hole.
I purposely make it my mission to block the exit to say a few words. “You know, Kitty, it sounds like you have an obsession with Wesley.”
Kitty lifts her head with a confused expression, quickly belting out a laugh shortly after. “Me? An obsession with Wesley Rich? Oh honey, been there, slept with that.”
My fists clench unexpectedly inside the pockets of my pants. With difficulty, I keep my eyes still, refusing to give away the jealousy that makes my blood boil especially since the image of Wesley fucking this woman is all I can think about now.
“Classy,” I respond. “I better not keep you waiting. I’m sure your vagina is looking for its next victim.”
“Excuse me?” Kitty folds her arms in disdain the same time her assistant yells that the driver is parked out front.
I lift my head and walk away. When I hear her heels click away from the room, I’m quick to yell, “I hope you get crabs.”
Those who heard me, turn around in bewilderment. Not wanting to draw any more attention and make a further spectacle of myself, I focus on doing what I’m paid to do—assist.
Georgia, Emerson’s makeup artist, touches her up with some foundation before her next interview.
“Do you need anything?” I ask, rather quickly.
“I’m fine, Milana. Go get yourself a coffee. You look beat, and that crab comment…” she giggles lightly, “… gold.”
“I’m sorry, she just… irks me.”
“It’s fine. But you really need to let these things go. I’m used to it, and the questions they throw at me… same, same.”
I smile weakly and make my way to the small kitchen adjacent to the room. I’m utterly exhausted. Time zones are a bitch. Coffee has never smelled so good percolating. I pour myself a cup, bringing it to my lips to inhale the heavenly aroma.
My emotions are running high. I read, once, that sleep deprivation is the number one reason why people are emotional messes. That outburst toward Kitty is driven by my lack of control over Wesley’s and my relationship. I know he has baggage as do we all, I just don’t expect the baggage to be following me around wherever I go—a broken record of how the bad boy is a destructive bed hopper.
I wish I was like Emerson—confident and in control of her life. The question that Emerson was just asked replays in my head.
What is your greatest fear?
Emerson had answered that question so easily. Comfortable in telling the world exactly what she feared. I could barely admit the truth to myself. My greatest fear involves Mama, and every time I think about it for a split second, that sick feeling crawls into my stomach and forces me to heave from
panic. And running a very close second is Wesley’s need to forward our relationship.
He’s the bad boy, the one who’s not supposed to get attached or even think about the future. It’s not like I don’t want to move forward, but many times in the past week, he threw in quips about marriage and babies. A joke in his eyes, yet nevertheless it makes me extremely uncomfortable given that we have technically been together for weeks. We haven’t even hit that one-month anniversary.
