Page 8 of The Fate Of Us

“Hey, Goldie! How are you?” I ask eagerly, trying to remember the last time I talked to my sister,my heart sinking like I was in this bean bag when I realised our last phone call was before Christmas.

“I‘m good, really good,” Goldie rushed, the familiarity of her voice making menearly bypass the fact that I could tell she wasn’t telling the truth. “Just thought I’d call… see how you were.”

Sitting up straighter, I felt my smile grow. “I’m good too. Have you been up to much?”

A beat of silence passed before her voice flooded my ear again. “I suppose… Dad and Imade a detour and took the coastal road home today, the ocean looked really pretty, and it’s getting sunnier, which is making me excited for spring.”

“I do miss it… living so close to the ocean.” I admit, closing my laptop and laying it onthe floor beside me. “But you know what I don’t miss?”

A less impactful silence floated by before we said in sync. “L.A. traffic.”

Her giggles, however hollow they were, still made the corners of my lips tug higher. “ButI suppose New York traffic still sucks.”

My sister cleared her throat before she asked, “Oh, how did the meeting go this morning?For your new movie? Was Nate there? Isn’t it cool how—”

As if it was tired of holding my phone in place, my arm fell forward, dragging the phoneand Goldie’s questions away from my ear. But I knew it was because I wasn’t ready for this part of our call just yet. I felt my whole body weaken as my heart sank further this time, right down into the cesspit of shame and guilt it always falls to whenever we talk about him.

Goldie was born when I was eight, making her seven approaching eight when my andNate’s friendship was just teetering over into relationship territory. Her life up until that moment was flooded with memories of him, as was mine. He was basically her older brother, with him being my best friend and living right next door, it was bound to happen. And although she hasn’t seen him in years, she still asks about him every time she calls.

To her, Nate is still someone she looks up to, and I’d never want that to change.

Regardless of how he ended things with me… he was so good around her. He was the onewho taught her how to ride a bike, because our dad was too busy arguing with my agent at the time or fighting with the producers over how much I was being paid to teach her. He even let her sit in on our cinnamon bun baking nights, where he showed her how to get a gooey batch of buns every single time.

So, whenever she mentions him, I pretend we’re still friends. I forget what happenedbetween us, and make up stories that didn’t happen, to keep her memory of him alive. Because I know that if I tell her what really happened, it’ll break her heart, just like it broke mine.

Sucking in a breath, I interrupt the flow of her questions as I place my phone back on myear. “He was there. He said he saw you in that Netflix show, the high school drama one, and told me that you killed the role as the mean girl.”

“He did?” I could practically see her brows pull together. “I really hated that role. I didn’tlike being mean, it felt so weird. But I’m glad he saw it.”

I knew that getting praise for her acting wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t what I wantedat her age, either. And from the way her voice sounds as grey as the clouds that I can see rolling in out the window… then I know I shouldn’t keep subjecting her to it.

I relax my back into the bean bag, and shift my head to stare at the beams of wintersunlight that were casting over the room, before releasing a steady breath. “Is everything okay, Goldie?”

I could’ve sworn I heard the breath die in her throat, none of the right words to get acrosswhat was wrong coming to her, right when a staggered sigh slipped through the line.My eyes fall shut as I drawl, “Go on, let it all out.”

“Ugh! I just… I just hate them. Addy… I don’t know how much longer I can take this.Every time I’m in one of those dingy little audition rooms, I swear the walls are closing in on me. I don’t have time to study, and call me crazy, but I like studying! My GPA is slipping, and my last report card was awful… well, except for psychology, I’m top of my class for that one.” She took a deep breath, reminding me to do the same. “But… I just… I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Addy. I’m… I’m so sick of it.”

I pull my knees up to my chest and sink my head into them, my free hand raking throughmy hair and pulling at the curls that had all dropped since this morning, rage as red as the strands in my fist boiling my blood. Drenching me in silent anger.

It’s scary how much I can relate to every confusing feeling that’s probably swirlingaround her brain right now. I’d thought my parents had exhausted all of their fame-seeking resources with me, that my career and status and power would be enough to satisfy the restless dreams they never got to chase.

But no, my poor baby sister, sweet, honest and stupidly smart Marigold Moore, was theirlatest prodigy.

Their second child star.

“What happened, Goldie?” I asked softly, the endless possibilities of what they’d put herthrough stacking up like the books on the shelf my eyes were boring into.

“Wanna take a guess at how many auditions I’ve been to since Friday night?” That gameshow host-style tone in her voice makes me want to giggle, and I do. If I didn’t, I’d start crying.

“Okay, I can get this.” I lay my phone down and tap the speaker button, as I start to countwith my fingers. “Were they for movies, TV or commercials?”

“All three, Addy.” She sighs, the monotone veil her voice takes on forcing a laugh out ofme, loud enough that I couldn’t hear my heart split for her.

“Okay, so I know that most of the commercial studios in L.A. do their auditions onSaturdays. TV and movies can have you in at ridiculously early hours,” I say to myself, my head falling back into the sherpa fluff of the bean bag. “So, I’m gonna take a whack at…. eleven.”

The sigh that rattled through the speaker and into the room made my heart feel like it hadreached the bottom of the ocean, engulfed in the unexplored darkness. It was a sigh that should have come from a girl who hadn’t found the right prom dress yet, or hadn’t been asked to the spring formal. I knew right then that the number I’d suggested was nowhere near right.

“If you double that and add four, then we have our number.”

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