Page 55 of What's in a Kiss?

Are we friends?

“Lily found out about Dustin and me, which is what I wanted, but I didn’t want ityet, you know? I haven’t had any time to prep my team and—don’t say it, I know what you’re thinking...”

She’s still talking, luckily with no intention of pausing.

I look at her, then the photos of Jake and me. I’m used to thinking of Jake and Aurora as a pair, a symbol of everything superior to me.

I reach out slowly and put my hand on Aurora’s arm. I’d like her to stop talking, to leave me to my ongoing implosion.

She looks down at her arm and draws in a deep breath. “Wow,” she says, closing her eyes and resting her head on my shoulder. “That’s really grounding. Thanks. So, you think I should go to Lily’s afterparty, wearing something I don’t mind getting ruined when she flings Bordeaux in my face?”

“You read my mind,” I say.

“You’re brilliant,” she says.

“You mind if I leave at six tonight?” I say. I’d like to get to Santa Monica before sunset. I’d like to get home—to my real home—by bedtime.

Aurora rises, nods, and blows me a kiss on her way out my trailer door.

••••••

At six I’mtotally exhausted. I’ve spent hours insulting and operating on a gray prosthetic breast.

I could rest up and hit the beach first thing tomorrow. I wonder if I could stay here and sleep in my trailer, the one familiar space I’ve found. Twilight’s falling and I bet no one would notice. Except Jake.

What would Mom tell me to do?

Call your mother, her voice finds me.

I sigh and pull out my phone. I can’t use the excuse of the mayhem of being on set to put this off any longer. I open my web browser and start to type her name...

Delete delete delete delete. My heart thunders, because there’s only one logical explanation for Mom not being listed in my phone. Something terrible happened in this world and Lorena’s dead.

I don’t want to know that truth in any realm. I’d rather live with the uncertainty.

I shove my phone back in my pocket and walk quickly toward my trailer. I pass a woman I recognize. She was at the wedding last night, doing the Griddy next to Jake and me on the dance floor.

“Hey.”

“Olivia, hi.” She smiles.

“You were at the wedding.”

She nods, points at herself. “Fenny.”

“What do you do around here?”

“I’m the head writer.”

I wince. “I really should know that.”

“That’s okay,” Fenny says. “Occupational hazard. Aurora calls me ‘Scribe’—”

“Well, Fenny,” I say, “how do you know Masha?”

“She’s in my book club.” Fenny tilts her head. “How doyouknow Masha?”

My face must reveal that Fenny’s question feels like a stab, because she quickly says, “Oh wait, you used to be friends, right? Like in middle school? And your husbands are friends now?”

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