Page 22 of The Making of Mila and Blake
Dad likes to subtly joke about that time I got drunk on champagne and threw up at one of his events when I was sixteen, even though at the time it caused an uproar and resulted in Dad shipping me here to Fairview. Every time he mentions it, it instills fear in me. It reminds me of when the rules in my life were much stricter, when Ruben Fisher, Dad’s former manager, would be breathing down my neck and controlling my every move. Things are a little more relaxed these days now that the pressure of being an A-lister is off Dad. I get to breathe more easily.
“Are you sure you don’t need a ride from me?” he asks, still hovering by my door as I dart back and forth around my room, spritzing perfume and hairspray.
“No,” I say forcefully. “You aren’t allowed to show up anywhere near my friends’ events ever again, remember? And Tori is picking me up in five.”
Now Dad is the one rolling his eyes. I know he still feels bad for the chaos he caused at Honky Tonk Central two years ago, because it ended with my heart being broken, and he was the one who consoled me during that long flight home whenever I burst into tears. I wish I hadn’t invited him, and he wishes he hadn’t come. We both made mistakes that summer. A whole lot of them. You live and you learn, I guess.
Dad finally leans away from my doorway and holds up his hands in defeat. “Okay, okay! Just don’t be home too late. You don’t want to stress out your grandpa. He worries about you every time you leave this ranch.”
“I’ve got my key for the gate,” I reassure Dad, holding up said electric remote before slipping it into my purse. At the mention of Popeye, I cast Dad an empathetic look. “How are you feeling about everything? Popeye’s diagnosis. . .”
There has been some serious debating going down on the Harding Estate this past week. Popeye insists it’s up to Dad and Sheri to make the personal decision whether to have genetic testing done, which will conclude if they carry the Huntington’s gene or not. Sheri is adamant that it’s unhelpful to find out, that knowing would have a detrimental impact on how you move forward in life, while Dad is still on the fence. I’ve been trying not to think about it that much, pushing the fear to the back of my mind. I want to enjoy my life in the here and now rather than worrying about what may or may not happen in the far future.
“Not as freaked out as I was before,” Dad admits. “I have an appointment with his neurologist in Nashville next week to talk things through before I make a decision. I’ve been Googling, but you know how the internet is. Better to speak directly to the experts, right? And I have you to consider too.”
My shoulders sink. If Dad doesn’t carry the gene, then neither will I. However, if hedoes. . .He’s not the only person he has to consider. “Yeah. I hope we get it all figured out.”
I sit down on the foot of my bed and slip on my heeled wedges, then reposition my sarong and grab my purse. Dad thinks heading out in a bikini is ridiculous and inappropriate, but I think he just has no clue what it means to be eighteen and attending an evening pool party. Forget about jean shorts and sneakers; it’s all about the swimwear glam.
“I’m going to head outside to wait for Tori,” I say, twirling over to Dad to hug him goodbye. “Enjoy your movie night with Popeye!”
Dad squeezes me tight and says, “I’m sure I’ll enjoySavingPrivate Ryanas much as I did all those other times he made me watch it twenty years ago.”
I make a stealthy exit from the house with a quick passing goodbye to Popeye and Sheri (Dad has already interrogated me enough about my outfit). It’s approaching eight and dusk is setting in, the sky a gorgeous canvas of blue and pink and gold, and the weather is as relentlessly warm as always here in Tennessee. It’s the perfect evening for a pool party.
As I open the gate and make my way out of the Harding Estate, I hear Tori’s old beater of a car before I see it. The exhaust hangs by a thread and drags along the concrete like nails on a chalkboard. A shiver runs down my spine, and Tori stalls the car as she pulls up in front of me with an oblivious, cheery wave. Maybe she shouldn’t have bought a manual car when she cannot, for the life of her, drive a goddamn stick shift.
“I hope you’re ready topartay!” she says as I hop in, then points to the grocery bag by my feet. “My brother decided to be cool for once and actually get us some beer. Just the cheap stuff, but it’s better than nothing. Oh, I can’t waitfor all the college parties!”
I peek into the bag. Okay, so maybe we willbe drinking tonight, but my dad doesn’t need to know that. And after all, Tori has a point. We are incoming college freshmen and partying is a rite of passage for the next few years.
“Iloveyour swimsuit!” I compliment, nodding in fascination at the super sexy one-piece Tori has chosen, complete with cut-outs around the waist and showcasing very generous cleavage. The shimmery gold material shines against her brown skin as she strikes a pose.
“Attention-grabbing, right?”
I raise a teasing eyebrow. “And whose attention are you trying to grab tonight, exactly?”
“No one’s,” she says quickly, then grasps the gear stick and continues down the road toward the Willowbank Ranch while I rack my brain for the names of any guys she has mentioned recently, but I come up empty-handed. So, Tori has a secret crush.
A couple of other cars pull up to the ranch at the same time as us and we follow behind them, bumping down the single-track road toward the Bennett home, and then park on the grass. We grab the beer and step out of the car to the sound of pumping music, and at first, all I can think is that the neighbors will surely call the cops with a noise complaint soon, but then I have to laugh– this isn’t LA. We aren’t in the city. Out here, there are no neighbors immediately next door, so Myles and Savannah can play their music as loud as they want.
“Hmm,” Tori says as we’re walking toward the rear of the house, toward the pool. “Look who actually showed up.”
I steal a glance over my shoulder and spot a motorcycle whizzing down the track. Its engine is aggressively loud and the rider parks on the grass alongside everyone else, hops off the bike, and whips off his helmet. It’s strange to see Teddycleanfor once. His thick blond hair is combed over to one side and he’s wearing fresh white sneakers, chino shorts and an open flannel shirt, revealing his torso. The only protective gear he’s wearing is a pair of leather gloves which he tugs off and stuffs inside his helmet.
“Hey, Teddy!” I call, raising my hand in the air. “Over here!”
“No! What are you doing?” Tori hisses, and when I blink at her in innocence, she huffs and stalks off with the beer. I don’t understand her dislike of Teddy and I’m definitely not going to freeze him out because of it. She’s entitled to her opinion, but he’s here by himself and we are the only people he knows.
“Hey, Mila!” he says, jogging over. “You look great.”
Sheepishly, I wrap my sarong a little tighter. “Thanks. I barely recognized you without the muddy boots and straw in your hair,” I joke. “You scrub up well.”
“Ah, well, I do try,” he says, pretending to swipe lint from his shoulder. “Nice place the Bennetts have here. Where’s Savannah?”
My role as wingwoman for the evening begins. “Let’s go find her.”
Teddy and I make our way toward all the action. Around the back of the house, the large pool is filled with floaties, including a giant pink flamingo upon which some girl poses candidly while another snaps pictures from all different angles. Instagram goals. Sun loungers and chairs circle the pool and a long table is set up on the grass, fully stocked with red solo cups and plenty of booze. The coolest addition to the backyard, however, are the strings of fairy lights woven all above that will no doubt make the whole pool area even more atmospheric as darkness falls. I imagine that was Savannah’s idea.
