Page 28 of The Princess and the Paparazzi
I feel the unfamiliar slip of satiny, cotton sheets against my skin and open one eye. Instead of the familiar sight of dust motes flickering through beams of sunlight in my garage apartment, I’m greeted by near darkness and treated air. A diffuser in the corner emits a faint, blue light and makes a light hissing sound as it emits a quick burst of carefully calibrated lavender and eucalyptus scented mist.
“Kenna? Are you there?” Tabitha calls out again.
“Just a minute!” I croak.What time is it?I look at my phone. It’s 10 a.m.! When was the last time I slept in till 10 a.m.? I can’t recall.
I fumble my way to the door and let Tabitha in, excusing myself immediately to go pee. Worry about the diner trails me into the bathroom. How did Lorelei manage the morning rush? She seemed to get the hang of the coffee machine last night in our practice session, pulling off a half-decent mocha macchiato, but there’s more to making coffee than just pushing buttons. You have to set your intent. I’m not sure she understood that part.
And what about the regulars? I made her a list of all the people and drink orders that I could remember, but now I’m remembering people I left off it. I should probably text her with those.
“Have you heard anything from Lorelei?” I join Tabitha in the kitchen. “She hasn’t texted me.” I hold up my phone.
In fact, nobody has texted me in the last ten hours. Not Lorelei, not Georgia, not Carlos, or Angie, and not the uncles. No texts. Nada. No wonder I slept so hard. I should be grateful, but instead, it makes me uneasy. Being on everyone’s fast dial is kind of my thing.
“Can I make you some coffee?” I ask Tabitha, looking through the cabinets and locating pods.
Pods. Ugh.
“Oh, yes,” Tabitha says. “I would love it if you would make my coffee. I buy whatever flavors are on sale. Make me salted caramel, please. Make sure the machine is set to extra dark.” She pauses. “Oh, and make sure the reservoir is filled with fresh spring water. That’s what I prefer.” She settles into a chair at the counter, primly crossing her legs at the ankle.”
I pull out a mug and a “Salted Caramel Latte” pod and try not to shudder as I smell the artificial flavoring. I’m going to have to scare up a frother and a French press at the very least if I’m going to survive the week here.
“Not that mug,” she corrects me pertly. “I prefer the white one, to the right.” I return the pink mug in my hand. I reach for the mug she’s indicated, an oversize, white mug with a golden handle and a large, loopy letter “L.”
“Cream and sugar?” I ask, her coffee on the table.
“Just cream. There’s some in the fridge, I think.” Tabitha is opening the package with the kits. “So these DNA tests are pretty self-explanatory. Evenyoushould be able to figure them out. I spoke to the lab, and they will put a rush on them. You just have to swab your cheek for one, and spit for the other. You should wait for a few hours after eating and drinking or brushing your teeth, though.” She pauses, considering before she asks her question. “So what do you think? Honestly. Do you really think you and Lorelei are actually related?”
She asks me this like she’s asking me if I believe in Bigfoot.
“Who knows?” I set the creamer on the table. French vanilla. More artificial flavoring. Yuck. “Hope this is okay,” I say.
“It’s my fave!” Tabitha licks her lips. “Lorelei doesn’t drink coffee. So I mostly stocked stuff I like. Hope you’re okay with it.”
“I’ll manage,” I say. “Thanks for bringing the kits by, I really appreciate it. This is all pretty weird.”
“What’s on tap for today?” Tabitha asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, feeling a slight sense of panic. I have no plans for the day. Nothing. No drinks to make, no photos to take, no friends to meet, no aging uncles to assist. I have no idea what I’ll do with myself!
“Where’s that schedule?” I ask Tabitha.
She stands and retrieves the clipboard from the kitchen counter. “It’s here. But there’s nothing on here foryouto do.”
“Nothing?” I ask. “What would Lorelei normally do on a day with nothing planned?” If I was home, I would clean my kitchen or organize my closet. But there’s staff to clean here. The kitchen is immaculate, and every sock and bobby pin in Lorelei’s closet is thoroughly organized.
“Lorelei doesn’t have idle days with nothing planned. She’s always prepping for a role, doing research, strategizing with her team, or meeting with her stylists and estheticians.” Tabitha is speaking to me like I should already know this.I don’t like Tabitha.
“Okay, so what does she do when she has a few hours off?”
“She’s a big reader. She averages two to three books per week. I can pull her TBR list up on her Kindle if you think you’re up to it.” Tabitha looks down doubtfully.
I don’t even know what a TBR list is. I only know what a Kindle is because Uncle Nick likes to read his space operas on his. I saw all the books on Lorelei’s nightstand, but dyslexia has always made reading a chore for me. I’d rather listen to books or, better yet, see a movie.
“Anything else?” I ask.
“She’s always working out. Never misses a day. And she likes to hike.”
None of this is convincing me that we share any of the same DNA.
