Page 97 of The Princess and the Paparazzi
Are you punking me?
he replies immediately.
No, why?
I have always wanted to sleep in a yurt and watch the archers shooting bows with their feet while riding on horseback. Two words: Bucket. List.
I smile and reply to the invite. It can’t hurt to get more info.
My phone buzzes with more incoming texts.
Lorelei! What the hell. We’re on the phone with Rafe’s people and the studio, and we did not agree to any of this!
Took the advisory board a little longer than I expected. The photos from Disney have been out since last night. I delete the message and close the app, even though I am dying to text Rafe and pump him for more info. Rafe is into Kenna. Kenna is into Rafe. Is it weird for him that she looks so much like me? Is she really able to look past his disgusting troll toes and too-perfect lashes? And what about Naomi? Surely, she’s not taking any of this sitting down.
I’m going to need all the deets. But not just yet.
Flight 1229 from Santa Ana, CA has just landed.
My flight-tracking app pings me, and I swing out toward the white zone, wondering if I’ll have any trouble recognizing Kenna in the crowd. Stupid.
When I see her waiting patiently on the curb for me, my heart races. Once again, I’m struck by the similarities between us, although I see plenty of differences as well. The angle of our eyes. The length of our fingers. It’s the kind of stuff that the people who are closest to us might notice. But, as we both know from experience, the rest of the world sort of paints those things out. Sort of the way everyone accepts retouched photos and filters. We have internalized ideas about appearances that don’t always match with what we see, and we’re willing to excuse that.
After I pull over, I jump out of the car to give Kenna a big hug.
“God, I’m glad to see you,” I say, throwing my arms around her and feeling tears come to my eyes. “I had no idea how hard you work and how awesome you are. And I know this is going to sound weird, but I really, really missed you.”
“That’s so funny,” she says, hugging me back. “I was going to say pretty much the same thing.”
* * *
“I don’t understand.” Kenna is looking from the photos to me, and back to the photos, her eyes wide. “Where did you get these?”
“I sort of stole them,” I admit.
“From where?”
“From your uncles’ house the other day when the realtor was showing it. Cody is a total fucking tool, by the way. Please tell me you’re never getting back together with that guy.”
“You met Cody? And he was in my house? What the fuck, Lorelei? What the hell is going on here?” Kenna’s looking agitated now, and I can tell she is tired, too. There are dark circles under her eyes.
Oops. Probably not the best time to mention Cody.
“Well, you and Rafe didn’t tell me you canned Tabitha,” I say. “Who’s going to mist me with ice water when I fall asleep at rehearsals now?”
“Tabitha was a psycho,” Kenna says. “Rafe did you a favor. We didn’t want to bug you with it.”
“And I didn’t think you needed to drop everything because your dumb ex, Cody, was the one the realtor was showing the house to. I watched him like a hawk, told him his junk was inadequate, and talked him out of making an offer, which”—I pause here—“your uncles never would have accepted anyway, right?”
“Right,” she says. “I justhatethe idea of him even being in the house.”
“I get that,” I agree. “We may want to go back there and burn some sage. But back to the photos.” I tap the table, full of nervous excitement. “Recognize anyone?”
“Well, obviously, I recognize this one.” Kenna picks up the photo of her mom holding both of us on her lap. “This is my mom, and this was another one of the kids in the adoption group when she came to get me. Their agency sent a whole group of Americans over together to pick up their kids at the same time. Apparently, according to my uncle Nick, this little girl wouldn’t leave me alone. She was constantly trying to climb into my stroller and hold me and didn’t want to go anywhere with her own mom.” Kenna considers this for a moment. “That really must have sucked for her. Poor woman.”
“Uh-huh,” I nod, pointing at the pictures of myself, trying to climb into the stroller, and the other one of me sitting with her uncle Nick.
“Yeah, that’s the same kid. And that’s my uncle Nick. Remember I said he traveled with my mom to come get me? He must have been trying to help her mom out.” Kenna leans back. “I’m not sure how I feel about you digging photos out of my family album, Lorelei. That’s a little inappropriate, don’t you think?”
