Page 37 of For The Record

“Anyway, I’m feeling loads better now,” she says. Immediately, she turns green, her face betraying her.

“Riiight.” I offer her my arm. “Do you want to go back to dinner?”

She shakes her head. “Maybe I’ll just go home and get a good night’s sleep.”

“Call me if you need anything.” I try to smile at her, feeling absolutely useless.

“Thanks.” Shakily, she steps out of the bathroom and makes her way back to the dining room to say her goodbyes. I’m about to follow her out, but then I spot something in the bathroom: her purse. I grab it and I’m about to run out to give it back to her, when one of the pockets unzips and spills its contents onto the bathroom floor, revealing her Michael Kors wallet, an unopened tampon, lipstick, her keys, and… a pregnancy test.

My jaw drops, my heart plummeting to the pit of my stomach.

Is she pregnant?

I shake some sense back into myself and with trembling fingers, stuff the items back into her bag and zip up the compartment before running out after her. Her wallet, though, I leave on the bathroom counter. She’s acting weirdly, and I need to know why. I need collateral. “Izzy,” I blurt out. “You left your bag.”

To my surprise, she doesn’t just accept it and say bye. She takes it and hugs me, resting her chin on the crown of my head. Her bony arms wrap around me, and her collarbone juts out, digging into my shoulder. Our hugs are few and far between—I can’t remember the last time we so much as high-fived. Yet this feels not only awkward but desperate. Like she’s about to be dragged somewhere she doesn’t want to go, and is fighting with all her might to stay here, in our family home. “Thanks, baby sis.”

We break apart, and I rub my hands over my arms, suddenly hit with a wave of goosebumps as well as the smell of her vanilla perfume. “You’re welcome. I’ll… see you at Christmas, then,” I say as she makes an immediate beeline for the door.

“See you,” she says breezily, before sliding oversized sunglasses onto her face, blocking out any expression she might dare to show. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

I suffer through the rest of the dinner, fielding questions about when I’m going to find a nice guy and get married. Even though I’m twenty-five, not thirty-five, I guess Hollywood isn’t so progressive after all. Finally, eating mini creme brulees and sending a half-hearted text to Leo that part of me hopes he doesn’t answer, I’ve stayed an appropriate amount of time and say my goodbyes to Heidi and my father.

“Good night.” I hug Heidi, her petite frame and scent of Chanel no. 5 engulfing me.

She echoes the greeting when she pulls away and nudges my father with an elbow, not subtly enough for me to ignore.

Samuel Holland looks up from his phone, claps a hand on my shoulder. “Happy Thanksgiving, honey. Drive safe.”

I force a smile, and my fingers curl into fists at my sides. We were never close, but… neutral. Maybe. “Of course.”

Fathers. I try to ignore it, to distract myself from the thought of my own father with the thought of someone else’s—if Antonio Perez even is Leo’s dad. When I get home, I pull out my phone and look up Antonio Perez’s name.

No mention of Leo; Isabelle’s right about that. Then again, why do I even care? Is it mere curiosity? Or could it be that I… That I actually see a future with him? That I want to know more about him?

If it’s the latter, isn’t this just creepy stalking?

After half an hour of scrolling, I come up empty. Leo’s text buzzes my phone.

Feeling guilty, I shut down my laptop and respond.

My curiosity can wait.

#

@ENews: Antonio Perez’s fiancee just posted the cutest pic of her Thanksgiving! Check it out!

@Ttang: isn’t that his fourth wife?

@OllieJames: @TTang: fifth I think

@ZR789: @OllieJames @Ttang It’s the 3rd. Check Wikipedia

Chapter 18: Leo Perez

I check my phone when I get out of the office around eight pm. I’ve been there for almost twelve hours now, managing this crisis along with helping to put out a dozen other fires.

Ten missed calls. Fifteen unread messages. Two Snapchat notifications. All from my little sister.

---