She has good points, dammit, though I prefer throwing my dad under the bus to blaming Mom. She’s been quietly disappearing nearly every afternoon for about an hour and a half, and I haven’t seen her drink a drop in almost two months. I suspect she’s attending the AA meetings Dori suggested, but I haven’t asked and don’t plan to.
‘You’re right – they pretty much across-the-board sucked ass as parents. And yet you think you’ll do a better job than any of them? At your age? By yourself? And with your proclivity for partying and screwing around?’
‘God-fucking-dammit, Reid – you have no right to preach at me about screwing around –’
‘Not to mention your language – and before you try to turn that around, remember that I’m not saying I want to raise a kid. And I don’t give a shit who you sleep with, otherwise –’
‘I party to keep from being bored – or haven’t you ever done that?’ She knows damned well I’ve done exactly that. ‘We’re single, young celebrities. Partying is expected. It’s practically an unspoken part of my PR strategy. I’ve never given an actual shit about doing it – I’m more than happy to ditch it. My public relations machine will just have to switch gears. And by the way – my sex life, not that it’s any of your business, is heavily fabricated. I’m more particular than the media portrays me to be.’
She’s making too much sense, and she’s thought this all the way out – which is even more alarming. ‘Okay, fine, whatever – but you have to admit that having a kid to raise will interfere with your socializing, whatever form it takes, not to mention your filming schedule.’
‘Will it? How? Newsflash – lots of actors have children.’
‘Not when they’re twenty and alone.’
She’s silent for two beats, and I think that maybe she’ll be reasonable. But no.
‘I’ll be twenty-one in three months, and I’m not without resources and support. But more importantly, you’re missing the point of this call. I’m not trying to convince you of the rightness of my actions or my suitability as a parent. I’m informing you, not asking your permission. If you’d rather I didn’t keep you informed, I won’t. It’s that simple.’
Shit. ‘No – I want to know. I mean, he’s … he’s mine, right? Jesus.’ My heart rate has doubled during this conversation. ‘Brooke, I haven’t told anyone about him.’
‘No kidding.’
‘I mean no one. My parents don’t know. George doesn’t know. John doesn’t know. God … My girlfriend doesn’t know.’
If I wasn’t manoeuvring through snarled LA traffic, I would take a five-second timeout and beat my damned head on the steering wheel. While counting.
‘I saw that online this morning – so it’s true? You have a girlfriend. An actual non-celeb, pastor’s daughter girlfriend. Who you met during court-ordered community service? I was sure the whole thing was all some sort of clever public relations scam to help you dodge your recent weed-smoking, DUI-allegations image.’
‘No scam. It’s real.’
‘Jesus. I don’t even – I’m speechless. You’ve actually managed to shock me.’
‘Well, ditto. This insane conversation is jam-packed with shocking. You want to be someone’s mother, and I want to be someone’s boyfriend.’ I can’t help but laugh, and she joins in, and soon we’re both laughing so hard we can’t stop. ‘We’ve come a long way, Brooke.’
‘Yeah,’ she says softly. ‘We have.’
‘So what now?’
She takes a deep breath before answering. ‘I meant what I said before – I mean to claim River as mine, but I don’t intend to reveal his paternity. So if you want to keep it to yourself, you can.’
‘River? That’s his name? Did you name him – you know, before –’
‘No. The people who adopted him named him. I don’t know why they chose it. Maybe they knew my name and they thought River was a play on it. Maybe they named him after someone. Maybe they named him for the colour of his eyes …’
‘He has blue eyes? I guess that’s not surprising in a kid we’d make.’ I still can’t wrap my head around this fact.
‘They aren’t just blue, Reid – they’re your eyes. He looks like the photos of you that your mom kept in the family room, the ones on top of that baby grand no one ever played.’
My curiosity overrides any sense I’ve got, and I want to know what he looks like.
Brooke, reading my mind, says, ‘Bethany only gave me one photo of him, but I’ll scan it and send it to you, if you want.’
‘Brooke – are you sure about this? What you’re doing? It sounds like he’s had a tough time. You might mean well, but …’
‘I’m sure. I’ll send the photo in a few minutes – I’ll get Kathryn to scan it.’
‘So how long will it be until – you have him?’
‘The attorney said four to six months until I can even lay hands on him.’
‘What?’
‘I know, right? Finally – someone who gets my reaction. I about shit a brick.’
This still feels completely unreal. ‘How will that work? You have to come back to LA to film the show, right?’