I grab my keys and get out the front door before Chrissie can say anything to stop me.
We all pile back into my car and no one says a word until we’re driving down the road again.
Bobby breaks the silence with a harsh whistle. “That was weird. Really weird.”
I look into the rearview to find Zoe watching like a hawk. I shift my gaze back to Bobby. He’s staring at me as if waiting for me to explain, too.
Fuck.
“If you want to ask, then ask. I hate bullshit. I never do bullshit,” I snap, angry.
Bobby shrugs. “OK, a simple observation. It’s just what I saw on your face in there. Why do you hate your mom? Why do you hate the baby?”
My cheeks flush. I didn’t realize it was so obvious, and I’m feeling even worse now because I’m wondering if Chrissie can see it and if that’s why she is committed to tiptoeing around me these days.
“When did your mom have another kid?” Bobby adds. “I didn’t read anything about that in the online tabloids.”
I struggle for a controlled response. Nope, not happening. The words fight their way out of me. Fuck, I’m just going to tell them.
“Khloe is Alan Manzone’s newest donation to overpopulating the planet. Like there wasn’t enough of us without Daddy Dearest dumping another new bastard on our doorstep last August. At least that’s what Chrissie told me. That Alan Manzone is Khloe’s father. The truth this time. It was refreshing.”
There, I’ve said it. The very thing my mom has forbidden me from talking me about to anyone. But fuck, Chrissie, I can’t keep it bottled up inside me any longer.
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel.
Bobby searches my face. “No wonder you hate him.”
“I don’t understand.” Zoe is sweet, but a trifle slow.
Bobby turns toward the backseat. “Christ, Zoe, you can’t be that dumb.” Clearly it is beneath him to explain to her because he turns his focus back on me. “My mom never said a word. Does Linda know about the baby?”
I bite my lower lip.
I’ve already said too much.
Shit, I’m shaking my head anyway.
Why do I keep telling this guy my mom’s private shit?
“I don’t understand how or when,” Bobby says slowly, as if he can’t make sense of this. “Alan Manzone’s been on tour for a year. Are they together again? Does he fly in during the breaks to see your mom?”
I shake my head. “The night of Jesse Harris’s funeral was the last time my mom saw Alan. Only time they’ve been together in over a year. Makes it pretty clear what they did that night together.”
Bobby’s eyes widen.
God, it sounds even worse aloud than as a suspicion in my head.
“That’s fucked up,” he says in a heavy way that confirms he’s pieced this one together.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I whisper, feeling the tight lid on everything suddenly blown away. “Why do you think I’m so messed up? It just never ends. It just always is, my mom and Alan Manzone, and I can’t take it anymore. I mean, shit, couldn’t they think of a better time to start fucking again than with my stepdad still warm in the grave? It made me so angry when I saw Khloe and figured it out. She sent all us kids away the night of Jesse’s burial and when I came home I just knew. And then, there was Khloe nine months later. I just wanted to scream at her ‘how obvious is that, Chrissie?’”
I start to breathe in a rapid, overly emotional way. “Then, seeing Khloe, the truth about me became something I can’t pretend away. It’s so obvious we are not half sisters. And now I can’t push it from my head. Why does she lie to me? Or is it Alan? Does she lie to him and I just have to live with it? And now I’m angry all the time. Angry at her. Angry at Alan. Angry at the lying. Angry at the silence. I’m angry all the time. I usually feel like I’m going to explode. But I can’t. I’m not even supposed to tell people about Khloe.”
Bobby takes a moment to digest that thoughtfully. “You mean no one knows about the baby? Not even him?”
I shake my head. “And I’d really appreciate it if the two of you keep it that way. What I did to Mom back there, it wasn’t cool. Not cool at all. I don’t know what’s going on. But she hasn’t spoken to Alan since the funeral. I don’t want her hurt.”
I watch Bobby’s gaze shift to fix on my fingers clutching the steering wheel and it is then I see they are trembling even though they are curled around the wheel so tightly my knuckles are white. It is one thing to behave badly. It is another thing to feel the aftermath of something you’ve done to someone you love. I hurt Chrissie today and I did it on purpose. I start to cry.
“I am such a bitch!”
“Pull into that driveway,” Bobby says.
“Why?”
“You’re shaking. You shouldn’t drive when you’re upset. That’s where I live. We’ll hang here until you’re feeling better.”
I park the car and sit clutching the steering wheel and breathing heavily.
“Do you feel like getting out?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Fine. We can just sit here,” he murmurs soothingly.
We sit in the car for what seems like ages surrounded by my emotional heaviness. And then, no matter how I fight it, it happens again. Truth bubbling upward and out of me.
I fix my eyes on Bobby. “Something is very wrong. My mom won’t call Alan. They haven’t spoken in almost a year. That’s never happened before. I hate him, but I don’t want him gone forever. I don’t want to not see him anymore. He used to send me a present and a check every birthday and Christmas. I got nothing on my birthday this year. Not even a call. That’s never happened before. I don’t want him gone from my life for good.”
Bobby shakes his head. “Of course you don’t want him gone. Alan Manzone is your dad.”
Anger surges upward inside me at being misunderstood, because up to that point it seemed like Bobby was the one person who got me.
“No,” I hiss, aggravated, but for some reason explaining anyway. “I don’t want him gone until I know for certain he is my dad. Understand? I want him to admit it, explain to me why they’ve lied about it, apologize and then go away. Once I get the truth I won’t ever talk to him again.”
“You don’t mean that,” Zoe exclaims.
Cracking silence surrounds me in the car.
“Oh no, she means it,” Bobby says.
That he gets that without any sort of judgment reinstates his status with me.
I hear a cell phone beep, signaling a text, and watch him fish his phone from his pocket. He reads it quickly and clicks off the phone without responding. I don’t like the change of his expression.
“Your girlfriend?” I ask sharply, irritated by the flash of unexpected jealousy. Fuck, where did that come from? I arch a brow challengingly. “You can text her back if you want to.”
“Not my girlfriend,” he replies, annoyed.
“I don’t believe you. You look uncomfortable. We’ve just met. You don’t need to lie to me. Why do all guys lie about everything?”
I don’t know why I’m picking a fight with him, and certainly not such a lame fight since, jeez, we only just met today and even a crazy girl couldn’t think he owes her anything.
“I hate liars,” I repeat again argumentatively.
For the first time I see a flash of anger on his face. “All guys don’t lie. I don’t lie. Not ever, Kaley.”
He retrieves the phone, clicks to the text and tosses it at me. Pouty and feigning indifference, I glance at the screen.
Linda: Whose car is that? Who are those girls? What’s up, Brat? Afraid to introduce them to your crazy mom?
I toss the phone into his lap and start to laugh. “I thought Chrissie was bad. Your mom sends you texts from the house when you’re home?”
Zoe laughs. “Linda is so funny.”
“Yeah, but she is a pain in the ass,” Bobby says, opening his door and setting one leg out. “Do you want to come in?”