Lauren Conrad - Infamous

“How’s Luke?” Cassandra asked as she rummaged through a drawer. “Where is that meat thermometer?” she muttered.

“He’s good. I think.” Carmen paused. “We talked the other day, but what with the time difference and the long shooting hours—”

“Distance can make keeping in touch difficult,” Cassandra said.

Carmen nodded. She missed Luke a lot, actually, and she wished she knew if it was more than she ought to. Things were so . . . unstated between them. Was he thinking about her as much as she was thinking about him? There was no way to know.

Unless, of course, she simply came out and asked him. But she didn’t have the guts. How ironic: In the role of Julia Capsen, Carmen swears her undying love to him. But as herself, she couldn’t ask if she was his girlfriend. “Well, I’m sure things will work out between you two,” her mother said with a smile.

That was Cassandra: always the optimist.

Of course, it was also possible that she simply wanted to change the subject. Because when Carmen made a vague noise of assent, Cassandra launched into some long story about a feud between two of their neighbors that had ended with one of them taking a golf club to the other one’s vintage Corvette.

The chicken was done and resting on the counter, and Carmen had heard more about her neighbors than she ever cared to know, when Philip Curtis burst in through the back door.

“Smells delicious in here,” he said. He gave Cassandra a kiss that lasted a bit too long for Carmen’s taste, and then came over and grabbed Carmen in a bear hug. “I’ve missed you, CC,” he said into her hair.

Carmen hugged her dad back. “I missed you, too,” she said. “You big oaf.”

He put his hands on his ample belly. “I’ll have you know that I’ve lost two and a half pounds in the last month,” he said.

“Careful, Dad, you might waste away,” Carmen teased.

“I know,” he said. “Hurry, let’s sit down and eat.”

At the table, Philip raised his glass in the same toast he’d been making for as long as Carmen could remember. “A toast to my amazing wife and daughter. May they remain forever beautiful and never grow tired of me.”

“Never,” said Cassandra, beaming at him.

“Where’s Drew?” Philip asked, turning to Carmen. “I thought he’d be here.”

Carmen sliced into her chicken. “I believe he’s spending the evening surgically reattaching himself to my roommate,” she said.

“Oh! Well then,” Philip said. He took a sip of wine. “I guess we’re the ones who’ll have all the fun.”

Cassandra smiled gently at her daughter. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” Carmen said breezily. “I’m super happy for him.”

This was about ten percent true. Maybe twenty on a good day. Her mother’s glance suggested that she might understand this. But thankfully, she didn’t press the issue.

Carmen leaned back against the leather cushion of her chair. It was so nice to be home. The rooms were big and beautifully decorated. The couches were soft and draped with cashmere throws. Her bathroom was still stocked with her favorite beauty products, and her childhood bed, with its pale blue quilt and pristine white sheets, was upstairs, practically begging for her to crawl into it.

Oh, and the chicken her mother had made tasted even better than it smelled. Even with all of L.A.’s finest restaurants minutes from her doorstep, Carmen would choose her mother’s cooking every time.

She remembered how Madison had moved in with her father but pretended to still live with Gaby. Could she do that? Live here in Topanga, where the air smelled like lavender and eucalyptus and the refrigerator was always stocked with organic salads? Everything would be so much easier.

“So, you guys,” she said, sparingly buttering a slice of baguette. “I was thinking about my . . . living arrangements.”

“Oh, I’m glad you brought that up,” Cassandra said. “Your father and I have been talking about it.”

They’re going to invite me back home, Carmen thought happily. That is so fantastic, because I am really sick of Sushi Express.

Cassandra beamed at her. (She was doing a lot of beaming tonight, wasn’t she?) “We are so proud of you for living on your own. You’re learning so much—more than you even know. Remember that both your father and I left home at seventeen.”

“Yeah, yeah, and you fell in love when you were twenty-one,” Carmen said. She knew the whole gooey, romantic story and she didn’t need to hear it again. She wanted to get to the part where her mom told her she should move back in.

“Anyway, we think that it’s exactly the right thing for you at this time in your life,” Cassandra said. “As much as we miss you, we feel that it’s important for you to be independent.”

Carmen, surprised, looked toward her father. He nodded.

“Independence,” he said. “It’s one of the greatest gifts a parent can give his child.” He paused to spear a piece of chicken. “Besides good looks. But your mother handled that, didn’t she?” He mugged for her, but Carmen couldn’t smile.

She felt like she was having trouble breathing. But she wouldn’t let them see that. “Sure,” she said. “Of course. That’s totally what I was thinking.”

She was too proud to ask them about taking the block off the credit card. She’d have to suck it up. Which meant she’d probably need to take back those Rick Owens boots she bought with Lily and Fawn a mere three hours ago.

It was ironic, Carmen thought. You spent your whole childhood wanting to be a grown-up, and then when you became one, you wished your parents would just keep on taking care of you.

And when they refused? Well, you were on your own.

She thought back to her afternoon with Fawn and Lily and felt grateful to them all over again. Thank goodness she had friends to count on.

Kate gazed out the window of Todd P. Barrows’s office in downtown L.A. She could see the Staples Center in the near distance, its red lights flickering in the misty, late January rain.

“Carrie Underwood played there the other night,” Todd said, appearing over her shoulder. “Didn’t quite sell out, though.”

Kate turned around to face her new manager. “How could you sell that place out? It must seat, like, fifteen thousand people.” She couldn’t imagine ever playing somewhere like that.

“Try twenty,” Todd said, steering her over to a chair on the opposite side of his desk.

Kate felt too agitated to sit, but she knew she needed to give PopTV “the most felicitous camera angle,” as Stephen Marsh had put it. So she sat down before he could send her a bossy text. (Kate found the new producer totally annoying, and couldn’t for the life of her understand why Sophia thought he was cute. Sometimes she wondered if the feeling was mutual—though she was pretty sure that was a wedding band on Stephen’s finger.)

Drew was seated in the chair next to her, looking oddly relaxed. He smiled at Kate, and she knew that if she were capable of being calmed down, Drew would be the one to do it. He’d brought her breakfast in bed that morning—Froot Loops, of course—and he’d offered his opinions on all nine outfits she’d nervously tried on, attempting to find the right mix of perky and punk. (Luke never would have had the patience for that: Drew was The Best.)

“Can I get you some water?” Todd asked. “Tea? Coffee?”

Kate shook her head so quickly it hurt her brain. She really needed to chill. “No thanks.”

Todd smiled. “Don’t be so anxious. It’s not like you’ve never been here before. Also, Drew—tell her about the beverage rule.”