Becoming Mila by Estelle Maskame
24
Late Tuesday afternoon, I am parading the aisles of Walmart with Savannah and Tori on the hunt for a new hair dryer after Savannah’s blew up, but we’ve gotten distracted and now have a cart full of random unnecessary junk. We only popped in here after grabbing iced coffees from Dunkin’ Donuts down the street, but have now been wandering the aisles for almost an hour.
“Imagine having the nerve to walk out of your dad’s movie,” Tori says, posing in front of a mirror with a pair of bright red sunglasses that I believe are now the hundredth pair she’s tried on. “That’s bold, Mila. You literally give zero shits about who your dad is, and for that you have my utmost respect.”
“We’re going to see the movie on Friday,” Savannah says as she rounds a clothes rack with the overflowing cart, “but Myles said not to get my hopes up.” There’s a bag of Cheetos propped up in the kid’s seat – yeah, strapped in – which she has opened and is munching her way through as she continues to browse.
“Myles is right,” I agree with a laugh.
Although the opening weekend has racked in big bucks at the box office, the reviews have been less than stellar. Once upon a time there were rumors among the production executives of a fourth installment, but I imagine they’ll need to rethink how well a fourth movie would be received after the disaster that is the third.
Months ago, I would have been feeling disappointment, but now? I don’t really care. Dad is already so successful, he doesn’t need to be thrust even further into the stars. In fact, he could do with a reality check every once in a while.
Tori finally decides which three-dollar sunglasses are the most likely to last for more than a week (round, edged with diamante daisies), then tosses them into the cart. “Okay, but I still can’t believe you went to Honky Tonk Central and didn’t get kicked out. Is this what happens when you’re the kids of Everett Harding and the Mayor of Nashville? People make special exceptions, like letting minors stay illegally in their bars?”
“No one made any exceptions,” I say, playfully shoving a pouting Tori away from me. “We just hid ourselves at a table right at the back when it turned eight, and the bouncers walked right on by. We didn’t stay that late.”
“You stayed until one,” Savannah points out, cocking a brow at me and shoving another Cheeto in her mouth. Her earrings today, surprisingly, are plain studs. “That sounds like a pretty fun night to me.”
My thoughts drift off to scenes of last night, of Blake and I together at Honky Tonk Central. We shared the same platter of appetizers again that we had on my first visit, and because it was the weekend all three floors of the bar were packed from wall to wall with people having a good time. The music blared loud all night, and I couldn’t stop the rhythm from taking over my body. I left Blake behind at the table, shimmied my way over to the squashed dance floor, and lost myself in the music of the live band smashing out country hits. I blended straight in – not Everett Harding’s daughter, just Mila putting her dance classes to good use. I felt free and alive, dancing all night among strangers in the city I’m falling in love with, and Blake watched me for a while with an odd twinkle in his eye. Soon he joined me on the dance floor, spun me into his arms, and kissed me right there and then.
“We just listened to the music and danced a little,” I say, keeping my head tilted down.
“Oh, is that all?” Savannah says, raising an eyebrow.
“Let me think . . .” Tori grins. “And stuck your tongue down his throat?”
My face heats a bit and I grin sheepishly as Savannah and Tori squeal with delight, bouncing on the balls of their feet. Savannah rams the cart out of the way, nearly knocking a mannequin to the floor, and shakes me by the shoulders.
“See? I knew it. I am psychic when it comes to these things!”
“Oh, shut up, you mystic weirdo,” Tori says, shoving Savannah to the side and stepping in front of me. “You are now officially my idol. Not only did you waltz out of your dad’s movie, you did it so you could spend the night kissing Blake Avery. You are living my eighth-grade dream!”
“Tori! We’re talking about my cousin here, remember?”
“You don’t care that he’s your cousin when Mila is the one who gets to kiss him!”
“Guys,” I say, holding my arm out between them, a grin still spread wide across my face. “Chill.”
“Let’s go back to the ice cream,” Tori decides with a dramatic flourish. “I need to drown my sorrows.”
We finally finish up at Walmart fifteen minutes later and we head out into the parking lot where Tori’s older brother, Jacob, waits for us. We are laden with bags full of ice cream, snacks, sunglasses, a disposable grill, and of course a hair dryer, among a thousand other things. As we haphazardly stack the bags into the trunk of the car, I receive a text from Blake Avery himself that reads:
Hey honky-tonk-loving Mila who knocked out the killer dance moves last night. Where are you?
I hope he’s not looking for me back at the Harding Estate. I quickly text back:
Walmart with a cart load of crap. You?
Our responses become pretty instant as we fire them back and forth.
BLAKE: Home. Wanna come over?
MILA: Is your mom there?
BLAKE: All clear at the Avery abode.
MILA: See you soon!
I climb into the backseat of the car and, as Jacob navigates out onto the highway, I clear my throat and say, “I was wondering if maybe you guys could take me to Blake’s.”
“Okay, now that stings, Mila,” Tori huffs, but her eye roll reassures me that there’s no hard feelings. “Jacob, head over to the mayor’s house.”
As we drive down Fairview Boulevard, Savannah analyzes me with an inquisitive gaze. “What does my aunt think of the two of you?”
My smile fades and I turn my attention to the passing stores outside the window. “Oh – um – I’ve only met her a few times. I don’t think she’s picked up on it yet,” I lie, adopting a clear voice and utilizing those acting genes of mine again.
From what Blake has told me, Savannah and Myles have no idea that once upon a time Everett Harding was destined to be their uncle. After all, Dad’s engagement to LeAnne happened before any of us were ever born, and it’s not the kind of history you bring up out of nowhere. Plus, they don’t ever need to know . . . The fewer people who do, the better. That’s why I can’t talk about the fact that LeAnne does not like me. At all.
Fairview becomes more familiar to me with each week that passes, so I know Blake’s house isn’t far when I recognize the outskirts of his neighborhood. Butterflies build in my stomach the way they always do whenever I’m around him and my body tingles with nervous excitement, even though I know by now that I should be over these nerves. You know him, Mila. He’s not a stranger anymore.
But I can’t help thinking that maybe it’s a good thing that he still makes me nervous even now.
As we pull up outside his house, the butterflies in my stomach die. LeAnne’s Tesla is parked on the driveway alongside Blake’s truck. He said she wasn’t home, but that was ten minutes ago. Maybe she returned home from her office in Nashville early, maybe a meeting was cut short . . . All I know is that she’s here, but so am I now. I can’t just ask Jacob to keep on driving.
“Have fun!” Savannah says cheerfully.
“But not too much!” Tori adds with a saucy wink.
Swallowing, I step out and wave them goodbye as the car disappears down the street, and then I turn for the house. I know by now not to use the front door and to head around the back, but I’m only halfway up the driveway when I hear the gate swinging open.
Blake rushes toward me, but rather than flashing me his usual gorgeous smile, he is wide-eyed and shaking his head fast. When he reaches me, he grasps my wrists and pants, “Mila, hell, I’m so sorry.”
“What?”
“I don’t even know what to – wait.” Blake cuts himself off and the color instantly drains from his face, leaving him pale and unrecognizable. “What?”
My heart skips a few beats, sending my heartbeat out of sync. Palpitations throb painfully in my chest as I look down at his clenched hands around my wrists. “What are you talking about?”
Blake stares at me in absolute horror. “I just saw it . . . But you don’t . . . You don’t know.”
“Know what?” I whisper in fear. I don’t want to hear his answer, because I know already that whatever it is I don’t know, it is something bad. My stomach twists with agonizing dread. The sudden change from excitement to terror has sent me lightheaded and I feel utterly blank until my phone vibrates.
Blake lets go of my wrists, but still I don’t reach for my phone as he runs his hands through his hair, gripping the ends and pulling hard. “Hell, Mila. I shouldn’t be the one who tells you. I don’t know how to.”
“Oh, Blake. Put the poor girl out of her misery.”
Blake and I flinch at the sound of LeAnne’s voice. We turn to the porch where she has appeared, her hands on the porch railing as though she has been leaning out to listen. She tuts under her breath, then descends the porch steps and approaches us on the driveway.
“Mila, have you really not heard yet?” she asks, eyes flashing the same way they did that night after the bonfire. She stops a mere two feet away from me and looks me up and down with a pitying frown. “Do you really not know? I would have thought you’d be the first.”
“Mom. Don’t you – don’t you fucking dare,” Blake hisses, taking a threatening step toward his mother. He blocks me off from her as though to shield me, and I notice his hands are balled into fists by his side.
LeAnne sighs as though this is all merely an inconvenience to her. She flips her hair over her shoulder and fixes Blake with a glare as equally threatening as his, the animosity intensifying. “What have I told you about using that language with me?”
“Mila, get in the truck,” Blake orders, reaching behind him in search of my hand. He doesn’t look away from his mom as he says, “We’re leaving.”
Blake pulls me away from her, his steps quick and desperate as he fumbles for his keys. His grip is tight around my hand, like he’s terrified of letting go. My head spins even faster, as if in time with my phone as it vibrates more persistently.
“Mila, don’t you think you deserve to know?” LeAnne calls out, the cruel edge to her voice unmistakable. “It seems only fair – apparently your father hasn’t changed much over the years.”
I dig my heels into the ground and root myself to the spot, pulling my hand free from Blake’s. I need to know what the hell is going on, and I need to know now. My heart is slamming around inside my chest so hard that I worry I may go into cardiac arrest if I am kept in this state for a second longer.
I march back over to LeAnne, my chin tilted up to face her and my teeth clenched tight. I stare unflinchingly into her dark eyes that so resemble Blake’s. “Tell me,” I demand. “Right now.”
“Mom!” Blake pleads, and I hear him slam his hand against his truck. The ding of metal rings out around the street. “Don’t. She shouldn’t hear it from you. Let me be the one to tell her.”
“I don’t have to tell Mila anything,” LeAnne says coolly. “I can just show her. Share it with her.” She steps back, breaking our intense eye contact, and pulls out her phone from her purse. Unlocking the device, she taps at her screen for the longest few seconds of my life, then turns it around and holds it up in front of my eyes. “There, Mila.”
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.
Shock grips me like a vice and my blood runs cold so fast that my legs go weak and I nearly topple over from the sudden disorientation. But I catch the meaning of the words on the screen before it blurs and the headline distorts until it no longer makes sense.
EVERETT HARDING AND LAUREL PEYTONTAKE THEIR AFFAIR OFF-SCREEN
I press my fingertips into my eyes until I can focus again. Then, I home in on the photograph beneath the headline. A shot so zoomed in that it’s fuzzily pixelated, but there is no denying the truth it shows – in the shadowy, dim corner of a restaurant, Dad has Laurel pulled in close against him, his hands around her body and his mouth against hers. They aren’t in costume. They aren’t on set. This isn’t a scene rehearsal.
This is my dad passionately kissing another woman.
In real life.
“Looks like the old adage is true,” LeAnne says, lowering her phone. “Once a cheater, always a cheater.”
Blake has rushed to my side, but my body no longer feels like something I have any control of. His voice sounds muffled, my vision is nothing but a blur, my hands are trembling and numb. I vaguely feel him pulling at me, trying to guide me away from LeAnne, but my legs have turned to lead.
“Mila. Mila, c’mon,” he pleads, his voice breaking in sympathy. “Let’s go somewhere. Anywhere.”
“I . . . I need to go home,” I croak, blinking hard in an attempt to regain my focus. The world is spilling out of control, stretching and expanding, leaving me unbalanced and wrecked. I can make out LeAnne’s outline still standing over me, watching. The buzzing of my phone seems to grow louder and louder.
“I’ll drive you home!” Blake says determinedly, interlocking our hands and pulling me even harder. “C’mon, get in the truck.”
“Mila, Blake is right,” LeAnne says, and her voice softens as though she may genuinely feel sorry for me, despite everything. “Go with him. Let him take you home.”
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. They don’t understand. “I need to go home.”
My world has shattered. I can’t stay here in Fairview right now – I need to go home; I need to go back to California. Have Sheri and Popeye seen this breaking headline yet? Has Mom? Oh, Mom . . . Tears erupt all at once, spilling down my cheeks in hot waves. This will blow my family apart. I need to go. I need to leave.
Tearing myself free from Blake’s grip, I back away from him and LeAnne slowly, willing my strength to return. Through my tears, a semblance of vision forms, and I see their expressions. LeAnne’s arms are folded across her chest, but she bites down hard on her lower lip as her gaze is filled with what I can only assume is empathy from someone who fully understands the price of betrayal. By her side, her son stares at me, open-mouthed. His expression is different – his dark eyes flooded with panic, for we both know what it means if I go home.
“Mila, wait!” Blake calls out, his voice cracking. Then, louder, he begs, “Don’t go! Not like this!”
But I turn my back on him, and I run.