The Gravity Between Us (New Adult Contemporary Romance) (7 page)

“Cut!” resounds from behind the camera. I have to force myself to stop. “That was perfect, ladies. It’s a wrap, people!”

Everyone cheers except me and Rebecca. She grabs her pants from the floor. I pick up my shirt. We sit back down on the bed, avoiding each other’s gaze as we dress.

She looks at me when we’re both fully clothed. “That was…”

“Intense,” we say in unison.

“I was thinking about Tom the whole time and getting thrown off. You know, due to the lack of stubble.” She rubs her chin and giggles.

“Yeah, I bet.” I don’t want to tell her who I was thinking about. “So, wrap party?”

“Hell yes.”

❄ ❄ ❄

I receive a wake-up call from the front desk at nine. Having left the post-wrap party a mere four hours earlier, nine in the morning seems like such an ungodly hour. I shouldn’t have stayed out so late, and I
definitely
shouldn’t have downed so much wine, but I really had to get out of my own obnoxious brain. Predictably, the brain I had to get out of so badly is currently paying me back by hammering incredibly hard against the sides of my skull.

Ricky arrives at 9:45 to drive me to the airport. I say hello to him and try to help him load my luggage into the car. He doesn’t allow it. “Have yet to play this keyboard, huh?” He taps the large box as he places it in the trunk. I made a pact with myself that the first time I’d take the keyboard out of its packaging would be the start of my first official lesson with Payton.
Payton
. Her birthday is this Friday. I haven’t been around to celebrate her birthday with her in years.

“I haven’t had much time.”

He opens the door. I scoot into the backseat.

“Are you ready to head on home?” he asks once he’s in the driver’s seat.

Home
. Yes, I’m ready to go home. I grab my Blackberry from my handbag, scroll through the contacts, and press the call button.

“Wilhelm and Bettencourt Architectural,” my father’s secretary answers.

“Sandra? Hi, it’s Kendall.” Sandra is great. She’s always so up-beat and makes a big deal when anyone calls the office, not just me. “Is my dad around?”

“Oh, hi honey! Glad to hear from you! Hold on a second. I’ll patch you through to his office.”

The line rings and rings and rings.

“Hey Pumpkin,” my dad answers cheerfully. No matter how old I get or how long it’s been since I’ve seen or talked to him, I’ll always be his Pumpkin. “You were all over
The Inquirer
a few weeks ago. Way to go.” He laughs.

My dad. I miss him so much. And my
real
friends. And air that isn’t so smoggy. And the view of New York City from across the Hudson. The list of things I miss goes on and on. “Yeah, I thought you’d be glad to see I was having ever so much fun on location.”

“I was glad. Naturally, your mother was in shambles over it.”

It’s my turn to laugh before getting very quiet. “Daddy, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“I was wondering…” I feel peculiar, and it’s completely unreasonable. This is the man I still call daddy, I’m talking to. “I was wondering if I could come stay with you and Mom for a while? Two weeks, tops. Maybe until a couple of days after Thanksgiving?” The only downside to this plan is that I’ll have to spend more time with my mother than I’d like, but it’ll be worth it if I get to hang out with my dad and my friends.

He’s silent for a second. “Kendall, you don’t ever have to ask to stay with us. It’s your home, too. Is everything all right?”

I want to ramble off the list of things I miss, tell him that I feel unbelievably lonely even though the entirety of humankind seems to be fixated on me. “Everything’s fine. I just need to get away for a while.”

“I don’t know why you’d want to get away to Clifton when you could go to Cancun, but we would love to have you with us for a while, especially for Thanksgiving.”

“Awesome.” I’m beyond thankful. “Okay, I’m headed to the airport now. I have to change my flight. I should be home later tonight.”

“Okie doke. We’ll see you when you get here.” I can hear the smile in his voice and in my own as we say our goodbyes.

Once the call ends, I open the phone’s picture folder and scroll through the photos: tons of me and the
Idol
cast clowning around, nearly as many of me and my Hollywood friends at parties and premiers, a few of me and my parents, a few of me, Jared, and Sarah, and one of Payton.
One
. She has always hated posing for pictures, but I managed to snap one when she wasn’t paying attention at Sarah’s Fourth of July barbeque last summer. She’s sitting in a lawn chair with an acoustic guitar in her lap. She’s facing the camera but looking at something out of frame. The sun is setting to the left of her, shining an ethereal glow across her face.
Beautiful.

“Change of plans?” The sound of Ricky’s voice startles me out of my thoughts.

“Yep,” I nod. “I’m going home.”

I catch him smiling in the rearview mirror.

CHAPTER THREE

Payton

I
’m sitting at my usual spot in the student center café, reading through my World War II textbook and wondering why I have to bother taking all the standard academic courses. I wanted to go to Berklee to major in Film Scoring. I
should’ve
gone to Berklee, considering Montclair doesn’t offer a single Film Scoring–concentrated class. In the end, it all came down to money. MSU offered me a much larger scholarship. And, I’ll never admit to this if anyone were to ask, I was kind of scared at the prospect of being so far away from home. I wasn’t ready for that back then. I’m not sure I’d be ready for it now, either.

I’m this close to finishing my last assigned chapter when a bothersome commotion erupts in the hallway, ripping my focus away from the page. I glance through the interior windows to see what the hell all the ruckus is about. There’s a sizeable crowd gathered in front of the vending machines, but I can’t catch a glimpse of what’s got everyone so riled up. I slam my book closed, deciding to head to the practice rooms in the John J. building for some peace and quiet.

I’m about to pass the vending machines when I feel a hand grab my elbow and stop me dead in my tracks. “What the hell do you think you’re–?” I start, ready to throw a fist. Before I can finish my sentence, I’m glowering into a pair of huge sunglasses.

My breath catches in my throat when I recognize who I’m staring at. “Kendall? Oh my god!” Instantly, I’m in her arms, hugging her tightly. I’m not even worried about whether or not touching her will make me feel all edgy inside. “What are you doing here?”

She smiles her glittering smile. “My mom gave me a ride, believe it or not.”

“Cute, but you know what I mean. What are you doing
here
? I thought you were going home after you wrapped.”

“I am home. LA is just where I hang my fabulous clothing on occasion. Besides, you’ve got a birthday coming up, duh.” There are still a handful of people hanging around us, snapping pictures, and talking loudly amongst themselves. Kendall is observably annoyed by it. “Wanna get out of here?”

I want to, but really shouldn’t. “I’d love to. I have class in an hour though.”

“Skip it,” she says lightly, like going to class has no bearing on my future whatsoever.

Damn it!
She could ask me to jump into the flaming underbelly of hell, and I’d do it for her. “Let’s go,” I say. We loop arms and head for the parking garage.

❄ ❄ ❄

The drive down to my house is too quiet for my liking. “So, I read in a magazine that you and Spencer Whatshisname were all over each other in New Orleans,” I declare, forgetting that her confirmation would likely decimate me.
Bad choice for small talk, Payton.

“That is such a lie! He’s madly in love with the girl he’s been with for years. Anyway, I was hardly anywhere but on set and in the hotel the whole time I was there. How could anyone claim to have seen us ‘all over each other?’”

I smile. “Makes sense.”

“What about you?” She picks at her cuticles. “Have you met anyone who hasn’t bored you to death with conversations about the eastern front?”

Of course I haven’t. I’m holding out hope for a girl who will never, ever have a romantic feeling for me as long as she lives.
It’s foolish, really, that I’m prepared to die alone when I know for a fact there’s a sea of lesbians somewhere I could be swimming in. “I haven’t put too much energy into meeting Ms. Right or Ms. Right For the Moment either. I’ve been concentrating on school and writing music.”

“Oh, that’s good,” she says like she’s surprised or relieved or something. I can’t really tell. “Being career-minded is a big hit with the ladies, once you’re ready to find one for yourself.”

I don’t want to say anything I shouldn’t say, but I’m ready to lament about how I already found someone amazing.

“Hey, so what’s the plan for Friday night? Will there be a slew of awesome birthday festivities?”

“The plan? Outside of spending the day acclimating myself to a ‘nine’ in front of the ‘teen,’ there is no plan. My mom has to work. Sarah has to work. And I really do not want to spend the night talking about random girls’ racks with Jared.”

“Okay, no. That will not do at all.” She scoops up my hand from the gear shift. I quiver and hope she doesn’t notice. “You leave it to Kendall. She will make sure you have the best birthday ever.”

I smile. I haven’t spent my birthday with Kendall since I turned sixteen. “I’m sure it will be the best birthday ever, provided Kendall doesn’t refer to herself in the third person all night.”

She drops my hand, pretending my words have offended her. “Kendall cannot guarantee such things.”

“Okay, miss ‘I’m so awesome I call myself by name,’ what do you have in mind?”

The mischievous look in her eyes sends my ability to reason packing. “That is classified information Kendall is not at liberty to disclose. Be ready to go by nine.”

“Can you at least give me a hint on what to wear? I don’t want to be under or overdressed.”

“Wear something in between.”

She clearly isn’t going to give anything away, and I am not about to push the issue. “Okay. I will be ready to go by nine on Friday.”

“Good. I promise you won’t be disappointed. I have something…” Her phone rings, interrupting her train of thought. She checks the caller ID and looks back at me as though she’s thinking about ignoring the call. “Damn. It’s James. I’m sorry, I have to take this.”

“Hello,” she answers and sticks her tongue out at me. “I’m home. No, home, as in New Jersey. What the hell am I doing here? I’m visiting. No, I have no intention of being back in LA by Friday. There’s no reason for me to be in LA right now. It’s called
downtime
. Gee, I’m sorry. I didn’t know I had to clear every decision I make with you or Lawrence. Dude, you should be very careful about what tone you take with me. I fired my own mother for less.”

I don’t know what he says to her, but her attitude changes in a heartbeat.

“James, please. All I’m asking for is two weeks. I really need a break,” she pleads. “The day after Thanksgiving? All right, I can do that. Schedule the meeting. Yes, I swear, I will be on the Red Eye. Great, thank you. Bye.”

By the time she ends the call, she is completely deflated. “I’m sorry. He’s got his boxers in a bunch over some part I’ve been offered.”

“Does it at least sound interesting?”

“Who knows? It’s based on some Tolkien-esque young adult novel. I might do it simply because I’ll get to play with swords,” she grins.

“Sounds cool, but I’m glad you decided not to rush back.”

“And cancel your birthday plans? Over my rotting carcass!”

I quickly turn to look out my side window so she won’t notice the stupid grin taking hostage of my face.

❄ ❄ ❄

We stroll into the kitchen later than I had planned, but my mom is so excited to see Kendall that she doesn’t complain about us being late. She actually skips over me and goes straight to hugging Kendall, cooing the whole time about how the California sun agrees with her.

Kendall spent so much time at my house while we were growing up that my mom practically adopted her. “My other daughter,” Mom called her. I’m glad she doesn’t call Kendall that anymore; being attracted to her would be way more psychologically scarring for me than it already is.

“Sorry to break up the happy reunion,” I say, pushing my way through them to the fridge. “What’s for dinner?”

“
So
rude,” Kendall scowls at my mom.

Mom snickers. “Manners, Payton.”

I place three cans of soda on the kitchen table. “Man, two minutes in the same room with each other and they’re already ganging up on me,” I say to no one in particular.

“Psssh,” Kendall says, “you know your mom and I don’t even have to be in the same room to gang up on you.”

Mom nods, slipping her way over to the stove. “This is true.”

“Here.” I pull some plates from the cabinet and hand them to Kendall. “Make yourself useful.”

“Sure, put me to work. I’m supposed to be on
vacation
,” she mopes as she sets three places at the table.

“This is nothing. After dinner, we begin your ear training.”

“That’s nice, Kendall,” Mom chimes in. “I never knew you were interested in learning music.”

“Until recently, the idea sort of horrified me.”

“And what changed your mind?” I ask.

“I thought it would be good for my career if I was an artistic triple threat. You know… acting, piano, some third thing I have yet to figure out.”

“I could show you how to take someone’s pulse,” Mom jests.

“She said
artistic
triple threat, Mom.”

“If she hums while taking someone’s pulse does that count?” Mom asks over her shoulder while stirring a huge pot of spaghetti sauce.

“It’s not nice to tease your mother,” Kendall says. “Anyway, not
everyone
can be a musical savant like you.” She makes a face and jabs at my stomach with her pointer finger. I grab her hand and lace my fingers between hers, trying to get her to stop poking me. Our hands remain clasped together longer than they need to be, but she keeps a firm grasp. She glimpses down at our entwined digits then back up at me. She’s peering deep into my eyes, deep into
me
, and the room is spinning.