I gaze out the window onto the pillowy clouds below and think of how the past few weeks have gone by in a whirlwind. Turns out, it’s pretty easy for us to up and move on a moment’s notice. My agent and publisher are both based in the city, but it’s not unusual for writers to live far away from their support team. We can easily communicate with all the technology available to us.
Gavin and I decided to keep the house. We will visit often, so we wanted a place to call home when we do. Plus, it’s the house I grew up in and maybe my parents will want to retire there someday.
After talking extensively with my family, our security team and the police, we decided to not make it known that I’m moving. Officially, if anyone asks, I’m on an extended vacation. Because of this, we said goodbye to Collin and Jake, deeming private security unnecessary being three thousand miles away from my stalker.
I look around the private jet Gavin chartered to fly us all out. He didn’t want to ship our belongings, so we loaded up our suitcases along with twenty or so boxes, into the cargo hold of the small but luxurious plane. I left my furniture and many of our things at the house in Maple Creek. Gavin assured me that he’d taken care of everything, breaking his lease on the bachelor pad he secured only a few months ago to sign a new one on a four bedroom condo by the ocean.
Callie came with us, of course, as she grew up near L.A. and after three years away was happy to be going back. She’s agreed to stay on as Maddox’s nanny, but she won’t be living with us anymore. She’ll stay at her parent’s house until she finds a place of her own.
As I watch Gavin and Maddox play a game of scrabble to pass the time, I can’t help but worry about how all of this is affecting our son. He was more than excited to find out we were moving to California to live with Gavin full time. But I wonder after the newness wears off, if he will become homesick for his friends. For Grammy and Papa. For Aunt Skylar and Uncle Chris.
And for that matter, will I?
Gavin wasn’t lying when he said he took care of everything. Walking into our new home, a tenth-story condo overlooking the waves breaking on towering rocks below, I’m impressed at what he’s pulled off in a mere two weeks.
Maddox comes running out of a bedroom down the hall. “Mommy, Mommy, come look!” he yells.
I raise my eyebrows at Gavin who simply shrugs at me as we walk towards what must be Maddox’s new room. I stand in the doorway, letting my eyes fall on every single part of the first chapter of my son’s new life. There are framed and signed posters of professional soccer players adorning one wall. There is a collection of trophies, presumably Gavin’s, along another. A mural has been painted on the largest wall, depicting a man and a boy dribbling a ball on a large soccer field. And in the far corner stands what I can only imagine is every seven-year-old’s dream—a stairway that leads up to a large bunk covered in soccer-themed bedding, under which appears to be some kind of ‘kid cave’ with all sorts of game consoles and a flat-screen T.V.
I turn to Gavin, fully prepared to scold him. He holds up a hand and whispers in my ear, “I told you. I told you I was going to spoil the shit out of him.”
All I can do is laugh. He’s making up for seven years and it’s the least I can do to let him. I turn to walk out of the room and tour the rest of the condo, scared of what other over-the-top extravagancies might await me.
As morning light streaks through a crack in the heavy drapes on our bedroom window, I lean over and place a kiss on Gavin’s cheek when he starts to stir. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for us.”
“There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you, darlin’,” he says, kissing my eyelids.
“You didn’t have to give me the best room for my office,” I say. “You should have taken it for yourself, for your own study.”
“Not a chance,” he says. “You’re an artist. You need inspiration. And what could be more inspiring than the view from your office window.”
It’s true. The view is breathtaking. Especially at night when the sun is setting and the rocky beach is being illuminated in its bright colors. Gavin purchased me a huge corner desk with the most comfortable chair I’ve ever sat in. Along one wall, he had a carpenter build floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and he even had Jenna express deliver hundreds of my books to fill them with. Under the large picture window is a sitting bench, padded with numerous cushions and a throw blanket. Next to it are two conversation chairs to round out the room. He nailed it perfectly. If I had designed it myself, it wouldn’t have been nearly as nice. He even special-ordered the chairs and cushions because the catalog didn’t offer them in orchid-purple.
“I don’t think I’ll have trouble writing in that room,” I say. “I don’t think I’d have trouble writing in any room these days. The words are just flowing out of me like a dam has been broken.”
He raises up a hand to cover my heart. “It has.”
I revel in the feeling of lying in Gavin’s arms, knowing this is exactly where I belong and that nothing or no one is going to stand in our way. Then I remember the one road-block to our ultimate happiness. “Have you heard anything from her lawyer?” I ask. “Did they file the required paperwork?”
He shakes his head, not needing me to qualify who her is, then he kisses the top of mine. “No. In fact, her lawyer filed a four-week extension.” My body stiffens. “I’m sure it’s only the typical red tape. She doesn’t have a leg to stand on. She can’t dispute her lies, darlin’.”
“Well, it can’t happen soon enough for me,” I tell him. “I just want it over and done.”
He runs a hand along my arm, down to my fingers. He holds them up. “Me too,” he says. “I can’t wait to put more than a piece of shit plastic ring on this beautiful hand of yours.”
I laugh, thinking about the silly ring that has somehow earned itself a place of pride on the bookshelves in our bedroom.
He turns serious and says, “I was thinking . . . hoping, actually, that you’d let me go ahead and change Maddox’s last name right away.” He bites his lip and raises his eyebrows at me like he’s just asked his mommy for another cookie. “And for that matter, I’d like to persuade you into taking it, too. When we get married, I mean. I know you have to write your books under the name Mitchell. But I’d really love it if, officially, you became a McBride.”
Baylor McBride. It’s a name I dreamed of having so long ago. I remember sitting in class, doodling all over my notebooks with different renditions of my name. Baylor Christine McBride. Baylor Mitchell McBride. Baylor Christine Mitchell McBride. It was a dream that died long ago. But now it’s really happening, and I’m only too happy to give him what he wants.
“Maddox and I would be honored to take your name,” I say. “Your name is already listed on his birth certificate so it shouldn’t be that hard to request the change.”
He pulls me into him, spooning me tightly against his hard body. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for making me the happiest man alive.”
“Right backatcha,” I say.
Then he puts his hands on my breasts, causing heated sparks to shoot through me. “You are definitely not a man, Mitchell.”
I giggle.
Over the next hour, he shows me exactly how different from a man I truly am.
Yesterday afternoon had Gavin giving Maddox and me a tour of Los Angeles in the new SUV he bought for me. I’d been here several times before and had already seen some of the city, but nothing like what I saw yesterday. Late in the day, we ended the tour at Bay Watch Productions’ studios. Gavin showed me around while a stage hand kept Maddox busy having fun with the green screen. By the time we left, Maddox had a DVD of himself walking on the moon, flying with Superman, and climbing Mt. Everest.
Then last night, after we got an excited Maddox into bed, Chris called to tell me that a woman had come to the restaurant earlier in the day, asking about Maddox and me. He followed her to the parking lot and wrote down her license plate number, giving it to the police. I immediately placed a phone call to the Connecticut State Police, who had a detective call me back with information that a Francis Laraby, of nearby Westport, was questioned and warned to stay away from me and my family. They started a file on her and will be keeping tabs on her, but there was insufficient evidence to make an arrest. The detective suggested that I seek a restraining order the next time I return for a visit. I told him he could bet on it.
Today, being Monday, reality had Gavin going off to work this morning, and I’m now walking Maddox into his new elementary school to get him registered. We make our way along the sidewalk as I look around at all the women dropping off their kids. I’m struck by the fact that apparently, in L.A., one is supposed to dress up to take their children to school.
Women are clad in vintage Versace or Dolce & Gabanna, looking like they came right from a day at the spa. I look down at my feet sporting flip flops, and then at my yoga pants and t-shirt I’m sure I bought somewhere like Dillard’s. It doesn’t take them long to notice me as dozens of eyes follow me when I walk up to the building. I wonder if they are staring at me because they know I’m new here, or because of my glaring deviation of the school-drop-off dress code.
I provide all the necessary paperwork to get Maddox enrolled and they quickly assign him to Mrs. Worthington’s second grade class. There are only two months left in the school year and I hope that he will settle right in and begin to make friends. They call a student from his class up to the office to show Maddox the way.
Like the big boy he always claims to be, Maddox simply says goodbye and waves back at me as they walk off. But not before I hear the boy say to him, “Why do you have such a stupid accent?”
Back in my car, my phone rings and I hit the answer button on my steering wheel. “Hello?”
“Baylor? This is Angie Wilson.”
“Oh, yes,” I say. “Hi, Angie. How are you?”
“I’m good, thank you. How are you settling in?”
“Pretty well, so far,” I say with a sigh. “L.A. is a different world for us. It’s going to take some getting used to.”
Her delightful laugh comes through my speakers. “That it is,” she says. “I was wondering, if you’re free, would you like to meet for lunch today? I know it must be hard to make friends in a new place and I want you to know that I’m totally here for you. Whatever you need.”
It takes a minute for me to wrap my brain around Karen’s BFF welcoming me and wanting to make friends. She must take my silence as a rejection. She says, “Listen, if you’re busy, it’s all good. We can do it another day.”
“No, it’s not that,” I say. “I’m definitely not busy. I know three people here, Gavin, Callie and Maddox. It’s just that . . .”
“I know, I know,” she says. “I was tight with Karen. But, Baylor, that was in the past. She’s still living in the past while the rest of us have grown up into adults. I’m done with her. I was basically done with her long before Gavin saw you in Chicago. I just didn’t make it official until then.”
“I guess I could do lunch,” I say.
She practically squeals into her phone and then proceeds to give me the address so that I can put it into my GPS. “See you there at twelve-thirty,” she says. “I can tell we’re going to be good friends, Baylor.”
Our second week in L.A., when I’m dropping Maddox off at school, I get pulled aside by a stunning woman who looks like she came straight from a Fashion Week catwalk. “You’re Maddox’s mom, right?” she asks.
“Yes,” I reply.
“Oh, good. Your son is in the same class as my Gage,” she tells me. “Apparently, they’ve become friends, and Gage would like to include Maddox in his birthday party this weekend. That is, if you’re both free.”
“Both?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says, as if she’s stated the obvious. She hands me a thick invitation. “Saturday. Three o’clock. The address is in there.” She points her boney manicured French-tipped finger at the envelope in my hand. “I hope you’ll be able to make it.”
“Thank you, that would be great,” I say, happy at the thought of Maddox making new friends.
“Fabulous,” she says, spinning on her five-inch heels to walk back to her car. I pad away in my ballet flats thinking how things are looking up every day.
After reading the invitation that would rival any celebrity wedding invite, I spend the drive home wondering exactly what ‘Margaritas for Moms’ at an eight-year-old’s birthday party entails.
I get excited about the prospect of meeting more women my age. Well, to be perfectly honest, most of them are older. Maybe that’s why they look at me funny when I drop Maddox off, because I’m so much younger than they are. Well, that or the yoga pants.
Gavin has been wonderful about trying to get me involved with his life here. But the person he spends the most time with, outside of Maddox and me, is his partner and best friend, Scott, who is a certified bachelor. Thank God for Angie. We’ve had lunch twice in the past few weeks and we hit it off instantly. We avoided all things Karen, and mostly stuck to talking about the production company and my writing. By the end of our second lunch, she had even convinced me to allow her to get some screenwriters to take a look at a few of my books.
So between my new friendship with Angie and the party invitation, I’m practically bouncing into the lobby of my building. Until I come to a dead stop when I see who is sitting in the reception area.
Karen McBride.