Right.

I didn’t know what bothered me more. The way she’d included herself in the plan to go and see them—why wouldn’t she, you wanker? She’s your babysitter. It’s strictly business —or the fact she would actually meet my train wreck of a family. I rang my mum up while Indie was in the shower that morning, and, of course, she was delighted with the news.

“I saw you were in the UK in them tabloids, luv. Was wondering whether you were going to ring us or not. I’m glad you did.” She snapped her gum in my ear.

I didn’t dwell on the fact she hadn’t bothered to call me , even though she’d known I was there. As long as I threw money my family’s way every now and again and stayed out of their way, they were all right with my existence. I exhaled loudly and tossed myself on the bed, staring at the chandelier.

“I’m not coming there alone,” I warned. My way of telling her she needed to behave for a change. My parents cheated on each other all the time. It was such an ordinary thing, cheating might not be the word I was looking for. I could count at least six times in which Mum and Dad aired their dirty laundry—literally—in front of the entire neighborhood, on the street. They lived in a semi-detached on a busy Watford road where everybody knew everybody. They loved yelling at each other at the top of their lungs with people gathering at their windowsills and doors, peeking through curtains. If you ever wondered who those people who go on Ricki Lake, Jerry Springer, and Jeremy Kyle are—they were my parents. That’s who. The worst part was they’d cheated on each other with local folks, too, so it was all a big, hot mess of middle-aged people who looked like they’d missed every single dentist appointment ever booked for them.

“Is that the lady friend we’ve been seeing in the papers?” Mum asked, half-laughing like a hyena. What was so funny? Maybe the fact Indie was the exact opposite of Fallon. Tall, curvy, blond Fallon, who looked like a carbon copy of every Victoria’s Secret model from the last five years. Indie had blue hair and funny dresses and enough personality in her scrawny figure to stuff a hundred Fallons.

“Yeah,” I ground out, narrowing my eyes, “that’s the one.”

“A bit of a funny thing, ain’t she?” I could practically hear my mum filing her pink acrylic nails while she popped her gum, once again.

And this, ladies and gents, was why I chose narcotics over people.

“I expect you to behave when she’s there,” I warned, my voice dripping ice.

“Stop talking like you’re the parent here,” she cried, adding as an afterthought, “I should ask Carly and the wee ones to come on over.”

I loved my sister’s kids. They reminded me of myself with George. They were incredibly smart and perceptive. Dwayne was a little terror, but he had good rhythm and could probably be a great guitarist if he ever got a guitar—he would, I promised myself. And I wouldn’t let him read a book five hundred times before I gave it to him. Chayse was sweet and sensitive, kind of like how I would have been had my parents not dented me so thoroughly. Bentley was a proper comedian, even at the tender age of eight. The only part I didn’t like about this idea was seeing their mother and my sister, Carly.

“Yeah,” I said, anyway, watching Indie walk out of the shower wrapped in a towel only, my lazy gaze following her every movement. “Sure, it’d be great to see her. I’m calling a cab now, so…” Clean up the piglet . “Get ready, aight?”

“Aight.” Mum laughed, then hung up.

“You ready?” Indie smiled at me.

“Never.”

I didn’t know why she’d laughed. It wasn’t supposed to be funny.

Jenna: Indie. What do you want to be when you grow up?

Indie: Thrift-shop owner.

Indie: Why?

Jenna: No reason.

Hudson: Aww, Indie. That’s…random. LOL. Jenna, how’s the baby?

Jenna: Shut up, Hudson.

Indie: Have you talked to Blake yet?

Jenna: No. But he suspects something is up.

Hudson: Why?

Jenna: Because I can’t help but be nice to him. Because I cried the other day when we talked on the phone and he was online shopping for his niece’s birthday.

Indie: So what’s the problem? He’s obviously into you.

Jenna: He’s also obviously eleven years younger than me.

Indie: Tell him. I feel bad not telling Alex.

Hudson: As you should. He’s crazy about you.

Jenna: ???

Indie: ???????

Hudson: Yes. Every time he talks about you, he doesn’t even sneer. It’s weird. Last time he spoke that way about something, it was about Jack White’s Acoustic Recordings album.

Indie: Does he talk about me a lot?

Hudson: A gentleman never tells.

Jenna: What about you, Hudson? Are you dating someone?

Hudson: Only my left hand and a Neil Patrick Harris poster.

Jenna: Sad.

Hudson: Less complicated than your situation, girl.

Indie: What did you want to be when you grew up when you were a kid, Jenna?

Jenna: An astronaut.

The black cab stopped in front of the red door.

Hamish and Harry nodded us a somber goodbye from the front seats. Alex figured he didn’t need an entourage, seeing as he was just visiting his family. On our way to Watford, in the cab, we’d negotiated the time and length of the visit.

“Three hours, Stardust. A minute more and I’m dragging you by the hair.” He looked out of the window, tapping his foot on the floor, his black Wayfarers giving him an extra layer of asshole.

“I think you’d very much like dragging me by the hair,” I remarked, flipping a fashion magazine. It was amazing how small things brought so much color into my life. I would’ve never bought a Vogue magazine in Los Angeles. But now I had some pocket money. Also, Blake was very good at shoving his business credit card at the cashier every time I tried to pay for my stuff at airport kiosks.

“Of course, but I wasn’t planning on doing it until after dinner,” he said. I laughed. He was so wrong in thinking he wasn’t lovable. Alex was lovable to a fault.

The Winslows’ front yard was neglected, with bald patches and beer cans peppered throughout the thin grass. We sat in the cab for a few seconds before Alex pushed the door open. I followed him out, and we both made our way, burrowing into our coats. The house looked depressing. Everything was either peeling or torn. I spared him from that observation. I didn’t live in a mansion, either.