okay?”
“Sure,” Caryn mumbled. The thought of a nice crisp glass of sauvignon blanc made her want to weep—although she longed for her balcony high above Central Park, where she often enjoyed a glass of wine at the end of a long day while she went through her mail. Her mother’s voice came through in a What-Would-Georgia-Do flash: “Don’t fuss over what you don’t have, just make the best of what you do.”
That was the pragmatic side of Georgia, the side that had kept her dedicated to scouring Los Angeles for a father for Caryn despite all the hardships and bumps along the way. Now, she used her steely resolve to raise funds for worthy causes, and to manage her multi-million-dollar foundation. It had been a long time since Caryn thought about her mother putting makeup on in the tiny bathroom of their West Hollywood studio apartment while she perched on the edge of the tub to watch, but Georgia’s determination to make the best of things had never flagged.
She closed the door behind her, then smiled to see the mirror surrounded by white paper bells and swaths of pink ribbon. “Ladies only,” read a hand-lettered sign decorated by watercolor blossoms. Fluffy pink towels hung from the wall, and a shower curtain had been painted with the words HAPPILY EVER AFTER in huge letters. Someone had taken pains to turn the otherwise rustic bathroom into a girly paradise.
Caryn’s spirits fell when she looked in the mirror. When she’d scrubbed the dye from her face, she’d taken most of the pale foundation off too, so her skin looked fairly normal. But the deep purple eye shadow and dramatic liner had settled into the creases under her eyes, making her look ghoulish. Her hair matted together in clumps, the color that had looked so daring on the box standing out in harsh contrast against her skin.
She splashed water on her face and looked through the toiletries lined up neatly on the shelves, finding cotton squares and makeup remover. She quickly wiped away the smudges and most of the eye makeup that had miraculously stayed in place. Then, as an afterthought, she borrowed a tube of pink lip gloss and swiped on a little, just enough to return some color to her lips. She ran a comb through her hair and examined the results.
She looked human again. Exhausted, wan, and strung out, but at least she no longer resembled a Goth nightmare. Taking a deep breath, she headed back to the kitchen.
A plate loaded with rice, beans and tacos sat in the place of honor at the head of the table, along with a glass filled generously with straw colored wine. Matthew and Jayne looked relaxed, holding hands on one side of the table, while Zane sat on the other side, poking at an iPad.
“Dig in,” Matthew said while Zane simply stared at her.
“You look better,” he finally said, returning his attention to his iPad.
Caryn touched her hair self-consciously before sitting down. Better —that could mean a whole host of things, none of them good. Obviously she’d looked terrible before. But she was still in the ridiculous clothes, her manicure was chipped, and her hair was a disaster. Zane, she had to accept, was being kind.
And she would need to depend on that kindness just a little longer.
She dug into the food, suddenly ravenous. “This is amazing,” she said after she had followed several enormous bites with a sip of wine.
“Matthew’s famous for his tacos,” Jayne said proudly.
“I aim to please,” he responded with a fond smile. “Just trying to hold onto my job.”
“Matthew takes care of us,” Zane said, not looking up. “He cooks and cleans and does the shopping and sort of does the laundry, though I don’t let him touch my stuff.”
“You want to pay a buck fifty a shirt, that’s your business,” Matthew said mildly.
“He also did the renovations on this place and nearly all the work on the farmhouse.” Jayne patted her stomach. “We’re moving in there when the baby comes.”
“Oh!” Caryn set
“Sure,” Caryn mumbled. The thought of a nice crisp glass of sauvignon blanc made her want to weep—although she longed for her balcony high above Central Park, where she often enjoyed a glass of wine at the end of a long day while she went through her mail. Her mother’s voice came through in a What-Would-Georgia-Do flash: “Don’t fuss over what you don’t have, just make the best of what you do.”
That was the pragmatic side of Georgia, the side that had kept her dedicated to scouring Los Angeles for a father for Caryn despite all the hardships and bumps along the way. Now, she used her steely resolve to raise funds for worthy causes, and to manage her multi-million-dollar foundation. It had been a long time since Caryn thought about her mother putting makeup on in the tiny bathroom of their West Hollywood studio apartment while she perched on the edge of the tub to watch, but Georgia’s determination to make the best of things had never flagged.
She closed the door behind her, then smiled to see the mirror surrounded by white paper bells and swaths of pink ribbon. “Ladies only,” read a hand-lettered sign decorated by watercolor blossoms. Fluffy pink towels hung from the wall, and a shower curtain had been painted with the words HAPPILY EVER AFTER in huge letters. Someone had taken pains to turn the otherwise rustic bathroom into a girly paradise.
Caryn’s spirits fell when she looked in the mirror. When she’d scrubbed the dye from her face, she’d taken most of the pale foundation off too, so her skin looked fairly normal. But the deep purple eye shadow and dramatic liner had settled into the creases under her eyes, making her look ghoulish. Her hair matted together in clumps, the color that had looked so daring on the box standing out in harsh contrast against her skin.
She splashed water on her face and looked through the toiletries lined up neatly on the shelves, finding cotton squares and makeup remover. She quickly wiped away the smudges and most of the eye makeup that had miraculously stayed in place. Then, as an afterthought, she borrowed a tube of pink lip gloss and swiped on a little, just enough to return some color to her lips. She ran a comb through her hair and examined the results.
She looked human again. Exhausted, wan, and strung out, but at least she no longer resembled a Goth nightmare. Taking a deep breath, she headed back to the kitchen.
A plate loaded with rice, beans and tacos sat in the place of honor at the head of the table, along with a glass filled generously with straw colored wine. Matthew and Jayne looked relaxed, holding hands on one side of the table, while Zane sat on the other side, poking at an iPad.
“Dig in,” Matthew said while Zane simply stared at her.
“You look better,” he finally said, returning his attention to his iPad.
Caryn touched her hair self-consciously before sitting down. Better —that could mean a whole host of things, none of them good. Obviously she’d looked terrible before. But she was still in the ridiculous clothes, her manicure was chipped, and her hair was a disaster. Zane, she had to accept, was being kind.
And she would need to depend on that kindness just a little longer.
She dug into the food, suddenly ravenous. “This is amazing,” she said after she had followed several enormous bites with a sip of wine.
“Matthew’s famous for his tacos,” Jayne said proudly.
“I aim to please,” he responded with a fond smile. “Just trying to hold onto my job.”
“Matthew takes care of us,” Zane said, not looking up. “He cooks and cleans and does the shopping and sort of does the laundry, though I don’t let him touch my stuff.”
“You want to pay a buck fifty a shirt, that’s your business,” Matthew said mildly.
“He also did the renovations on this place and nearly all the work on the farmhouse.” Jayne patted her stomach. “We’re moving in there when the baby comes.”
“Oh!” Caryn set
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