Birds of California(60)
“Are you coming home tonight?” Claudia asks. “Or are you sleeping at Sam’s?”
That gets Estelle’s attention. “How often is she sleeping at Sam’s?” she asks, crossing her elegant ankles and eyeing Fiona with interest.
“Three nights this week,” Claudia reports.
Fiona’s mouth drops open. “Claudia!”
“Well, you are.” Claudia shrugs.
“Good for Fiona,” Estelle says, toasting her with a coupe glass full of V8. “And as for you, principessa”—she turns to Claudia—“you know Brando and I are always happy for company if you find yourself getting lonely over there.”
Fiona frowns. “Are you?” she asks. She’s been worrying about this, her sister alone in the house with only their dad for company, even though Claudia has been very clear that she’s graduating in a couple of months and certainly doesn’t need babysitting. “Getting lonely?”
“Desperately,” Claudia says, her fox-like face going serious. “In fact, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it. I think I’m going down a bad path. Some other latchkey kids at school got me hooked on huffing whipped cream and I feel like it’s probably only a matter of time until I’m creeping into your room at night and stealing your Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Award to hock for Reddi-wip money.”
Fiona snorts. “All right,” she says, wiping her sticky feet with a towel and standing up. “You’ve made your point.”
“I like Sam,” Estelle announces, taking a sip of her V8—which, upon closer examination, seems to be mostly vodka. “He seems extremely virile.”
Fiona manages to keep a straight face, but barely. “I’ll be sure to let him know you think so.”
“Has he said anything else about the show?” Claudia asks.
Fiona shakes her head. “He hasn’t,” she admits, a little grudgingly. “He said he wouldn’t, and he hasn’t.”
“Almost like he just wants to spend time with you because he likes spending time with you,” Estelle says pointedly.
Fiona feels herself prickle, though she isn’t entirely sure why. “Almost like,” she agrees.
“I’m happy for you, ma chérie,” Estelle continues. “You deserve it.”
“Don’t go picking out our wedding china just yet,” she says. “We barely know each other.”
“Seriously?” Claudia sounds surprised now, the joke drained right out of her voice. “Fiona,” she says quietly. “You’ve been half in love with him since you were like fifteen.”
“I—what?” Fiona sputters, her cheeks flaming. “I have not!”
“Easy,” Claudia says, holding both hands up. “I’m not saying it to be an asshole.”
Fiona eyes her. “Aren’t you?”
“No,” Claudia says evenly, sitting perfectly still in her lounge chair. “I’m saying it because I think it’s, like, kind of true.”
Fiona gazes at her sister for a long moment, still holding her ridiculous cotton booties. “I’m going to be late,” is all she says.
Chapter Sixteen
Sam
Sam figures Russ will call him when he gets back from Tulum, but after a week goes by and he doesn’t hear anything he calls and leaves a message with Sherri, who promises to pass it along. “Nothing urgent,” he tells her, trying not to sound desperate or sweaty. He would have thought he’d heard back about the firefighter show by now. “Just, you know. Checking in.”
He drops in on his old acting class in the Valley. He spends a lot of time at the gym. He goes on YouTube and watches old Birds of California clips for a while, which is weirdly enjoyable—turns out it was a pretty good show, with sharp dialogue and the occasional bit of slapstick and a knack for tearjerker montages set to acoustic covers of classic rock songs. He’d forgotten what a gifted comedian Fiona could be when she wanted to, all perfect timing and elastic expression, her delivery always dead-on.
Sam blows out a breath, leaning his head back against the couch and sifting his hands through his hair. He knows he needs to be honest with her, to talk to her about Birds, but he doesn’t trust her not to bite his head off the second he brings it up. The last thing he wants to do is lose her. But it feels like he’s running out of time.
Still, Sam reminds himself, they might have gotten famous for playing precocious teenagers on television, but they aren’t actually kids anymore. They can have actual conversations. He’ll take her out, he decides—somewhere nice with white tablecloths and flattering lighting, the kind of place where they call french fries frites.
And okay, he doesn’t really know how he’s going to afford to do that at this particular moment, but whatever. He’ll figure it out.
He shuts his laptop with a confident click, then digs his phone out from between the couch cushions. Want to hang out tonight? he texts.
Can’t, she replies. It’s Claudia’s birthday.
Sam thinks about that for a moment. Asks himself, not for the first time, exactly how deep he’s prepared to get in here. I like birthdays, he types, then hits send before he can talk himself out of it.
Seriously? Her reply is immediate. You want to come to my sister’s birthday?