14. Ashton
ASHTON
Y esterday, Griffin inspired something in me.
Once I let go of my anxieties over being filmed, I found myself absorbed in the work and enjoying myself.
I’d forgotten how nice it is to be around people outside the shelter.
To connect. To have friendships. Griffin was a patient and willing student who valued every suggestion I gave. He lit a fuse in me.
I can really do this. I can run a nonprofit business. I can persuade donors to contribute to my rescue. I can open myself up to people. While my parting conversation with Griffin poked at old wounds, it made me that much more aware I haven’t completely healed from them.
Including my broken relationship with my sister.
After five years of silence between us, I followed through on my promise to my sister and texted her.
I owe her that much. She may have been Mom’s favorite—her protégée—but there was a time before all the fame got in the way that she was simply my charismatic, creative childhood friend who dragged me along on all her epic, imaginary adventures.
Though, as I sit outside this small cafe with the sun beaming on my skin like a spotlight with no place to hide, I start to question my decision.
My sister promised there’d be no cameras, no filming.
She’d texted that she would explain everything.
The budding trust between us is the only thing keeping my butt stuck in this chair, but it’s weak and I start to wriggle and itch to get up and move. Walk. Do something.
I opt for rapping my fingers against the table.
Teddy whines at my feet and sits upright, resting his head on my thigh. I pet his fur, my fingers savoring the familiar texture.
“I’m fine, Teddy,” I whisper. Though I’m anything but.
He continues to whine, telling me I’m not fooling anyone.
It’s my fault, really. I came early, thinking it’d give me a chance to get more comfortable before her arrival, but instead, my insides are eating me up.
My sister appears in the doorway to the outdoor seating, talking to a waiter. “I see her now. Thanks.”
Her smile is tentative but genuine. “Hey, sis.”
For an awkward moment, I think she wants to hug me, but I don’t get up from my seat.
I’m just not quite there yet. I need more time.
She always served as Mom’s lackey. I’m hesitant to believe she wants to see me of her own will, and not as part of some grand scheme Mom has to swindle me back onto the show.
She slips into the chair across from me.
She’s wearing soft pink overalls, her hair in some unique twist. It looks good on her.
Playful and fun. More like the carefree girl I used to know.
One who never shied away from getting dirty playing outside or was too prissy to play sports with the neighborhood boys.
Unsure of how to greet her, I just dive in. “I ordered you a water, but the waiter will be back to take the rest of our order if you want something different to drink.”
“Thank you.” Her small purse and keys clatter on the table.
The awkward silence between us is stifling, yet I can’t bring myself to break it.
“How’ve you been?” Cecily’s shoulders are as tense as mine.
“Good. You?” This is so awkward.
“Great, actually. I’ve been going to school. If you can believe it.”
“College? Really?” Well, color me surprised.
The teenage version of Cecily, my mom’s mini-me, would never have considered such an avenue.
It was beneath her. Our wealth and notoriety were enough to sustain her existence for quite some time.
Besides, they had the show. They had no need of another career.
Apparently, a person could change quite a lot in five years.
Cecily’s face lights up, and she adjusts her seated position, leaning closer. “Yes! I started last fall. I’m taking some art classes.”
“I didn’t know you had any interest in art.” She constantly doodled in notebooks growing up, but I always assumed they were bubble hearts with her name and whoever her current boy infatuation was.
“I’ve always loved drawing, but now I’m learning to paint and I love it.”
I remember the paint splatters on her jeans the day she came into the shelter.
“And what does Mom say?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stuff them back in.
At the mention of our mom, it’s like a cloud immediately darkens this tentative relationship between us.
She shifts in her seat and looks across the wrought-iron railing to watch the cars passing by. “She doesn’t know.”
Of what she’s revealed so far—going to college, taking art classes—this shocks me the most.
“How is that possible? I figured she’d know everything about your life. Honestly, I’m surprised she even lets you take classes with the show’s time constraints.”
She puts her elbows on the table. “I’m not on the show anymore.”
I huff. “Yeah. Right.”
“I’m not. I thought you knew that?”
“How would I know that?”
“Don’t you watch TV at all?”
“No, just movies.” Excluding my current binge of Malibu Shores .
“What about social media?”
“Don’t use it.”
“How?” She laughs like I’m joking—like the sheer idea of not using social media is an impossibility.
“It’s quite easy, really.”
She withdraws her hands and plops back in her seat. “That’s incredible.”
“Why? It’s not that hard. You just delete it. And voilà. Freedom.”
Even as I say this, my mind ticks back to Griffin’s suggestion yesterday about starting a social media account for the sake of my rescue.
Maybe I don’t want a personal social account, but I can see the validity in having a business one to promote awareness for the animal community at the very least. Maybe I could start one anonymously using my blog’s name?
The waiter appears and takes our order. My stomach is still in a tizzy, so I keep my order plain and simple—grilled ham and cheese. Cecily orders a salad.
Discussing Mom makes my skin itch, but if I don’t ask, my curiosity will eat at me for the rest of the day. “How is Mom doing?”
Cecily takes a drink of her water and shrugs. “Not sure.”
“I’m sorry? Can you just cut to the chase? What’s going on? Because everything is backward from what I thought.”
“That’s partially why I wanted to see you. I left Being the Blakes two years ago. They canceled the show shortly after I left. I guess it’s hard to be the Blakes when there’s just one Blake left.”
I scoff. I had no doubt Mom would figure out some way to become a one-woman show. “So, what? You don’t talk to Mom anymore?”
“No. I got tired of her drama and scheming. I tried to distance myself slowly, but you know how she is—always meddling. So when I quit the show, I moved out. Cut myself off from her. Zero contact. Just like you did.”
The world has tipped on its axis, and my head is spinning. “Why? I thought you loved being on the show.”
“I did…for a while. But then all that crap went down when we were teenagers, and it changed my perspective. No show or money is worth losing the only family you have.”
This might be a poignant moment for us to reach across the table and hold hands, united in our broken childhood, but I’m not ready to forgive and forget quite so easily. “Mom is family.”
Cecily tilts her head. “Not like we were. She was a dictator. I see that now. Never the mother figure we needed, but we were sisters . Best friends—if you can remember that far back. I just got so preoccupied trying to make Mom happy and I lost sight of you.”
“After that night when I came home crying about Tanner, why didn’t you tell me he was your boyfriend?” The heat in my veins pulses hot at the memory.
“Because I didn’t know?—”
“Oh really? You didn’t know your boyfriend set me up? You weren’t a part of it? I had a moment to shine on the show, and you couldn’t handle not being the center of attention?”
“I had no idea he’d been seeing you!” she fires back at me. “He snuck behind my back! I didn’t know any of it until you came home.”
The waiter brings our plates. Reading the tension between us, he scampers off without a word.
“It was all Mom!”
“What do you mean?”
“She set us up.” My sister’s voice breaks and her eyes well with tears.
The truth of it hits my stomach like a lead weight.
All these years, I assumed my sister schemed with my mom.
The two of them were always in cahoots—arranging coincidental events to increase ratings on the show.
On occasion, Mom would even pay someone to cause scenes or scandal on the show.
It’s not entertainment unless drama happens, right?
I thought she’d helped set me up to embarrass me—make a bigger splash for TV.
This whole time, I presumed the two of them had concocted this grand plan together. But I’d never stuck around to ask.
“You really didn’t know?” I whisper, my eyes stinging.
She shakes her head. “You came home crying and I wanted to talk to you, but Mom said to give you space. I saw the pictures on social media, but I didn’t know what to think.
The next thing I knew, you were gone. Mom said you’d show up sooner or later.
I kept calling your phone, but it went straight to voicemail.
Then you filed for emancipation. And that was that. I knew I’d never see you again.”
She takes a sip of water. “Tanner tried convincing me you made the moves on him. But the videos that went viral made it pretty obvious he’d instigated it.”
I scoff. “Well, tell that to the rest of the world. Everyone else believed I was stealing my sister’s boyfriend.”
“But I knew the truth, because I know you . You’d never do such a thing. I broke up with him the minute I knew. I wanted to apologize to you. To fix things. But by then, you’d changed your phone number and your last name.”
My tears spill over.
I had abandoned my sister. And never even tried to stand up for myself. I just ran away.
Like a coward. A foolish, ignorant coward.
I stand and pull Cecily from her chair, gathering her into my arms. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. I didn’t know.”
She sniffles, her voice muffled. “I know. It’s why I wanted to see you.”
I release her and swipe the tears I see rolling down her cheeks. “Thank you. I’m glad you found me.”
“I’m sorry it took so long.” She bites her lower lip, a smile tipping the corners. “I missed you.”
I missed her too. I missed having a friend. “Let’s start over, okay?”
“I’d like that.”
We sit together for hours, rehashing what had happened to us the last five years since we were separated.
Her: everything. She’d bought her own house, started college classes, and set up an online boutique selling her art.
Whereas I mostly worked at the shelter and thought about starting the rescue.
The conversation fills me with regret. Regret that I so easily walked away from family.
And regret over how much time I’ve wasted instead of actually making progress toward my dreams. Maybe Griffin and Luke are right.
Maybe the only way to gain traction for the rescue is by utilizing social media.
I whip out my phone before I can second guess myself.
Ashton
I’m all in.