Being Hartley (21 page)

My mouth drops open again, but this time I find the words I need and I say them, too.
"Are you serious? Like I'm supposed to be able to help it if the paparazzi are waiting for you at the airport? What am I supposed to be able to do about that?"

"Perhaps not enjoy it quite so much?" Mom gives me a pointed look.
"Ugh." She shakes her head in disgust again. "I cannot believe I found out about this on
Entertainment Tonight
. And that's what that woman was talking about this afternoon, too, wasn't it? The one who approached us at lunch..."

Now I do feel bad.
"I've been trying to tell you…" I start.

"There shouldn't be anything
to
tell me, Thea."

"I know, I just…" I want to tell her how things played out.
That I wasn't trying to hurt her. That I simply wanted to dance with Noah so much. That for a few blissful minutes, I wanted it to be
me
up there, living
my
dream. But Mom cuts in again.

"There's no excuse for it, Thea, none."

"I—"

She puts a hand up now.
"No, I don't want to hear it."

It's when my mom says this that something changes inside me.
I'd been feeling bad that I hadn't told her, but now I see that it wouldn't have made a difference if I'd done the adult thing and confessed anyway. Because she's hardly listening to me here, is she? Even if I knew the perfect words and phrases to string together to make my case, however I tried to explain myself, she wouldn't hear me. She never does.

On realizing this, just like I'd experienced this afternoon, backstage at the
SMD
show, that little spout of anger rises up inside me again. I'd plugged it successfully this afternoon, but now, with my mom confronting me, I can't seem to do that. It erupts and overflows. "Well, that's no great surprise. After all, you never want to hear my side of things, do you?"

Mom's eyes move swiftly to mine.
She looks shocked. "What was that?"

I try and stop myself, but it's too late to turn back now.
"I'm trying to tell you something. I've been trying since it happened. Since I got up on that stage. But I can't. Because you never listen to me. Never!"

My mom cuts me off.
"Oh, no. Don't you make this about me. This is all on you. All of it."

"Is it?
Is it really?" My anger explodes now. "I mean, you're talking about how unfair it is to find out things through
Entertainment Tonight
. How about last year when I found out we were going to New Zealand for six months? Remember how I found that out?"

Across from me, my mom's jaw sets in a hard line.

I answer for her. "Funny, but I found that out on
Entertainment Tonight
as well!"

"That was entirely different," my mom pipes up now.
"That information was leaked."

"Well, it should have been leaked to me first, Mom.
From you!"

She shakes her head again at this.
Yet another "no" from my mother. No, Thea, you can't do this. No, Thea, you can't do that. No, Thea, you're not even allowed to speak. To exist! No, no, no.

Frankly, I'm tired of hearing no.
For once, just once, my mother can listen to me. Adrenaline surging through my body, I try and piece together my argument. What I want her to finally hear from me.

"Okay, look, I'm sorry that it happened this way," I start, before taking a deep breath, because I'm going to need it for what's coming next.
"I know I should be careful. And I am careful, usually. But the bottom line is, I don't see what's so wrong about what I did, either. I got up on a stage and danced, Mom. That's all. Because I love dancing. Because Noah asked me. Because I wanted to so badly I couldn't say no. And I didn't do it because of you. I did it because of me. Because
I
wanted to. For five minutes, I got to be a Hartley too. And I know that you hate that I'm one. I know that you can't stand it that I'm like everyone else in this family. But just for once, I wanted things to be about me and what I want. Because it's always about you. You, you, you. But I'm here, Mom. And I exist. And I have things I want and need and dream about. And the truth is…" I pause for a second, getting up the inner courage to tell my mom what I've wanted to tell her for a long time. "I'm tired of my life being defined by who you are and not by who I am."

-
24
-

After I deliver my speech, I stand back and wait for the aftershocks.
I expect one of two things to happen—either my mom will go off her nut and we'll have an all-out screaming match, or she'll say nothing, grab me by the ear, and we'll be in a cab and on the next plane out of here to the safety of secluded Tasmania.

Neither of those things happens.

What happens is much, much worse.

In front of me, my mom goes white as a sheet
, and her right hand comes up to her chest, her palm landing over her heart. Then she kind of takes this shuddery breath in, as if she can't get enough air.

OMG.
My face falls as I watch her.

I've given my mother a heart attack.

"Mom!" I race over and pull out a chair from the dining table. I grab her elbow. "Mom! Sit down!" I shuffle her over until she's beside the chair and then sit her down slowly. As I stand over her, I'm torn as to what to do next. Call 911? The hotel doctor? Uncle Erik? Dad? Get a glass of water?

But my mom sorts this out for me by speaking.
"I…can't believe you just said that to me," she says, not looking at me, but at spot on the carpet in front of her. "Those exact words. I can't believe it."

I stay silent, hovering above.

"Exactly the same." Her brow furrows, and her mouth remains slightly open. But then her eyes raise to mine. "I said that to my own mother," she explains. "Before I left for good—that I was tired of my life being defined by my family. And not by who I am."

"Oh," I say quietly.
My mom has barely told me anything about her mom, except for what she told me the other day, about the painkillers, and of course, I've always known the main thing—that, over twenty-five years later, my grandmother still won't speak to her daughter.

Everything else I've had to find out by myself, via the internet, or entertainment shows on TV.
I try not to focus on the details, which might not be true, but there's no denying the basic facts—my mom comes from a long line of entertainers who haven't always done the right thing by their kids. Money has gone missing, children have been pushed to the brink of exhaustion, education hasn't exactly come first, drug and alcohol problems have been hidden instead of fixed. My mom and Uncle Erik are a couple of the only ones out of their many siblings and cousins who've gotten out of the family stranglehold and seem…okay. To a point.

My mom's eyes move to the floor again, glassy and kind of vague.
"I can't believe I've tried so hard not be like her in every single way and things have turned out exactly the same. She pushed me into the business, and I thought that by keeping you out of it completely…" She doesn't finish her sentence, or can't. "And we've wound up at the same place anyway. I wanted things to be so different for you."

"Mom," I say, every single ounce of anger gone.
"It's not the same. It's not the same at all."

"Isn't it?" she says.
"Because it looks like it is to me."

"It's not.
I mean, yes, we need to make some changes. Yes, we need to talk about things more, but…"

Mom's cell starts ringing, cutting into my thoughts.
I wait for her to answer it, but she doesn't seem like she's going to, or maybe she's not even capable of answering it in the state she's in—she's still awfully pale. In the end, I reach over and pull it out of her vest pocket.

"It's Deb," I say, inspecting the screen.
"I'm going to answer it."

As it turns out, it's Deb wondering where Mom is as she was due at an interview three minutes ago.
I end the call and bend down in front of my mom, level with her eyes. "You've got to go, Mom. There's a journalist waiting for you in Deb's suite."

"No," she says, staring straight at me.
"Not now. We need to talk about this. It can't be the same. It can't."

This is really unlike my über-professional mom.
And while I'm really freaked out, I try and pull myself together, because I think she's even more freaked out than I am. Right now, I need to show her how grown-up I can be when I want to.

"We'll talk about it," I tell her.
"But it can wait a few hours. And don't think for a second that it's the same. It's not even close to the same because I'm not going anywhere, Mom. Things aren't right, but I couldn't be without you, and I'm not going anywhere." My eyes well up as I say the words, because they're more than true. I could never go any amount of time without talking to my mom. She might want different things for me than I want for myself, but I know the truth behind this—it's only because she loves me. Whatever we've fought about, not for a second have I ever doubted this. The sad thing is, I don't think things are even close to this when it comes to Mom and her own mother.

"Come on." I get up and offer her a hand up as well. "It's show time."

* * *

After a few more minutes, I finally persuade my mom to go to Deb's suite and meet the journalist who's now been waiting for her for some time.
She's still acting a little odd, so I walk her down the hall myself and deliver her to her assistant personally. After this, I head back to our own suite.

When I get back inside and am on my own, that's when it really hits me as to what's just gone on.
I've never seen my mom drop the ball in front of me like that. Never. It changes almost everything I've ever thought about her—that she's so together, that she's so strong, that she could make people think or do anything, just because of who she is—Cassie Hartley.

The truth is, she's just like everyone else.
She feels things just like everyone else. She's not invincible. She has all the same feelings I do—fear, pain, anger…

After a while, I think about calling Dad, but something about it feels wrong.
Whatever's going on here, this is between Mom and me, and I get the feeling dragging Dad into it won't help things.

Eventually
, the room itself starts to make me feel uncomfortable. I can't stop thinking about what's just gone on in here, so I throw on a hoodie and decide to go for a walk. When I get out of the elevator on the ground floor, I pause, unsure of where to go, then walk straight ahead and take a right, out through the lobby, and then the main entrance. It's dark now, but there are still plenty of people around, and as more gather, I realize the fountain is going to do its thing again very soon.

I follow the general direction of the crowd down the winding road to get a better view of the fountain
, and end up in almost exactly the same spot Noah and I watched the fountain from the other night, right beside the lamppost he'd hung off. I reach out and touch it now and smile a little, remembering. Even though things couldn't go any further with us, I'll never forget that evening.

I ooohhh and aaahhh my way through the show
, and it's nice to belong to the crowd for a while—to blend in and be a tourist. To forget about everything else that's going on in what's turning out to be the least restful vacation ever. Just as we're moving into what must be one of the last songs, I catch sight of something moving quickly out of the corner of my eye. It's a jogger. But it's not any jogger—it's Noah. Instinctively, I quickly turn back to the fountain again, hoping he hasn't seen me. I don't think I'm in any kind of state to be with other people right now, and he'll probably think I'm stalking him or something.

But it's too late
—he has seen me. "Thea?" He pulls up beside me, puffing.

"Oh, hi." I step away from the few people around me, not wanting to disturb their view.

Noah stares at me for a moment or two. "You okay? You look a bit…odd."

I take a deep breath, trying to push back the tears that instantly spring up in my eyes.
"Um, yes. Well, no. Not really," I say, with a gulp, all my problems colliding in my head at once.

"Hey?
What's wrong?" Noah frowns, taking my arm and pulling me away from the crowd of people watching the fountain.

I shake my head.
"Everything's just…" I say, stopping myself. I'm scared that if I keep speaking, I'll simply burst into tears.

"What's up? Did your mom find out about the audience participation thing?
I hope that was okay. Sorry, I didn't realize…"

I interrupt him.
"No, it's not that," I start. "I didn't have to dance with you if I didn't want to. That was totally up to me." The truth is, I can't even begin to tell Noah what's going on. "My mom…" I start. "Oh, I don't know. This trip has brought a lot of things up for everyone." I don't want to talk about Emme. I can't talk about Emme. Anyway, Emme is none of my business.

"I know what you mean," Noah tells me.
"I certainly didn't know about Asher."

I nod.
"Yeah, me either. Or Allie."

"Oh."
Noah instantly gets what I'm saying. "The thing is, though—maybe we shouldn't think too badly about that. I mean, I was surprised that she hadn't told me, but then I figured…well…"

"What?" I look up from the ground now
, and Noah meets my eyes.

Noah shrugs slightly.
"It would be nice, I guess. To have something that was just for me. That nobody else knew about. That nobody else could talk me into, or out of, or that I was contracted for," he says, quietly. "Huh. Does that even make sense?"

I nod, because it does.
It makes perfect sense. Maybe that's what things are like for him with Emme. Maybe that's what he's trying to tell me here?

"Yeah," Noah continues. "It's weird, but I was almost saying this exact thing to someone the other day over lunch."

"Oh?" I freeze on the word "lunch." As in, lunch with Emme?

"You know Emme Conroy? Who I used to date?"

Breathe, breathe, breathe. "Not personally," I manage to squeak.

Noah laughs. "Yeah, well, she's in Vegas on a promotional tour, so we caught up for lunch. And I was telling her that I thought that was one of our big problems. When we used to date, I mean. That we let the media know too much. I guess it doesn't matter anymore, seeing as it's all over, but I won't forget it. For next time."

"Oh," I say, after a while, my brain trying desperately to register that it's true. He's not seeing Emme again. Rory was right. And I guess Allie had been right, too—Mara really was just trying to get to me.

Noah continues talking. "I've been thinking about things like that a lot recently. You know, a couple of weeks ago, I went home.
My family's not like yours, right? They're normal…"

I laugh a half-hearted laugh at this, trying to catch up
—my mind a whirlwind, and Noah laughs too.

"Sorry, you know what I mean.
Anyway, I went home, and my two younger brothers, they're getting older now, doing stuff on their own. And they had all these friends over and were going out on dates and…well, they had these
lives
. They made all these decisions for themselves without consulting people. And there was all this stuff that wasn't even on my radar that was going on with them—school, sports, friends, and parties, and this…existence that I wasn't a part of and would never know. And I realized I'd never had that, and I wouldn't have it…couldn't have it."

"But you have your own world.
You're such a part of the show," I say. "You've been part of it forever."

Noah shakes his head.
"But it's not real. And it's not my world anymore. Or not one I want to be a part of. I know I've been distancing myself. I'm ready to get out, same as Rory. Seeing my brothers, I worked out something so basic it's embarrassing."

"What's that?" I ask.

Noah shakes his head as if he's reconsidering telling me before finally looking into my eyes again. "I'm…lonely. Everyone thinks I'm so popular and funny and that everyone loves me. But so few people really know me. If I left the show tomorrow, I'd have no one. How pathetic is that?"

"Lonely," I echo.
It's not a tag I've ever applied to myself, but now I realize it encompasses so much—why I cling to my cousins the way I do, why I've been bickering with my mom so much about wanting to go to school, why I feel so isolated chasing her around the world. I'm in different places, seeing different faces all the time, but the bottom line is—I'm lonely. Just like Noah.

"Embarrassing, huh?" Noah bites his lip in front of me.
"I can't believe I just admitted that to you."

I stare over at him in amazement.
Amazed that Noah Hoffman, goofy, popular, gorgeous Noah Hoffman could feel any of the same feelings I feel on a daily basis. Amazed that he's anything like me. "You're lonely?" I repeat.

"Now I'm really embarrassed." Noah looks like he wants the asphalt to swallow him alive.
He goes to turn away.

"No," I say, quickly, stepping forward, closer to him, to grab his forearm.
"Don't go. It's not embarrassing," I tell him, turning him back around. "And if it is, I'll have to be embarrassed with you. Because I know exactly how you feel. Noah, I'm lonely every single day of my life."