Sin With Me

17

I fake a dying cow staggering around the kitchen. “Moooooo!” I moan loudly.

“Cut it out!”

I stop when I realize she’s freaking out. I cross to where she’s sitting and give her a hug. “Oh, honey,” I say, patting her silky dark hair. “It must be tough going through life with half a brain and a too-big heart.”

“I don’t even know why we’re friends.” She sighs, pushing me away.

I gently smooth her hair off her forehead. “Because Chloe only blows rainbows and sunshine up your ass and you need someone to bring you back down to reality once in a while.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Thank you.”

“Can we go now?” I smile. “Yes. Where’s Nico?”

She hops off the stool. “In the studio working on some new tracks. He probably won’t be done until late, so we have hours and hours to smother little Abby in auntie love.”

“A-smothering we shall go!” I link my arm through hers and we head back out to the car.

The drive from Kat and Nico’s in Hollywood to Chloe and A.J.’s in Laurel Canyon takes about thirty minutes in traffic. By the time we get there, it’s dark and my stomach is grumbling. I skipped breakfast and only had a salad for lunch.

“We should’ve brought food,” I say, pulling into the driveway. The house is much more modest than Kat’s, but still sprawling in comparison to the average home.

Kat says, “No need. A.J. said Chloe’s mother has brought so much food over there’s not enough space for it.”

I shut the car off and turn to look at Kat. “Chloe’s mother doesn’t cook.”

She waves a hand at me. “When I say Chloe’s mother you know I mean their housekeeper. Same thing.”

“Chloe’s mother isn’t anywhere near the same thing as their housekeeper.”

“You’re right,” Kat says, getting out of the car. “Their housekeeper has a soul.”

Chuckling, I follow her to the front door. “You’re in fine form tonight. Everything okay?”

“Yep,” she answers, a little too quickly. Avoiding my eyes, she knocks on the front door.

Chloe opens it before I can force Kat to tell me the truth.

“Girls!” Chloe throws her arms around both of us. When she pulls away she’s beaming. Even in a ratty T-shirt and sweats, with no makeup and her blonde hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail, she looks stunning. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” I look pointedly at Kat. “But this one is only pretending she is.”

Kat snaps, “Hello pot, meet kettle!” and barges past Chloe into the house.

Chloe and I look at each other. “Uh-oh,” says Chloe.

I lower my voice. “Do you think she and Nico had a fight?”

“She hasn’t said anything to me. You?”

“Not a word. We’ll get it out of her, though.” In a normal tone, I say, “Now where’s that gorgeous baby of yours?”

Chloe giggles. “With her daddy, of course. Where she always is. C’mon in.”

I step inside the house. Warmth and a profusion of scents hit me, baked bread and baby powder and fresh flowers, a pleasant mélange of homey goodness. Chloe shuts the door, and then leads me through the entryway into the living room, where we find Kat standing silently in front of the rocking chair A.J. is sitting in.

More correctly, the rocking chair A.J. is stuffed into. His huge frame overflows from all sides, threatening to crush the thing. His eyes are closed. His head lolls to one side. His mouth is slightly open, and he’s softly snoring.

His sleeping daughter is cradled in his big, tattooed arms.

Kat turns to us. Her eyes are bright with tears. She makes a motion with her open hands—Look at this, would you!—and turns and heads for the kitchen.

Chloe and I share a smile.

We tiptoe past A.J. and the baby, careful not to wake them. Thankfully the kitchen is on the other side of the house, separated from the living room by the dining room and the den, so we can talk without disturbing the two sleeping beauties.

When we walk into the kitchen, Kat already has her head stuck inside the fridge. “Do you have any white wine?”

“No, I have something better.” Chloe reaches past Kat and pulls out a frosty pitcher full of pale yellow liquid. “I made margaritas!”

“Oh, thank God,” moans Kat. “You’re an angel. Gimme, gimme!”

“Go sit, both of you.” Chloe motions with her chin to the kitchen table. “I’ll get us set up.”

“Honey, you should be resting, not waiting on us!” I protest, trying to take the pitcher from Chloe’s hands.

She lightly smacks my hands away, laughing. “I had a baby, Grandma, not a heart transplant! I feel fine!”

“I’m pretty sure you’re abnormal, though.” I watch her with narrowed eyes to make sure she’s not overextending herself as she gets glasses from the cupboard and pours two drinks. She sets the pitcher on the table, empties a bag of tortilla chips into a big bowl, and puts that out along with some freshly made guacamole.

“Ta da!” she says, grinning like a maniac. “It’s just like we’re at Lula’s!”

“Except there’s no hideous mariachi music and you’re not drinking,” notes Kat. Not wasting any time, she slurps her margarita.