More than Distance

2

The show came back on and I recognized it as an episode from three seasons ago. “Ooh, this is the one where the sisters get in a big fight and one drives off without the other and then gets disqualified for doing the challenge alone.”

“You just missed the one where that surfer couple crashed into a tree because they were making out and not watching the road.”

“Oh yeah! That was a good season. Much better than the recent one.”

He flipped the remote over and over in his hand. “The show’s getting kind of stale now. They need to mix it up somehow.”

Dad walked into the living room and his warm presence immediately filled the space. He was a large man, both tall and broad, and I’d always thought of him as a big teddy bear. He sat beside me on the couch, draping his arm behind me. “Hey, sweetheart. How you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Dad.” You’d think after seven years in remission they’d stop fretting over me, but no. I reminded myself that they only did it because they cared. “What’s going on with you and Mom?”

He tensed beside me. “Nothing. How’s the Mustang?”

It obviously wasn’t nothing, but I let it go for now. “It’s making that rattling noise again. I might bring it by the shop sometime this week.”

Dad owned a chain of auto repair shops across Southern California called Jackson Automotive, which he’d started before we were born. Daniel and I had spent most of our childhood and teenage years hanging around the original location in Culver City, learning how to repair and fix up cars. Most of the time, Ryan Evans had been with us too.

Whoa, were had that thought come from? I squashed it down as fast as it popped up. I tried to avoid thinking about Ryan as much as possible. My brain must have slipped because of everything that happened last week. One heartbreak made me think of another.

“What are you going to do with the car when you go to New York?” Daniel asked me.

“Leave it here, probably. That okay, Dad?”

“Sure, sweetheart. When are you leaving?”

“Two weeks.”

“So soon.” There was a heavy sadness to Dad’s voice, but he gave me a quick squeeze. “I’m proud of you. Doing what you love. It’s great.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I learned against him and tried to lose myself in the show, except all I could think about was how in two weeks I’d be on a reality TV show too—as a judge this time.

I’d always loved reality TV shows, but never expected they would become such a big part of my life. It started a year ago when my roommate Maddie went on The Sound, a show where bands competed for a record deal, and a few months after that our friend Julie was invited on Behind The Seams, a fashion design competition. I worked as Julie’s model on the show, thanks to some strings Mom had pulled, but I ended up being switched to her boyfriend, Gavin. When he won the show I earned ten thousand dollars, plus we got a photo shoot in Charmed magazine.

My modeling took off after that, although it was tough to juggle my busy schedule with my college classes. Now that I’d graduated from UCLA I could focus on my career, but I honestly wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep modeling. I enjoyed the travel part of it and I loved the makeup and fashion, but I wanted something more stable. Something long-term.

The solution came when Giselle Roberts, the producer of Road Trip Race and Behind The Seams, offered me a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity as a judge on her other show, American Supermodel. It combined two of my favorite things—modeling and reality TV—and was my ticket into a new career. The only requirement was that I move to New York and leave behind my family and most of my friends. Sure, Julie and Gavin were there, but it was going to be hard to leave behind so many people I loved in Los Angeles.

Even so, I was looking forward to starting over somewhere new. A place where my parents and brother wouldn’t be able to hover over me constantly, fussing over everything I did. A place where my ex-boyfriend couldn’t show up at my apartment in the middle of the night, begging me to take him back. A place without memories of the other guy I could never quite banish from my thoughts.

Yes, I definitely needed a fresh start.

Mom called us in for dinner and we made our way to the dining table, which was covered in food along with candles and a vase full of daisies. She’d even used her best silverware and her fancy wedding china. Had I forgotten some sort of special occasion? No, of course not—it would have been in my planner, and the only thing on today’s list had been do laundry, start packing, and family dinner.

“Looks good, Mom,” Daniel said, as he pulled up a chair. “How’d you know I was craving this?”

She gave him a warm smile. “Mothers always know.”

Tonight Mom had cooked some of her favorite Portuguese dishes, which only confirmed she was upset about something—her hand-me-down recipes from her grandma were always her go-to comfort foods. First up, some caldo verde soup, plus some broa cornbread for dipping. Once that was done, we’d move on to the bacalhau com natas, before finishing with a tarte de amêndoa for dessert.

I sat across from Daniel and he kicked me under the table, like he’d done every family dinner since he shot up to his current height of six-foot-five. Both of our parents were tall too—my mom liked to joke that she married my dad because he was the only guy she could find who was taller than her. We always laughed about it, but at six-foot or so myself, I could sort of relate.

As soon as our parents sat down, the doorbell rang. Everyone froze except Daniel, who shot to his feet. “I’ll get it.”

While my brother headed for the front door, Mom tilted her head and asked in a way-too-loud whisper, “Did he invite a girl?”