Strike a Pose (Blame It on Fame #1)

20. Willow

Chapter 20

Willow

I t turns out everyone decided to come to the bar—even Maple.

“Only a Shirley Temple for you,” my dad scolds her after she orders a whiskey neat. “What do you want, adult ladies?” he pointedly turns to Aspen, my mom, and me.

“But Aspen is only twenty,” Maple protests.

“Fine, in solidarity with you, Syrup, I’ll just have a Shirley Temple too.”

“Well, I’ll have a French 75,” I tell him.

“I’ll have the same.” My mom shoots me a smile. “She has good taste. Thanks, Bobby,” she says as he walks away toward the bar to order.

“I’ll help him carry everything,” Maple suggests, trailing after him.

Since I barely had time to put on simple makeup and change into my dress—an elegant, strapless, bodycon light pink silk minidress with the only decoration being a large bow on the small of my back—I haven’t had time to check in with Aspen, yet.

“I’m fine, Willow,” she says, as if sensing my thoughts. “And I’m not mad at y ou. I mean, I was, but then I put myself in your shoes. If we had switched places, I would have called Mom too after a call like that.”

“Good. It was a tough decision, but…I just couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

“I know.” She nods. “Same for you.”

“I’m just glad you two get along so well.” Mom grimaces. “Me and Aunt Jenna fought like cats when we were younger.”

“To be fair, you were stuck in a trailer with each other. Luckily, Aspen and I usually have a continent of space between us,” I joke.

“Oh please, you two never even fought as kids. You would have been fine,” my mom dismisses.

Aspen reaches for my hand and squeezes, adding, “Seriously, Willy, we’re fine.”

Dad and Maple return with our drinks, and we all clink glasses in the center of our two-couch setup, toasting to family. Even though we’re in the darkest corner of the bar area, everyone is looking at us. At least nobody’s taking pictures.

“So, how was fashion month?” Aspen asks me.

“It was good. Heena and I were able to walk in a lot of shows together. She wished she could be here, but she’s doing some shoot in New York,” I reply, taking the first sip of my drink. “Oh, Mom, Jean Paul Gaultier said to tell you hi. And he’s sending you a leather jacket or something?”

“He’s too much.” She waves her hand dramatically despite the smile she’s failing to hide. “But I appreciate it, nonetheless.”

“How’s LA? How’s the project there going?” I ask.

“It’s going well,” Dad answers. “We’ve just finished planning everything and are preparing to start shooting the film in two weeks when we get back.”

“And you’re both producing it, right? ”

“Yes, and your father is directing and starring in it,” Mom adds. “I’m just there for moral support.”

“Iz, don’t sell yourself short. You’re doing all the work behind the scenes, helping with the casting, hair and makeup, costumes, and the shot lists.”

“Wow, Mom, that’s huge, congratulations!” Aspen says. “Remind me to start looking for an Oscars dress.”

“For yourself or for us?” Mom returns the smile. “We can’t forget about your big accomplishment, Aspen. Shooting your final season of Fairview Ridge is huge, and we can’t wait to see what you’ll do next.”

“I can’t wait to see what I’ll do next, either,” Aspen says sullenly.

“Something will come up,” Dad reassures her. “You’ve proven yourself. Now is the easy part, when you just count the days until producers come to you, begging you to be in their movies.”

“This isn’t the nineties, Dad,” Aspen retorts. “And I’m not on the top of anyone’s list.”

“You don’t know that,” my mom says. “Nobody’s approached you because they know you already have a full-time gig. Once you’re available, the offers will come.”

“Here’s hoping.”

“How’s school, Maple?” Dad asks, wisely changing the subject.

“Not as exciting as producing a movie, or walking the runway in Paris, or starring in a hit TV show. But it’s good.”

“Well, do you want to do any of those things?” Mom prods her delicately.

“No. But when we’re sitting here swapping updates, my life pales in comparison.”

“Do you want to come to LA with us? We could get you tutors,” Dad suggests .

“I like New York. And I like being in school. I like that I’ll be the only Jordan, besides Dad, to have actually graduated from high school,” Maple says. “Then, I don’t know, maybe college.”

“I think that would be great,” Mom says. “You can be the scholar of the family and put us all to shame.” She squeezes Maple’s knee reassuringly.

Maple smiles. “I don’t know what I would major in yet…”

“That’s okay, you have a few years to figure it out,” I respond. “And I’m sure having a famous family gives you tons of trauma to write about in a college essay,” I joke.

“Hey,” my dad faux-scolds. “Your mother and I didn’t rule nineties film for you kids to have to write about trauma to get into college. Your name should be enough.”

“And if it’s not, we could always donate a building,” Mom adds.

Maple hoists an eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind.”