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  “You’re not going to be this big forever, Moll.”

  “That’s what they say.” She looks down at her enormous midsection. “I’m just finding it hard to believe.”

  “August isn’t that far off either,” I point out.

  “That reminds me,” she says a bit more brightly. “My obstetrician thinks my due date might be off.”

  “Off?”

  “Yeah. At the last ultrasound, she said it looks like the baby is more developed, like maybe I was off. She said it could be more like mid-July.”

  “Hey, that’s great. The baby will be here even sooner.”

  “Yeah, but now I’m worried you won’t be back from the Bahamas when it comes.”

  “Oh … yeah.” Mollie has coerced me into being her birthing coach. “Do you still want me to go to the childbirth classes with you?”

  “Yeah, but maybe I’ll reschedule for the end of June. Is that okay?”

  “Sure.” I don’t want to make her feel bad, but I know I need to ask. “Do you have a backup plan? I mean, if I’m still in the Bahamas when you go into labor?”

  “My mom will help.”

  “Oh, good.” I try not to look too relieved. “So, she’s coming around more?” I don’t want to say too much, because Mollie’s mom has been kind of up and down in regard to this baby. Some days she’s happy she’ll be a grandma. Other times, especially if she’s been talking to Mollie’s dad too much, she can be extremely negative. Mollie’s dad has made no secret that he wants Mollie to give the baby up for adoption. But Mollie seems firm in her choice to keep and raise her child.

  “Yeah, Mom’s been pretty cool lately. She’s so certain it’s going to be a girl that she’s even bought some clothes.”

  “And you’re sticking with your resolve … not to find out the sex of the baby until it arrives.”

  Mollie nods as she dips her spoon into the ice cream.

  “Well, I hope that I’m here for you when the time comes.”

  “Me too.” She frowns and pushes her half-eaten ice cream away. “Now I’m stuffed.”

  As I drive Mollie home, I think, not for the first time, that it’s not easy being a best friend to an unmarried pregnant girl. For one thing, I can’t speak my mind openly … not like I used to anyway. I want to ask Mollie if she’s heard from Tony lately, or whether he ever plans to step up and accept some responsibility for this child. But I know that usually just upsets her. I also want to ask if he’s quit pressuring her to give the baby up for adoption. Last I heard, he was getting legal advice. I think he needs mental advice. Of course, I also want to ask if she has given her decision enough thought. But I know where that will get us—and I just don’t want to go there.

  Still, after I drop her at home, I try to imagine what her life’s going to be like with a baby, not in her tummy, but in her arms. A baby that wants to be fed and burped and changed and cared for 24/7. Has she really taken this into consideration? I also wonder how that’s going to affect our friendship. I know it’s selfish of me to think this, but I’m not sure I want to be hanging with Mollie and her baby all the time. And that makes me feel seriously guilty.

  It also makes me feel like I need another best friend. Not to replace Mollie, because I think we will always be best friends, but just someone to fill in the gap when she’s busy being a mommy. I wonder if it’s wrong to feel that way.

  As I go up to the condo, I’m thinking of Blake. He’s kind of like an alternative best friend, but for some reason he’s been a little out of touch lately. In fact, I think it’s time to give my old buddy a call. But when I try, I get his voicemail and so I leave a message.

  “Hey, Blake. I’m missing you. What’s up? Maybe this is dead week. Or maybe you’re having finals. If so, good luck. Call me when you’re not busy.” As I hang up, I realize I probably nailed it. This is the first week of June, so he’s probably ending the school year. But as I get ready for bed, I’m questioning this. Even if it’s dead week or if he’s having finals, he could call me. And now I wonder if he might be avoiding me for some other reason. I wonder if I offended him the last time we talked, when we went to see a movie.

  So as I get into bed, I replay our last conversation. It took place more than a week ago and it had to do with our relationship.

  “So, now that Paige is engaged,” he had begun, “I assume your agreement with her—to lay off dating relationships—is kind of moot?”

  I told him that Paige could make her own decisions, but I still felt like I wasn’t ready for a serious relationship.

  “Define a serious relationship,” he challenged me.

  “You know, steady, committed, exclusive.”

  He had just nodded, but now that I think about it, it seems like his eyes were troubled. Or maybe I’m imagining it.

  “Don’t you agree with that?” I asked him.

  “I guess so.”

  “So we’re on the same page then?”

  “Sure. If you don’t want our relationship to be steady, committed, or exclusive, how can I not agree?”

  “But you really are my best guy friend,” I assured him. “And I’m thankful for you.”

  As I recall, he had smiled. We held hands as we went into the theater, and everything seemed pretty much the same as it’s been for the past few months. But maybe something changed that night. When I consider his goodnight kiss, I feel even more certain of this.

  “You’re a great girl,” he told me that night. “And you’ve been a good friend to me.”

  “Same back at you,” I said to him.

  Then we had kissed. And when he stopped kissing me, he had this sad expression. “See you around, Erin.”

  At the time I remember thinking it was a weird way to say goodnight. Then I got busy with life and work and helping get things ready for Mom’s upcoming wedding, and I didn’t think too hard about it. Until now.

  It’s possible I could be over-thinking this, like Paige is always accusing me of doing. And lately, it seems there is plenty to think about. So, as I open my Bible, my regular bedtime routine, I tell myself that everything between Blake and me is just fine. Same old, same old. I’m guessing that by the end of the week, Blake will call. If he doesn’t, I’ll call him and invite him to the BBB fashion show. Knowing Blake, that’s an invite he will not refuse.

  On Wednesday morning, Paige and I go to the studio, where Paige spends about an hour in wardrobe, putting together our outfits.

  “I want us to look impeccable,” she tells me as she holds the white Michael Kors jacket in front of me, studying me and it carefully as if she’s about to change her mind again.

  She has just decided to stick with Michael Kors for me when Fran and Leah arrive. Although I try not to stare, I can’t help noticing how weak and pale Fran looks. Paige shows her selections to Fran, and naturally Fran approves. Who would dare disapprove Paige’s fashion sense? Certainly not anyone who’s not feeling her best.

  “Let’s get you girls started in hair and makeup,” Fran tells us. “We’ll go over some of the show details on the way there.” She gives Leah instructions and says she’ll be in her office. Hopefully not throwing up.

  “What’s troubling you?” Shauna asks as I sit in the chair for makeup.

  “Nothing.”

  She reaches for a sponge. “Well, for a moment you looked like you lost your best friend.”

  I force a smile.

  “See.” She points to the mirror. “You know what they say about a smile? It increases your face value.”

  “Yeah, I think you’ve told me that one before, Shauna.”

  “Apparently it didn’t take then either.” She chuckles. “Now close your eyes.” As she works, she rattles on about how a positive attitude is life changing. “It’s like an internal makeover,” she says as she applies eyeliner.

  “I agree,” I mumble. I know she doesn’t like us to talk much while she’s working on our faces. “Thanks for the reminder.”

  After a bit, Paige and I switch
chairs, and by twelve thirty we’re ready to get dressed, but Leah has brought in some lunch, and so we all sit around and eat and talk instead.

  “I told the camera guys about the polka-dot bikini line,” Leah informs Paige. “Hopefully, you won’t need to use it.”

  “Hopefully.” Paige forks a piece of pineapple.

  By one fifteen we’re dressed and on our way to the studio where the interview will be shot. Leah informs us it’s a studio Brogan picked.

  “We did suggest a neutral location,” Fran tells us.

  “But Brogan insisted this was better,” Leah says.

  “Naturally, the studio is owned by the same network that produces Malibu Beach.” Fran leans back in the seat and sighs. I wonder how she’s feeling, but don’t dare ask.

  Paige wrinkles her nose as we get out of the car. “It feels like we’re going into enemy territory.”

  As we enter the studio, it’s reassuring to see our camera guys already there and set up. As is the Malibu Beach crew. Unfortunately, there are a few other members of the Malibu Beach cast there as well. They’re keeping a low profile around the sidelines, but even so, it’s starting to feel a little like high noon at the O.K. Corral.

  “Ready for this?” I quietly ask Paige.

  She nods with a perfect smile. “I am a professional.”

  “And don’t forget it,” Fran tells her as she finds a chair and sits.

  Leah does some last-minute touches to Paige’s hair and then we’re mic’d up. We’re told to head onto the platform that’s arranged with three chairs and some potted palms in back. I check to make sure I have my note cards in my pocket. I know my role is to be supportive of Paige and to jump in as needed, but I feel nervous as we greet Brogan, making small talk like we’re all old friends.

  I try to act natural, but I’m still getting used to my new role in the limelight. I say a silent prayer as we’re seated and final adjustments are made to mic cords, sound, and lights.

  “I want to keep this casual,” Paige tells Brogan.

  “Great.” Brogan keeps a stiff smile on her face.

  Our camera guy, Alistair, does the countdown and Paige speaks directly to the camera in her usual warm, friendly voice. “We’re with Brogan Braxton today. As most of you know, Brogan is one of the stars of the reality TV show Malibu Beach. But what you may not know is that Brogan has some other tricks up her sleeves.” She smiles at Brogan. “And those are some good-looking sleeves too.”

  “Thank you.” Brogan sits a little straighter.

  Paige looks back at the camera, explaining how Brogan is introducing her new line of beachwear. “We’re here to find out more about this exciting new line of clothing.” Paige turns to Brogan. “So, tell me, Brogan, what made you decide to design beachwear?”

  “For starters, I’ve always loved fashion,” Brogan begins, “but I’ve been disappointed by some of the designs we get to choose from.”

  “I know what you mean,” Paige agrees. “When you’re on the beach, or by the pool, you want to be stylish, but you also want to be comfortable. I remember a swimsuit I had that looked fantastic—unless I decided to move in it. Then the bottom would ride up, the top would slip down, and I’d end up looking like a case of indecent exposure.” She laughs.

  “Yes. My line, The BBB, isn’t like that.”

  There’s a brief pause, so I jump in. “Another thing about swimwear is that it’s nice if you can actually swim in it.”

  Brogan looks surprised. “Well, yes, that is the point.”

  “So would you say your pieces hold up well in the water?” I persist. “Have they been pool tested? What about salt water? That can really mess up some suits.”

  Brogan looks stumped.

  “That’s an interesting question,” Paige says to me. “I wonder how many swimwear designers actually do test their garments in the water. For instance, some fabrics hold their shape, but some get all loose and weird.” She turns back to Brogan. “Did you take that into consideration with your line?”

  “Well, I am working with some other designers.”

  “So the BBB line isn’t exclusively your original designs?”

  “Of course they’re mine. It’s my name on the label and nothing is made without my approval.”

  “Where did you train as a designer?” Paige frowns at her notes. “Actually, I see here that you haven’t been to college yet. So I guess that means you don’t have any official training.”

  “Well, no, I’m only nineteen.”

  “So, would you say you’re naturally gifted at design?” Paige’s smile looks a bit stiff.

  “How about you?” Brogan tosses back at her. “You’re the self-proclaimed fashion expert, right?”

  Paige laughs uncomfortably. “I guess you could say that.”

  “You’re not much older than I am.” Brogan’s eyes narrow. “And if you came here thinking you were going to humiliate me today — ”

  “Hey,” Paige waves her hands toward the cameras. “We might as well cut if this is going to turn into a debate. That’s not our purpose.”

  Naturally, the cameras are still rolling. After all, both crews know how reality shows operate. Fran steps in and invites us to take a break.

  “Let’s regroup,” she suggests, her eyes tired.

  Now I feel bad. Perhaps there was something I could’ve done to keep this on track. As we retreat to opposite sides of the studio, I ask myself what I need to do to help smooth this over.

  Chapter

  3

  After about fifteen minutes, we all decide to try again. Paige makes some self-deprecating jokes about how she really has no formal training either, and how it’s no big deal. “I guess we’re both just naturally gifted,” she tells Brogan. “We’re just a couple of fashion freaks.”

  I know that’s true for Paige, but I think it’s an overstatement in regard to Brogan. I play along anyway. “I can attest to the fact that Paige has been studying fashion since she was little,” I tell Brogan. “I remember the time she threw a spoiled-princess hissy fit because her shoes were the wrong shade of pink to go with her dress.”

  Brogan gives us a tolerant smile. “Yes, well, I suppose I’m a bit like that too.” She sits straighter in her chair. “You see, I’ve always had a knack for fashion. My friends like to come to me for advice. And, like I said, I work with some good designers.”

  “So, I’m curious,” Paige continues. “When it comes time to actually put the designs together, what kind of a role do you take?”

  Brogan’s eyes dart over to where her friends are watching. “I take a very active role. I’m very involved. I work closely with my designers. And I think when you see my show on Saturday, you’ll understand why I’m so passionate about this.”

  I want to point out that we’ve already seen photos—unimpressive ones. But I know better.

  “I think the design steps are so fascinating,” Paige says with enthusiasm. “I just love every aspect of it. Don’t you?”

  “Absolutely.” Brogan nods eagerly. “It’s exciting to see how ideas become clothes.”

  “Perhaps we could visit you in your studio,” I suggest to Brogan. “It would be fun to see you at work.”

  “Yes,” Paige agrees. “In fact, that’s how we usually interview designers.”

  “We might be able to arrange that.” Brogan is getting cool again.

  “I’m sure our viewers, and yours too, would love to see Brogan Braxton in her design mode.”

  Brogan nods but looks uncomfortable. And there’s one of those pauses again.

  “So do you draw the designs yourself?” I ask.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “That’s impressive,” Paige tells her. “You must be something of an artist then.”

  Some of Brogan’s friends giggle and Brogan frowns. “I mostly just do some initial pencil sketches.”

  “Do you actually sew some of the designs?” Paige asks.

  Now there are more giggles, and Brogan scowls lik
e that was a dumb question. “No. I have people who do that for me.”

  “It’s just that I know a lot of designers who start out in a very hands-on sort of way,” Paige explains. “Are you saying you’re not involved in the initial construction of your garments? Not at all?”

  “Like I said, Paige, I have people who do that for me. I’m more of an idea person.”

  “So you don’t do any of the actual work?” I ask, trying to grasp what she’s really saying—what exactly is it that makes Brogan Braxton a designer?

  “My job is to direct my designers,” Brogan explains. “I’m kind of like the queen bee with my worker bees buzzing about.” She chuckles like she’s enjoying her metaphor.

  “I’m curious,” I say. “How do you do that, exactly?”

  “We meet regularly and discuss ideas and styles and lines,” she says. “And, of course, I suggest colors.”

  “And you probably choose fabrics too?” Paige inserts.

  “Yes. Absolutely.” She nods. “I’m very hands-on when it comes to fabrics.”

  “Do you have a preference,” Paige asks, “of, say, synthetic over natural fiber?”

  “Oh, we use all kinds of fabrics.” Brogan looks uncomfortable again. There’s another pause, and I hope Paige uses our polka-dot bikini cue soon, as this is about the most boring interview my sister has ever conducted. It’s not entirely Paige’s fault; Brogan is about as interesting as a stump.

  I decide to jump in again. “How concerned are you about how your clothing line impacts the environment?”

  “Very concerned.” She nods with big eyes.

  “So what are you doing to keep your carbon footprint minimal? And do you use overseas laborers, and if so, do you practice fair — ”

  “I—uh—I have a guy who handles all that for me.”

  “So back to the design process,” Paige says. “How do you start thinking up a new line of swimwear? What inspires you, Brogan?”

  As Brogan continues to ramble, it becomes increasingly clear that she knows very little about clothing and design. My guess is she’s a puppet and it’s her name, combined with her daddy’s money, that drives The BBB.