The Truths Behind the Life of Maeve Sun Lively

99

BRIDGET DOESN'T TALK AT FIRST as I take my spot in the passenger side with Isabella in my arms.

I was rather glad, because I wasn't looking for a chat and from driving New York to Los Angeles I was looking forward to some silence in the nonstop forty-one hours to come.

But even so, I take my glances at her. It had been a long time since I last saw her, which was at Mary's funeral. Though that day we barely exchanged a word since I was too worried about Mason. Right now, she looks fairly organized and not tired for someone who has driven for so long just for a phone call.

My hope for not talking breaks when she catches my gaze.

I quickly turned away and looked directly forward at the windshield wiper that was dapping back and forth at the mild rain that has started.

"How are you?" She starts, taking her attention off the road and on me. I could feel her gaze burn through the left side of my cheek.

"Good."

We drove out of Manhattan, finally.

"After all these years, it feels like everything and everyone has changed." Bridget began, and I took my chances to lay my eyes on her instead of going the extreme lengths to avoid them. I thought, You have changed. "Phoebe is a business woman now, and Kayla is making a living out of selling things on eBay. I met them a few years ago, and they all look fairly different than they had when we were still in the group."

I watched her long eyelashes flutter open and shut, her full lips, her long black hair that I can see ghostly red highlights on even now.

She tilted her head at me, grinning. "Except, it seems like in some way you haven't changed at all. You've got the glow in you that none of us have anymore."

I could've blushed, which younger me would have, but instead I blinked blankly at her. Those feelings from years ago that I had carried for her...were they still here? Or were they long gone?

She turned her head back in front, laughing at herself. "When I think of you and how I'm with you right now, I feel like I'm back in time. And it's nice, to think of us and the other girls back then like that. I like to be reminded of those days."

I loosened a bit of the blanket that covered Isabella, letting her face get a bit more air.

"Bridget I..." I looked up from Isabella's sleeping face to find Bridget watching me intently. She stares at Isabella.

"Whose is it?" She asked, and I knew she was suppressing down some other feelings under her indifferent face. I could tell from years of acting myself.

But anyhow, I'm taken by surprise from the question.

Her hand on the wheel shakes slightly. "It looks like you."

She laughs, and I feel myself imagining the tears gathering around the corner of her eyes. Or if it was my imagination at all.

"Exactly like you. Beautiful."

I began to shake my head when she grasped at the wheel so tightly I noticed her knuckles turning pale white.

"I know better than to think you and him are real." She said, and I find myself unable to shift my gaze away from her. "It's not him, right? You don't actually love him."

She stated the last part as a statement instead of a question.

I looked hesitantly at her, then: "Bridget, I don't think this is necessary."

"It's all for the press," she said, more to herself than me.

I nodded, feeling drained of energy. It suddenly felt pointless to argue with her and lead her to believe otherwise. I just felt so tired. I wanted to stop pretending like I had to every single second of my life to everyone who didn't know. I just wanted to take a break.