PLAYBOY PRINCESS (gxg) ✓

13. Paris Young

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              IT WAS THE FIRST DAY OF DECEMBER.

              It had been a week and a half since Rory's surgery, and she was recovering . . . remarkably well. Surprisingly well.

              She had thrown herself into physical therapy. Dedicating herself to getting better. Each day, she spent more and more time practicing her stretches and balancing on two feet.

              And Paris would never tell her, but . . . she was impressed.

             Rory had one hell of a drive. It was pure, clear determination that cut her features like glass, and even though she seemed exhausted, she was getting better.

             Passion. Paris respected that.

             Her phone began to ring.

             "Hey, Mom," she said, knowing instantly who was on the other end.

            "Baby, you're coming home this weekend, aren't you?"

            "We made the plans, remember?"

            "I know, I know. I was just making sure."

            "If that's all—"

            "And . . . are you bringing anyone?" Static crackled over the phone. "Someone special, maybe?"

            "No, Mom," Paris sighed.

            Her mother had come a long way from once saying, You're too young to know what your sexuality is. 

            As though being straight was the default.

            But when Paris graduated from Vega's Boarding Academy for Ladies, her mother had been the one to whisper in her ear, "I'm okay with it, Paris."

            And maybe it wasn't perfect. Maybe there were times when her mother saw a commercial or a movie and there was the faintest, flickering touch of the homophobia that had once made Paris cry herself to sleep. But she was trying—she was reaching out to Paris, trying to fix the damage that had been done by both her and Paris's father.

            When Paris turned twenty-one, her mother had filed the divorce papers.

            She was trying—there was no denying that. Paris's father had never been able to accept her, and those cold, cruel words he had once thrown into her were what she heard whenever he looked at her. 

           You're too pretty be a lesbian. 

           And eventually . . . eventually . . . it had become the rupture between her mother and father. 

             They were divorced because of her. 

             But when Paris's mother had heard Paris say that, she had only said, No, baby. Your father and I are divorced because he is a selfish, narrow-minded asshole who is unwilling to accept his only daughter. And it's about time I chose you.

              Paris had cried, then—at those words.

              I choose you. 

              And the forgiveness hadn't come easily, but it was there now. 

             "Really, Paris, it's about time!" said her mother. "You should be looking for a—a girlfriend by now. You should be settled down!"