“I bet you did.”
“I’m pregnant.”
Bad news, when it comes in the quantity and severity I was delivering, well, it’s a bit like a Band-Aid—best get at it with one swift motion rather than slowly and painfully. The shock was overwhelming for my mom. I wasn’t sure if she was shocked at the news that I was pregnant or shocked from the realization that finally hit her that I was not her little girl anymore, that I had grown up.
“My goodness, Bonita,” she said with a hand on her heart. “You’re going to give your poor mother a heart attack.”
I put my arm around her and helped her into a chair. “I’m going to go get Dad,” I said. I patted her on the back and went off in search of my dad, who always liked to stay as far away as possible when he felt an argument brewing between Mom and me.
I found him in his study, pretending to read. “Dad, Mom needs you.” I walked him to the kitchen. “She’s not dealing well with the news.”
“What news?”
“That I’m pregnant.
I put my arm around him and helped him into a chair next to Mom. “I’m going to go get Guillermo,” I said, and I left them expressing their disbelief to each other, mumbling at the same time, and shaking their heads.
I brought Guillermo into the kitchen. “Mom and Dad are having a hard time coping with the news.”
“What news?”
I smiled and said with enthusiasm, “I’m pregnant.”
Guillermo seemed puzzled. He glanced at Dad, then Mom, then back at me and, in a tone of voice that more closely resembled a question, he said, “Congratulations.”
It was a sweet, albeit confused, thing for him to say. It also opened him up to both Dad’s and Mom’s pent-up frustrations. They turned to him and unleashed everything they probably wanted to say to me but couldn’t. “What do you mean, congratulations?” said Dad.
“That’s generally what you say—”
“She’s not married!” said Mom.
“How’s she going to take care of a baby?” said Dad.
Guillermo tried to defend himself for having said “Congratulations.” My parents kept interrupting each other and bombarded him with their anxieties.
I slowly backed out of the kitchen, went upstairs, and phoned Greta.
24
Noah
For a billionaire living in a mansion with a harem of seven men at her beck and call, Sasha sure did more cooking than I would have expected.
“I love to cook,” she told me. “I wouldn’t dream of hiring someone to do the cooking for me. Harry’s a pretty good cook, and Seth and Dan are getting better. Food is too intimate, too personal for me. I prefer to keep it among us.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” said Trevor. “As long as you let us do the washing up.”
Sasha smiled. “Deal.”
Despite the outdoor heaters, it was still quite cold on the terrace. But the terrace was the only place that could seat us all around a table. Will and I set the table—our contribution. We set sixteen places, but only eleven showed up.
“Dan, Seth, and Stevie have work to do,” said Sasha. “And Jim had some errands to run in the city.”
“Has anyone seen Bonita?” I asked.
“I have,” said Sasha. “I said goodbye to her early this morning.”
I was about to put a forkful of mushroom omelet into my mouth. Instead, I set down my fork; my mouth stayed open.
“Jim took her to the docks,” Sasha continued. “She boarded my yacht. She’s on her way back to New York as we speak.”
“She what?” Will protested. “She just up and left us here? No goodbye? Nothing?”
Sasha tilted her head and lifted her shoulders. “After all that happened to her, she needed to go home. She didn’t want to say goodbye. She has her reasons. I had to respect them.”
I looked around, back toward the door and inside. I expected to see Bonita coming; perhaps laughing like this was all some sick joke.
“It was just a misunderstanding,” said Christian.
“What were we supposed to do?” said Ken.
Sasha nodded sympathetically. “I know. I know. You guys have been through a lot together. I can’t help with the misunderstanding. You’ll have to work that out with Bonita.”
“But… but…” Trevor stammered.
“I’ve made arrangements for a flight,” said Sasha. “I’ll have my driver take you to the airport Saturday morning. That will give you a few days to do some sightseeing. You’ve hardly done any since you’ve been here.”
“Sightseeing?” I mumbled. Did she just suggest we do some sightseeing?
The news of Bonita’s sudden departure was a devastating blow, one that none of us saw coming. We moped around the house for the better part of the day until Jim returned in the evening. He offered to take us on an excursion further into the countryside. “It’s a clear night,” he said. “The forecast is good. We should get to see the Aurora Borealis.”