Page 35 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)

“ W e’re going to be late!” Bash bellows.

I ignore my brother and continue staring at my phone. Keep hoping the perfect text will magically appear on the screen.

I’m losing confidence in that by the second.

“Did you hear me—the fuck?” My brother skids to a stop, tie undone and hair mussed, in the doorway. “You’re not even dressed yet? You know Mom will notice we’re late even though she invited a hundred other people, right? ”

“I’m busy.”

“Doing what ? Posing for a portrait?” He guffaws.

I glare, not appreciating the interrogation. “You want to be on time for dinner? Stay at Mom and Dad’s instead of crashing here.”

Bash flashes a carefree grin. “No, thanks. You’re my favorite brother.”

Conveniently, I’m also his only brother. Not much of an endorsement.

I sigh and stand. He’s right about Mom noticing our absences. This is the first Thanksgiving Lili is missing, so us being there is extra important to her.

“Give me ten minutes.”

It’ll probably only take me five to change, but Bash can learn some patience.

My brother sighs. “I’m not taking the blame for being late if Mom asks.”

“While I’m getting ready, why don’t you pack your shit?” I retort.

He holds both hands up hastily. “Hey, hey, I was kidding. See you in ten. Take fifteen if you need to.”

It feels like a long, long time ago that I was that excited about living someplace with no parental or collegiate supervision.

As soon as Bash is gone, I rake my hands through my hair. I can’t come up with a single meaningful or memorable thing to say, and I’m out of time. With a frustrated groan, I send the unoriginal message I’ve spent the past twenty minutes staring at.

Kit: Happy Thanksgiving! You feeling okay?

Collins is in Connecticut with her family. I’m in New York with mine. This time next year, we’ll have a kid.

Do we split up holidays ?

Do we spend them together?

We still haven’t discussed custody or childcare or had any of those important conversations about our shared future for the next eighteen years. And May isn’t getting any farther away, only closer.

I watch the screen, but no reply comes through.

She’s probably busy with her family. I’ve only met Collins’s mom and sister once, when Lili moved into the dorms freshman year.

Her dad I know as a stoic professor, who I’m unsure ever made the connection my sister roomed with his daughter.

When I asked him to say hello to Collins for me at graduation, he hardly reacted, and the ceremony was too chaotic for me to explain why.

I head into the closet and change into a navy suit on autopilot.

I moved the sonogram from my bedside table and into my sock drawer before Bash arrived yesterday.

The pregnancy books are hidden under the bed since no one in my family knows about the baby.

My parents would probably provide notice before showing up, but my siblings both have keys and probably wouldn’t .

As far as I know, Collins is still intent on changing jobs. Telling my family I knocked up my former assistant sounds slightly better than my current one. And so will having answers to all the open questions about what us co-parenting will look like when I share the big news.

I pull the photo of my baby out of the drawer and stare until it blurs.

I wish there were a way to go back to the morning I received it. To ignore Perry’s message when it popped up on her phone.

That argument isn’t the only reason things are strained between us right now. Everything felt more real after the ultrasound. At least for me. I’m not the one having to deal with nausea and heartburn, so it’s probably felt pretty real to Collins for a while .

I’ve been trying to give her space, to respect her boundaries and follow her lead. But we’re overdue for a big conversation, and the perfect text was supposed to set the tone for it.

There’s still no reply from Collins when I slip my phone into a pocket, along with my wallet, and walk down the hallway. Not entirely unexpected. Even if she has seen it, it’s not like I sent anything that required an immediate response. But the lack of one still chafes.

Bash is waiting by the door, tossing a glass paperweight the interior decorator placed on the entryway table between his hands.

I grab my keys out of the matching bowl and head out the door without saying a word.

“Everything okay?” Bash casts me a worried look as we wait for the elevator to arrive.

“Fine,” I answer.

He appears unconvinced. “You’re acting weird.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. Is it work? Bosses being dicks or something?” He chuckles at his own joke.

My bosses are Dad and Uncle Oliver, technically.

I don’t crack a smile as I shove my hands into my pockets, leaning back against the wall. “Or something.”

Bash is right; I’m acting off. I’m accustomed to having control in certain circumstances.

This situation is the first time I’ve felt so limited.

What if Collins is reconsidering moving back to Connecticut right now, and that’s why she’s not replying?

Her living in Brooklyn feels close by comparison.

The elevator stops a few seconds later. Not in the lobby, unfortunately.

Sadie smiles wide as she steps inside. She’s dressed up, same as we are, her hair in a fancy twist and a full face of makeup enhancing her pretty features. “Hey, Kit,” she greets cheerfully.

I manage a friendly smile in response. “Hi.” I nod toward Bash, who’s attempting to look cool and uninterested. “This is my brother, Bash. Bash, this is Sadie.”

She giggles, glancing between us. “I would have guessed you two were related. Nice to meet you, Bash.”

He grins. “You too, Sadie.”

She refocuses on me. “How are you, Kit? How are … things ?”

Bash glances between us, brows raised, no longer faking nonchalance.

“They’re, uh …” My mind goes straight to the unanswered text. “They’re still complicated.”

Sadie makes a sympathetic face. “Sorry to hear that. Edna said she saw you with a ‘special lady friend’ on Halloween, so I figured that meant things were going well.”

“Not exactly.” I avoid looking at Bash, who’s sure to have more questions about this conversation.

“Sorry to hear that,” Sadie says, and then, thankfully, she moves on to a different topic. “Where are you guys headed?”

“Thanksgiving dinner with our folks,” Bash answers. “How about you?”

“Same. Well, I’m meeting some friends for drinks first, then having dinner with my parents.”

The elevator doors open again, this time at the lobby.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” Sadie exclaims, exiting first.

I follow, avoiding Bash’s curious gaze.

I’m not used to my parents’ new place yet. They still own the penthouse that was our East Coast home base, growing up, but their main residence now is a six-story townhouse in Greenwich Village.

My mom claimed she wanted to experience a new neighborhood.

My dad said it would be a shorter commute to the office.

But I have a sneaking suspicion the real selling points were the walled gardens and terrace past the private patio.

And I’m pretty sure they prioritized the easy outdoor access for Ben and Jerry, not themselves.

I’m used to people mentioning my parents to me in reverent, awed tones.

Amid the privileged and the powerful, my parents are at the top of the pyramid.

Everyone knows the names Crew and Scarlett Kensington.

And I find the fascination amusing, mostly.

So separate from the present, loving parents I know.

“So, you’re not dating someone?” Bash wonders as we walk up the front steps to the double doors.

He spent the entire drive here badgering me about Collins. Or rather, about my “special lady friend” who he doesn’t know is Collins.

“Nope,” I state, stabbing the doorbell before glancing at a tight-lipped Camden.

My driver hasn’t said a single word since wishing me and Bash a happy Thanksgiving when he picked us up outside my building. It’s why he and his family were invited to Thanksgiving at my parents’. In the world of money, loyalty is priceless.

“Surprise!” The left side of the door flies open, revealing Lili.

Bash and I exchange a confused look before she flings her arms around him.

“Mom said you couldn’t make it,” he says, the statement muffled against her hair.

My sister releases Bash and reaches for me next. “I decided to hop on a flight at the last minute. I leave tomorrow. The jet lag will be hell, but I’ll survive.”

“Is Charlie with you?” I ask.

Lili shakes her head. “He couldn’t get away from classes this week. They don’t celebrate in the UK, you know.”

“I know,” I state dryly, heading inside.

Bash wasn’t exaggerating about the number of people here. I lose track of my siblings as I hand my coat off to one of the staff and continue into the living room.

My parents have invited other families to join ours in the past, but the crowd has never been this big.

This place has a better layout for entertaining than their old one.

I recognize all the surrounding faces, but don’t see any sign of my uncle and his family.

Then recall Dad mentioned they were traveling to California to spend the holiday with Aunt Hannah’s family.

I get pulled into three separate conversations with friends of my parents on my way over to the bar set up by the arched bookcases in the living room.

With a glass of my favorite scotch in hand, I gravitate toward the piano. Classical music is piping through the speakers, but it’s hard to hear over the murmur of dozens of voices. So are the random notes I pluck.

A few minutes later, I slip my phone out of my pocket and check the screen. I have new messages, but none of them are from her.

Another hearty swig of scotch washes down my disappointment.

“I didn’t know you played piano.” Fran appears, resting her elbows on the edge of the upright.

“I don’t,” I state flatly, reaching for my drink again.

She tilts her head. “Happy Thanksgiving to you too.”