Malibu Rising: A Novel, Taylor Reid [best fantasy books to read TXT] 📗

in the packed kitchen as the three cooks managed the oversized grill and two fryers. She quietly began what was arguably her most important task at Riva’s. She grabbed a few handfuls of fried clam strips, a bowl of cold shrimp, a bottle of tartar sauce, three slices of cheese, and four rolls. And she began making each one of her siblings what they all called “the Sandwich.”

It was a mess of cold seafood, smooshed between bread. One for each of them, hers with no cheese, Jay’s with extra sauce, Hud’s with no clams, Kit’s with a lemon wedge.

The Sandwich didn’t exist without Nina. When Nina was sick, she still went in and made the Sandwich. When she was out of town on a shoot, no one ate the Sandwich. It would never have occurred to Jay, Hud, or Kit to make the Sandwich themselves, to make the Sandwich for Nina.

Nina didn’t mind. She took care of her siblings and they thanked her for it, loved her for it, and they all left it at that.

When the Sandwiches were done, Nina grabbed four red baskets and four pieces of parchment paper. She nestled each one in and filled the remaining space of the baskets with fries. Except for hers, which she filled with salted sliced tomatoes.

She checked her watch. Her brothers and sister were late.

“Party tonight, right, girl?”

Nina looked up to see Wendy coming into the kitchen. Wendy was an aspiring actress who took shifts at Riva’s Seafood between driving into Hollywood for auditions. So far, Wendy had done a recurring role on a soap opera and been featured in a music video.

“Yeah,” Nina said. She liked Wendy. Wendy showed up for all of her shifts, was kind to customers, and always remembered to clean the soda fountain. “Are you coming?”

Wendy raised an eyebrow. “Do you honestly think I would miss it? The Riva party is the one time of year that you truly never know what you’ll end up doing.”

Nina rolled her eyes. “Oh, God,” she said. “You make it sound so …”

“Rad?” Wendy offered.

Nina laughed again. “Sure, rad.”

“I’ll be there, with bells on.”

“I’m coming, too, by the way!” Ramon shouted from the fryer.

Nina laughed as she put the fried clams on each of the rolls. “I will believe it when I see it,” she said to him.

“Psssh,” he said, waving her off as he pulled two baskets of shrimp out of the fryer. “You know I’ve got a life. I can’t go to some Richie Rich party, spend my time bumping elbows with some famous assholes. No offense.”

“I would expect nothing less than for you to decline my invite,” Nina said. She was pretty sure Ramon was one of the only people who didn’t consider being invited to the annual Riva party a perk of the job.

Meanwhile, she was positive the kid currently manning one of the grills, Kyle Manheim, a local surfer just out of high school, had taken the job this summer just to get the invite. She could practically sense his resignation coming next week.

“Where are your good-for-nothing siblings?” Ramon asked. And just as he did, Kyle lit a grilled cheese on fire. The kitchen erupted in controlled chaos and Nina put the baskets of sandwiches on a tray and slipped out. She made her way to the break room in the back.

Nina sat down and picked a magazine up from the desk behind her. Newslife. She flipped through the pages. Reagan and Russian dissidents and MTV is ruining children and should she buy a videodisc player?

There were ads for the Chevy Malibu and Malibu coconut rum and Malibu Musk body spray. Nina wondered for the millionth time why everyone outside of town thought the place evoked something exotic and preternaturally cool, as if it were a sun-bleached utopia.

Sure, your neighbor might be in a few movies, but Malibu was a place to live, like any other. It was where you brushed your teeth and burned dinner and ran errands, just with a view of the Pacific. Someone should tell them all, Nina thought, paradise doesn’t exist.

And then she turned the page and came face-to-face with her husband, yet again. “BranRan and Carrie Soto: Love–Love.” Ugh, the tennis puns.

Nina put the magazine down, disgusted. Then she picked it back up and read the article twice over. There were photos of Brandon and Carrie together all over the pages. The two of them getting into a silver Porsche on Rodeo, the two of them walking into a country club in Bel Air.

The photos haunted her. Not because Brandon looked happy with Carrie. Although, he did. And it also was not because he looked different with Carrie—although, again, this was true. Brandon had replaced his T-shirts with polo shirts, his boat shoes with loafers.

But no. What haunted Nina was that this all just felt so familiar. She’d long ago watched her mother scour magazines filled with images of her father and his new wife.

“We’re here!” Hud called to her before they even made their way through the door.

Nina got up and hugged each one of her siblings as they joined her.

“Sorry we’re late,” Kit said.

“It’s fine,” Nina said.

“It was Jay’s fault,” Kit offered.

“We’re barely late anyway,” Jay said as he looked at the clock on the back wall. It was 12:23 P.M.

The four of them sat down at the table and Kit immediately started eating her fries. Nina knew they had to be cold by now but appreciated that none of her siblings mentioned it.

“So, what’s up with the party?” Kit said, putting a fry in her mouth. “Do you need us to do anything?”

Nina picked up a slice of tomato. God, she wanted a fry. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s all managed. I’m meeting the cleaning crew at the house in a few hours. The caterers will be showing up at five. The bartenders should get there at … six? I think? Party’s at seven but people should start showing up around seven-thirty, I’d