It’s the best excuse I can think of. My family still doesn’t know about Drew, and even if they did, I couldn’t tell them about the appointment on Saturday.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” my mother says. “Is there anything you need? I could bring over some soup?—”
“No, I’m fine,” I interrupt quickly. Now I feel really guilty for lying. And also guilty that I haven’t told my mother I’m no longer living in the basement apartment north of Duke Street. The last thing I need is for her to show up there with soup.
“I mean, I’m coping okay,” I say carefully. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to come to Hayley’s graduation ceremony on Saturday. Or to the dinner.”
“Oh. That’s disappointing,” my mother says. “You don’t think you might be better by then?”
“I might be a bit better, but I’ll probably still be contagious,” I say. I’m tempted to fake a coughing fit, but I’ve never been a great actress.
“I see,” my mother says slowly. “I know it’s hard for you, Ally, but?—”
“What do you mean, Mom?”
There’s a little pause before my mother speaks. “Hayley makes things look easy, and I’m sure it’s hard to watch. Between school, and Justin?—”
“What?”
“Hayley thought you were jealous of Justin when you came for dinner,” my mother says gently. “Something about the way you were staring at him. I thought she was reading too much into it, but . . .”
What the hell? I was staring at Justin because he was staring at me. At my breasts, specifically. The idea that I’d be jealous of Hayley for dating a jackass like Justin is laughable.
And if I don’t laugh about this, I might cry. Or bang my head against the wall.
“I’m not jealous of Justin, Mom,” I tell her. “Or jealous of Hayley for dating Justin. It never crossed my mind.”
“That’s good to hear, honey,” Mom says, but I can tell she doesn’t believe me. “So if you’re feeling better, maybe we’ll see you Saturday?”
“I’m sick, Mom!” I say in frustration.
Since I’m not actually sick, I have no right to the moral high ground, but I still resent the fact that she’s skeptical. Under different circumstances, I’d tell Drew about this, and make a joke about asking him for a doctor’s note.
“I hope you feel better soon, Ally.” My mother sounds resigned now. “I’ll tell Hayley you’re sorry to miss it.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
DREW
On Friday morning, Ally walks into the kitchen as I’m finishing a bowl of cereal. She’s wearing a slouchy white t-shirt and pajama shorts, and her hair is mussed from sleep. It’s the closest I’ve come to seeing how she looks when she first wakes up, since she never lets herself fall asleep in my bed.
“Morning,” she says. “You have clinic today, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So you’ll probably be done at a reasonable hour?”
“Hopefully, why?”
Ally walks to the cupboard and reaches for a box of cereal. Her shirt rides up, and I get a glimpse of skin. It’s not much, maybe an inch at the side of her waist, but I can’t look away.
She sets the cereal on the counter and her shirt falls, but when she reaches for a bowl it rides up again.
It’s like a grown-up game of peek-a-boo.
“Drew? Would that work?”
