“Next Monday, then? I’ll make chicken parm.”
My sister makes the best chicken parmigiana in the world.
“Yeah, Monday’s good. Love you, Bree.”
FOUR
ALLY
I gaze out the bus window, wishing the driver would speed up. But even if she breaks the speed limit, I’m going to be late for dinner with my parents. Probably only twenty minutes late, which isn’t terrible, but my dad will probably see it as an insult.
And since my new boss dismissed me at ten-thirty this morning, I don’t have a good excuse for my lateness. I won’t tell my parents I left work early, of course; they’d think I should have stayed and found something useful to do. But I didn’t see how I could be useful without a chair and a computer, so I went to the grocery store instead.
If my only responsibility is to make lunch for Dr. Malone, I’m going to make sure he has the best damned lunch of anyone in the hospital. Fortunately, I’m a pretty decent cook, if I do say so myself. Since I love food and can’t afford takeout, I’ve had to figure it out.
By mid-afternoon, I’d planned and prepped his lunches for the rest of the week, so I went for a run. It was the nicest day we’ve had all spring, so I ran a longer than usual loop that took me down by the lake. It was beautiful, but I underestimated how long it would take, and now I’m going to be late for dinner.
The bus crosses Duke Street, into a different world. Locations in Somerset are often described relative to Duke Street, which cuts a clear division through the city. South of Duke is home to the nice neighborhoods, as well as the waterfront, the university, and the hospital.
I live in a basement apartment north of Duke, which is the rougher part of town. My apartment itself isn’t bad, especially for a basement, and I get along pretty well with the upstairs tenants. The biggest issue is the neighbor two doors down, who I’m pretty sure is a low-level drug dealer. There are people coming and going from his house at all hours, and a lot of them look pretty desperate for a fix.
I’m always careful to lock my door, and so far no one’s bothered me. But I’m still hoping to move south of Duke as soon as I can. If I manage to keep my job at the hospital, I should be able to move when my lease is up in October.
The bus finally reaches my stop, half a block away from my parents’ house, and I hustle off. My parents live about as far south of Duke as you can get, in a lovely old neighborhood close to Lake Ontario. The house is an old Victorian and a money pit, but it’s got a lot of character. If I ever win the lottery, I’ll probably buy something just like it.
My father answers the door, dressed like a stereotypical academic in corduroy pants and a plaid sweater. His style’s been the same for as long as I can remember.
“Alexandra,” he says. “We were starting to worry you weren’t going to make it.”
“Hi, Dad,” I say, forcing myself to smile. “Good to see you.”
I get a stiff nod in reply.
Mom hurries down the hall from the kitchen. She’s still in her work clothes, a white ruffled blouse and navy pants, and her blonde hair is up in a sleek French twist. You’d never guess she just cooked dinner from scratch.
“Hi, Alexandra,” she says, pulling me into a hug.
“Hi, Mom. It smells delicious in here.”
“I made baked salmon with lemon dill sauce,” she says. “The sauce recipe was new, and I’m not so sure about it.”
“I’m sure it will be great.” My mother makes a success of just about everything she tries. The only thing she hasn’t managed yet is a reconciliation between my father and me, but she hasn’t given up hope.
“I made a spinach salad,” I say, handing her the bowl I brought.
“Oh, thanks,” my mother says, taking it out of my hands.
“We’re about ready to eat,” my father says pointedly. “Hayley and Justin are already at the table.”
“Great.”
“Hi, Alexandra,” my sister Hayley says as I walk through to the dining room. “This is my boyfriend, Justin Benedetti.”
Justin stands to shake my hand. He and Hayley have been together awhile—over six months, I think—but it’s my first time meeting him. He’s tall and athletic looking, with blond hair and a cleft chin, and it’s clear he thinks he’s a catch.
“It’s nice to meet you, Justin,” I say.
“You too, Alexandra,” he says. His eyes sweep down my body and linger a little too long on my chest. Maybe he’s trying to find my breasts; since they barely fill out a B-cup, I can see why he might have trouble.
