“Okay,” I concede.
“I’m actually kind of jealous,” she says. “I wish I could go back and watch this for the first time. Everyone writes Elle off as a ditzy blonde, but she shows them.”
“Now you’ve spoiled the plot,” I complain, and Ally rolls her eyes.
Partway through the movie, Ally goes to the kitchen and returns with candy.
“Sour Patch Kids or chocolate covered almonds?” she offers, holding out the packages. When I raise an eyebrow, she grins. “It’s an important part of this process, Drew.”
I decide to trust her process, and take the package of Sour Patch Kids.
WhenLegally Blondeis finished, I chooseCasino Royale, which Ally hasn’t seen. At some point, we order pizza and eat it in front of the TV.
We startSuccessionnext, and after the first couple of episodes, I give in to the temptation to stretch out on the couch.
The next thing I know, I wake up to find the TV is off, and Ally’s no longer in the chair next to me. I’m still on the couch, but I’m covered with the duvet from my bed.
I grab my phone from the coffee table and see that it’s six o’clock Monday morning. I must have fallen asleep watching TV, and slept for . . . I don’t know how long. Ten hours? Eleven? Ally must have brought my duvet from my bedroom.
It’s crazy. I can’t remember the last time I fell asleep on the couch.
Ally appears and flicks on the light. She’s wearing my green t-shirt again, along with her pink pajama shorts.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” she says. “I know you usually go in early, and I wasn’t sure if you’d set an alarm.”
“Yeah. No, I’m awake.” I’m throw off the duvet and stand. “I’m sorry, Ally, I?—”
“Oh, don’t be sorry,” Ally interrupts. “You said some pretty interesting things while you were drifting off.”
Damn. I scrub a hand through my hair and imagine what I might have said. Hopefully nothing too dirty, and nothing to do with her.
But realistically? If I was talking in my sleep, whatever I said was probably dirty, and it probably had everything to do with Ally.
My cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and I steel myself to meet her eye.
And then she giggles. “Relax, Drew. You didn’t say anything.”
I look at her suspiciously. “Really?”
“Yep. You’re a pretty quiet sleeper, actually. Every so often you make a funny little hiccuping noise, but it’s kind of cute.”
I grab a throw pillow and lob it in her direction, but it misses by about a foot.
“But Drew?” she says mischievously.
“Yeah?” I ask, as I make my way to the bathroom.
“At least now you know you don’t snore. In case you ever want to sleep through a meeting.”
TWENTY-TWO
ALLY
To his credit, Drew spends less time at the hospital the following week. On Monday I make beef fajitas for dinner, and we spend another evening watching TV. He’s on call on Tuesday and doesn’t make it home, but Wednesday afternoon I find him asleep on the couch. When he wakes up, he sheepishly explains that he was tired from operating all night, and it’s clear he still thinks naps are for the weak.
But it’s definitely progress.
I’ve been tempted to ask if he’s feeling better, now that he’s spending less time at work, but I haven’t. I have a sense that a tremor’s the kind of thing that gets worse if you think about it too much. So the last thing he needs is to be pestered for status updates.
