“Thanks for the ride,” Ellie says, pulling me out of my head yet again and back into reality, where I’m missing my chance.
“Yeah, um, hey.” I labor through a dry-mouth swallow while Ellie’s chipped blue fingernails linger on the door handle. Planning how to ask out the girl in my passenger seat would’ve been a better use of time than my stupid pros and cons list.
“What’s up?”
My throat constricts. It’s not like I haven’t asked a girl out before, but the beads of sweat between my palms and the steering wheel are an unwelcome reminder that I’m very out of practice. “Last night was fun,” I start, “and I was wondering if you’re around the rest of the weekend? I’d love to, uh…maybe I could buy you dinner after the Sip opening? I’m sure I’m gonna clean up on tips.”
Ellie’s face doesn’t change much, but there’s something sad hovering in her eyes, and I pray to God it’s not pity. “Last night was perfect.” She says it like she means it. “I’m so glad we reconnected, and I wish I would’ve known you sooner. But—”
“Skip the but.” I flick my wrist and fumble her gaze. I should’ve known this was too good to be true.
Ellie exhales through her nose, and her eyes close for a moment. When she opens them again, they’re cloudy and sad. “With the whole moving to New York thing, and the just getting out of a relationship thing, I’m really not looking for anything serious. And I don’t really do casual hookups, so…I’m not really looking for anything. At all.”
My chest deflates in what has to be my body’s attempt to make itself as small as I feel. Right. Of course. The details of last night’s conversations fade back into view: the breakup and grad school and moving to New York. I’d remembered the flirting but forgotten the facts, and I think my brain might’ve done that on purpose. “For sure,” I say. “Well. Can’t say I didn’t try.” I can’t hold her gaze, so mine bounces from her smile to the passenger side of the Subaru parked ahead of us. A short man in an enormous coat is struggling out of the car with an oversize bag of charcoal.
“I hope we can be friends, though,” Ellie says, then follows my eyes to the man who must be her father. “Oh, Jesus. I forgot Dad is smoking the turkey this year. God help him.”
But God doesn’t help him, and neither do we. Instead, we lean our heads back on our headrests, marinating in the double discomfort of my rejection and her father’s attempt to close the car door without dropping the charcoal. We’re a silent, captive audience, breathing a few tandem laughs as her dad booty-bumps the car door closed. It must not close all the way, though, because he has to reopen it and try again.
“I think I’d like your dad,” I say, and Ellie’s laugh dissolves some of the tension.
“You probably would,” she agrees. “I’m less sure about mymom though.” She smiles at me, then looks past me, tipping her chin up. “Speak of the devil, I think she wants to say hi.”
There’s a triple tap on my window, and I try out a laugh, too, just to see if it clears up the rest of the awkwardness. That same laugh catches in the back of my throat, though, the instant I lock eyes with Ellie’s mom. Outside my car, a familiar set of horn-rimmed glasses sits above a wide, toothy smile, a better reaction than any of my accounting grades have ever earned me.
“So,” Professor Meyers says. “You must be Ellie’s girlfriend.”
six
After two semesters in her classroom, there’s no shortage of titles I’d expect Professor Meyers to give me.Most frequently tardywould be appropriate, or maybeleast improved. I figured she thought of me only as the slacker sidekick of her favorite student, Kathryn Fleming. But referring to me as Ellie’s girlfriend—herdaughter’s girlfriend—isn’t just unexpected. It’s downright nonsense that I can’t make heads or tails of. The longer I stare out the open car window and into the expectant eyes of my accounting professor, the more my brain spins out of orbit.You must be Ellie’s girlfriend.I’m more capable of reversing the full two miles home than collecting the words to correct her.
“I…me? What? You’re…I’m…It’s not…”
Ellie cuts off my stuttering with a soft squeeze of my thigh, which simultaneously shuts me up and sends me into yet another spiral. A fresh wave of nausea hits, and I’m not surewhether the hangover or the situation is to blame. Either way, I shut my mouth and wait for Ellie to jump in with a correction that smooths over whatever weird misunderstanding we’re caught in, but when she speaks up, it’s only to say, “We’ll meet you inside, Mom.”
My jaw drops in solidarity with my plummeting stomach. Ten seconds ago this girl said we were just friends. Now she’s squeezing my leg and letting her mom jump to conclusions? There’s a ten-car pileup of questions just behind my forehead.
Before I can protest, Ellie’s grip on my thigh tightens, and I close my mouth again as she smiles and waves her mother back into the house. Once we’re alone, she lets go of my leg and lets out a long, blow-out-a-birthday-candle-type breath. Like she’s the one who’s going through it.
“So,” I say, “wanna tell me what the fuck that was?” I fold my arms tight over my chest, waiting not so patiently for some much-needed answers from Ellie. Ellie Meyers, that is. As in Professor Meyers, the woman with my grade in her hands and a complete misconception of my relationship with her daughter. Jesus, I’m too hungover for this.
“It’s an honest mistake,” Ellie says. “I told you, my ex was supposed to come home with me to meet my parents this weekend.” Her teeth start to chatter as she rubs her hands up and down the arms of her coat, trying to spark some warmth. “Aren’t you freezing? Turn the heat up.”
I ignore her and shove my hands into my coat pockets, both for warmth and to stop myself from grabbing Ellie by the shoulders and shaking answers out of her. “Why didn’t you let me correct her?” I ask. “Why did you lie to your mom?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Ellie says, sounding flustered. “I just…I don’t know. I panicked. And I haven’t…” She stills for a moment, and her guilty gaze flits from the Subaru to the stereo, anywhere that isn’t me. I’m confused at first, but when the explanation dawns on me, my jaw unclenches and falls open with a gasp.
“Oh my God.” I breathe a laugh of sheer disbelief. “You didn’t tell your parents you got dumped.”
Ellie’s shoulders droop, and her gaze finally settles on her own feet. “I haven’t had a chance.”
“Did you also not get a chance to tell them her name?” I ask. “Because whatever it is, I bet it’s not Murphy.”
“It’s Mary,” she says flatly. “And I’m not exactly close with my parents, okay? I don’t think Mom and I have had a personal conversation longer than ten minutes since sophomore year when I told her about the whole bi thing.”
My stomach bottoms out. “The whole bi thing?” I repeat back to her, spacing each word out to give it room to breathe.The? Whole? Bi? Thing?I lock eyes with the plastic red flag on their mailbox.
“You know what I mean,” she says. When I turn back to face her, her features stiffen, but she still won’t quite look me in the eye. “You know.”
