“Penny?” she says. “What are you—”
“Monica sent me a text saying you were on your way to the hospital.” My voice claps like thunder in the inky, dark quiet of the street.
My mom must think the same because she pokes her head outside, noticing Jack for the first time and pausing momentarily before ushering us in. She settles us in the Christmas-colored living room. Jack folds his tall frame onto a green-and-red-plaid armchair. I sit near him, on the hunter-green slipcovered love seat, as my mom bustles out of the room before I can interrogate her.
“Are you okay?” Jack asks.
I bite at my lip and turn my eyes upward, staring at Mom’s ceiling fan. I shake my head. “I don’t know what’s worse: being maybe-manipulated into coming down here, or the prospect of her really being sick. I know it’s the latter, but…”
“Maybe she isn’t well.”
“We’ll see,” I say flatly.
My mom comes back with tea and a plate of Stella D’oro Swiss fudge cookies. She fusses with our napkins and cups until I can’t take it anymore.
“Mom. Why did Monica text me?”
“Honey, maybe we can talk about this when the company isn’t in the room.” She looks at Jack pointedly.
“Jack isn’t company.”
She sits upright. “Jack? As in the Jack Craig from the articles about you?” She says it with a horror in her voice, like I’ve invited Stalin over for biscuits.
“That’s me, ma’am. Fighter of TV stars. Wrecker of homes,” Jack says. He isn’t disrespectful in his delivery, but there’s almost a relish in the way he’s painting himself the villain. He’s enjoying being the bad guy of the story here, too. Or maybe it’s for my amusement.
I shake my head. “Yes, that’s the same Jack, and no, he isn’t what the stories made him out to be. Lucas fell through a hole in my— Never mind.”
“Are you…together?” my mom asks.
My “uh” perfectly intersects with Jack’s definitive “yes.” I glare at him, and he gives me a small smile, just a tiny flex of the lips. I swing my eyes back to my mother.
“Is this the one you said you were with? The—”
“Why are we talking about him when we’re supposed to be talking about you? Did you put Monica up to it? Texting me? You look fine.”
She smooths her hand over her napkin. “Of course not. I— Well, I went to the supermarket and saw all those tabloids about you, and I turned them all around to face the wall. And I hadn’t heard from you since you ran out of here, really, and you didn’t respond to my texts, and after seeing those articles I was just so worried about you. Anyway, I started feelingawfullydizzy and faint, so I called Monica over and she said she’d take me to the hospital. And I was on my way there, but then… Well, Monica asked me when I’d last eaten anything, and I realized I hadn’t eaten a thing all day, because the supermarket thing happened really very early, and after that, like I said, I was just so worried about you. So instead of going to the hospital, we stopped over at the diner. I’m feeling much better now, actually.”
“You’re fine,” I say. I choke down the maelstrom of relief, outrage, and about a dozen other feelings I can’t even pinpoint in this moment. I press my hands to my temples, rubbing. “You had, what? A rumbly tummy? So because of your machinations—”
“Machinations? I just told you I was on my way to the hospital.”
“Because of you, I am down here at midnight, and I’ve dragged poor Jack along for the ride. Unbelievable.”
“Well, I thought you might come, but I honestly didn’t expect you until maybe tomorrow. You can’t blame me for that part. I always tell you nothing good happens after midnight. You shouldn’t have been driving at night in the first place.”
I stand, abruptly, and Jack follows suit. “I’m going to find a hotel—”
“No! You’ll sleep here! You can sleep with me and… And Jack can have your room.”
I grit my teeth and persevere, keeping my voice calm, not wanting to spark an argument. “I’m going to find a hotel room and then come back tomorrow.”
I turn on my heel and flee, ignoring my mom’s protests.
Only when I’m back in the warm leather embrace of Jack’s car and we’re backing out of the driveway do I feel like I can breathe.
Jack drives for a bit before finally asking, “You good?”
“Super.”
