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There was no way I was about to deal with that. Not with A
My mother was sipping tea by my bedside when I woke up the next morning. All the blinds were closed and the entire room looked gray. Even my mother’s skin looked gray.“Mom?” I croaked.My throat was dry and felt like it was covered in sour-tasting fuzz. She put her tea down on the bedside table and leaned toward me as I rolled onto my side. There was a huge bouquet of colorful flowers in a vase next to my bed. Where had those come from? Was I sick enough to merit flowers?“Are you okay? Do you need to throw up again?” my mother asked.My eyes rolled in disgust as the memories of last night came flooding back, and just like that, my head began to pound. It was like someone was playing a timpani drum at the center of my skull, radiating sound waves out to every corner of my head.“I don’t think so,” I said, bringing my hand to my forehead.She lifted a glass of water from the nightstand and I tried to push myself up. I couldn’t get there, though, and settled for leaning back against the pillows at a forty-five-degree angle, where I slowly sipped the water. My mother sighed through her nose and pushed the hair back from my forehead with the palm of her hand. The way she was studying my face made me sad. She’d never looked at me that way before. In that what am I going to do? helpless kind of way.“You’re getting married,” I said finally.She tilted her head. “Oh, Ally.”My lip started to tremble and a tear plopped from my eye onto my hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry. It’s just—”“You’ve had a rough few days. A lot’s gone on,” my mother said. “We don’t have to talk about it now.”I took a deep, broken breath and looked toward the window, trying not to cry for real. I choked a little, though, and a few sobs came out. I felt like such a loser, all hungover and gross, with my mother waiting on me. And like I didn’t know which way was up. Who were my friends? Who was my boyfriend? Where was I going to live? Would my dad move away again? And all the while, that timpani drum was pounding away, trying to shatter my skull.“Here. Take these.”My mom held out a couple of Tylenol. I swallowed them gratefully and lay back again.“We don’t have to talk about it now, but we are going to talk about it,” my mother assured me, smoothing my hair again. Her hand felt cold and steady, comforting and perfect. “You and I are going to be doing a lot of talking over the next few days.”I nodded slowly. “I know.”“Good,” she said. “Right now I think you should try to get some more rest.”“Okay,” I replied, my voice thick.I shakily put the glass down on the table, next to the flowers. She picked up her tea and started to go.“Mom?” I said when she got to the door.“Yeah?”“Was . . . was Jake here last night?” I asked.“He’s still here. He’s asleep in the guest room,” she replied.My heart pounded against my rib cage. I had this odd memory of him holding my hand, looking into my eyes, but that was it. What was he doing here? What had happened between us? What had I said?My mother turned to face me. “Hon, you know that I love you, right? No matter what.”My throat closed over. “Yeah.”“Good. And I have to tell you . . . I think that kid does too,” she said.I blinked, confused. “What kid does what?”“Jake. After what he did for you last night, it’s pretty clear to me that that guy is in love.”Then she smiled and quietly closed the door.