Things had been weird with me and him ever since that night at his house. He still wouldn’t tell me the real reason he’d asked me to leave, and I still hated him a little for it. Or I tried to hate him, anyway. Mostly, I was just sad. Ro and I didn’t keep secrets from each other. We sometimes fought, but we never purposely hurt each other. It made me wonder if something had changed in our friendship, if somehow we were drifting apart.
On Saturday, just a couple of days after Mel’s news, Ro and I were sitting in Rosas, the bakery Mel owned, stuffing our faces with red velvet cupcakes.Rosasis Tagalog for “rose,” but people always assumed it was Rosa’s, and that Mel was Rosa.
Now, temporarily abandoned in front of me, was my calc textbook and a pile of papers documenting my failed attempts to figure out derivatives. I’d jumped at Rowan’s offer to help me, glad we could spend some time together, but his “help” was turning out to be of no use. He was nearly as bad as I was at calculus.
I could hear Mel’s voice in the back as she was training the lady who would be managing the store over the next few months while Mel started treatment.
“I love her accent,” I whispered to Rowan, who was scrolling through his phone, probably watching tennis highlights, as Wimbledon was on at this time of year.
When he didn’t answer, I tapped his foot under the table and repeated what I’d said. The woman, Beverley, had this prim British accent that mixed unexpectedly with a Midwestern drawl on certain words. I’d heard her telling Mel that she was from Brighton but had lived in Ohio for more than fifteen years. As a rule, Winchester didn’t get a lot of new blood, and we always got excited when it did.
“Hmm,” Rowan said absently.
I stood and walked around to his side of the table. I leaned down, pretending to get a napkin, when what I really wanted was to see what held his attention so tightly. If he was looking at anything gross, I was going to round kick him.
I stiffened when I saw the logo of the hospital where Mel’s treatment was supposed to start the next Monday.
Rowan finally noticed me, and he quickly turned off his phone screen, saying, “Do you mind?” That his impulse was to shut me out stung. It was like the night Mel had been diagnosed all over again.
“Why did you make me leave?” I asked, still leaning over him. “That night, why did you want me to go?”
“I already told you,” he muttered. “It was a family thing.”
“Naomi was there.”
“She’sMom’sfriend. Mom clearly felt comfortable enough to share the news in front of her.”
The implication was that I had been at Mel’s house as Ro’s friend and had no other reason to be there that night. I blanched. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He shrugged.
I glanced into the back of the bakery, where I could make out a sliver of Mel’s green shirt, and wondered if there was any truth to what he was implying.
CouldMelhave wanted me to go that night?
Why wouldn’t she have told me that herself?
Until that night, I’d felt so confident in my place with the Cohens. But now, thanks to Rowan, I was starting to question every assumption I’d ever made.
Like, howdidI know Mel saw me the way I thought she did? Had she ever actually said I was the daughter she’d never had?
A voice in my head told me she didn’t have to say it. She had always been super affectionate with me, she’d always included me in her family’s plans, right from that day, years ago, when seven-year-old me was left standing outside Tennis Win because my dad was late picking me up again.
Maybe it’s because she felt sorry for you.That wasn’t much of a stretch. I was the girl with the absent mother, the girl whose tennis whites had been dyed purple by a dad who didn’t know the first thing about doing laundry. Pity was the most logical explanation for the way I’d been embraced by the Cohens all those years ago, but was it the truth?
I turned on Rowan.
“You’re such an asshole. You know that?”
“Whatever,” Rowan said, standing. “I have to get to practice. You need a ride or what?”
“I’ll walk, but thanks.”
He rolled his eyes. “Let’s go.”
“I said, I’ll walk but thanks.”
“Fine,” he said, and stalked off. He’d made it all the way to the door before he stopped again. We both knew my house was all the way across town and that walking would take a good hour and a half. “Are you for real right now?” he asked, raising his hands in exasperation.
