Lauren rolled onto her side. The old mattress that had been her bed for as long as she could remember squeaked at the movement.
David lay sprawled on his back, his hair a tangled mess that obscured half his face. One arm hung off the side of the bed, the other was angled across his head. She could see the red smattering of pimples that dotted his hairline and the tiny zigzag scar that traced his cheekbone. He’d gotten that in sixth grade, playing touch football.
“I bled like a stuck pig,” he always said when retelling the story. There was nothing he liked more than bragging about his injuries. She always teased him that he was a hypochondriac.
She touched the scar, traced it with the tip of her finger.
Last night had been perfect. Better than perfect. She’d felt like a princess, and when David led her out onto the stage, she’d practically floated along behind him. Aerosmith’s “Angel” had been playing. She wondered how long she’d remember that. Would she tell their children the story? Come on, kids; come listen to the story of the night Mommy was crowned homecoming queen.
“I love you,” David had whispered, holding her hand as the tiara was placed on her head. She remembered looking at him then, seeing him through a blur of tears. She loved him so much it made her chest ache. She couldn’t imagine being apart from him.
If they went to different colleges …
That was all it took, just the thought of different colleges, and she felt sick to her stomach.
David came awake slowly. When he saw her, he smiled. “I’ll have to tell my folks I’m at Jared’s more often.”
He pulled her into his arms. She fit perfectly against him; it was as if they’d been built for each other.
This was what it would be like when they were at college together, and later, when they were married. She would never feel alone again. She kissed him, touched him. “My mom never wakes up till noon on Sunday,” she said, smiling slowly.
He drew back. “My uncle Peter is meeting me at home in an hour. I have an appointment with some big wig from Stanford.”
She drew back. “On Sunday? I thought—”
“He’s only in town for the weekend. You can come along.”
Her smile faded, along with her romantic hopes for the day. “Yeah, right.” If he’d really wanted her to come along, he would have asked her before now.
“Don’t be that way.”
“Come on, David. Quit dreaming. I’m not going to get a scholarship at Stanford, and I don’t have Mommy and Daddy to write a check. You, however, could get into USC.”
It was an old discussion. His heavy sigh showed that he was tired of it. “First of all, you can get into Stanford. Second of all, if you’re at USC, we’ll see each other plenty. We love each other, Lauren. It doesn’t go away because of a few miles.”
“A few hundred miles.” She stared up at the tattered acoustical tile ceiling. A water stain blossomed across one corner. She wished she could smile. “I have to work today, anyway.”
He pulled her closer, gave her one of those slow kisses that made her heart beat faster. She felt her anger dissolve. When he finally released her and got out of bed, she felt cold.
He gathered up the tux and redressed.
She sat up in bed with the blankets pulled across her bare breasts. “I had a great time last night.”
He walked around the bed and sat down beside her. “You worry too much.”
“Look around you, David.” She heard the throatiness of her voice. With anyone else, it would have been embarrassing. “I’ve always had to worry.”
“Not about me. I love you.”
“I know that.” And she did. She believed it with every cell in her body. She clung to him, kissed him. “Good luck.”
After he’d gone, Lauren sat there a long time, alone, staring at the open door. Finally, she got out of bed and took a hot shower, then dressed and walked down the hallway. She stopped at her mother’s bedroom door. She could hear snoring coming from inside.
A familiar longing filled her. She touched the door, wondering if her mother had even thought about the dance last night.
Ask her.
Sometimes, in the early morning, when the sunlight slanted just so through the dusty blinds, Mom woke up almost happy. Maybe this would be one of those days; Lauren needed it to be. She knocked quietly and opened the door. “Mom?”
Her mother lay in bed, sprawled across the top of the blankets. In a flimsy old T-shirt, she looked spindly and too thin. She wasn’t eating enough lately.
Lauren paused. It was one of those rare moments when she remembered how young her mother was. “Mom?” She went into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Mom rolled onto her back. Without opening her eyes, she murmured, “What time is it?”
“Not even ten.” She wanted to push the hair out of her mother’s eyes, but she didn’t dare. It was the kind of intimacy that could ruin everything.