I hadn’t been to a party since I went to rehab. Drinking wasn’t an issue for me, it never was. Even so, I figured it was probably safer to stay away from that atmosphere as I worked on my issues. With Andrew gone, it wasn’t likely that anyone would know about what had happened the last time I was there—the day I decided to get help.
I’d woken up on Andrew and Blake’s daybed , my panties lost in the abyss of red Solo cups and food wrappers, hickeys all over my neck and chest. Sleeping with Andrew was an all-time low. Making that ten-minute walk of shame was enough of a reality slap to push me to tell my parents. Even if Andrew did brag to his friends that we’d slept together, I didn’t think that would be a big deal with them. A lot of girls did the walk of shame from the A-Sig house.
I repeated this as I showered, rinsing off the sunshine, sunscreen, and scent of Ryan that was still etched on my body from yesterday. It wasn’t a big deal anymore. We both knew where we stood—for now, purely physical. I could deal with that if it meant seeing the corner of his mouth tick up in a smile, his baby blues melt my insides like a convection oven, and our easy back and forth potshots, the sexy banter I knew he loved—and, if I admitted to myself—I loved as well.
After toweling off, I went to my room and raided my closet for something to wear tonight. Twenty tank tops and skirts later, I settled on a pink halter and cute skirt. Payton came into the room dressed in shorts and a ratty T-shirt.
Before I could say anything, she raised her hand. “Yes, I’m wearing this.”
I sighed. The girl had so much potential. Stick her in a midriff-baring top and some formfitting denim with diamond studded pockets and she’d be breaking necks. If she wanted to be fashionably challenged, I guess that was her deal.
“How are things going with you and Ry?”
I fingered my ear piercings and shifted my gaze to the mound of clothes on the floor. “Good. A little confusing, but I really like him.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.”
Payton played with a curl, twirling it around her finger, and stared absentmindedly at my dresser. “He really is a nice guy, he’s just…like an annoying younger brother.”
“A hot brother.” I laughed.
She scoffed, her face puckering. “Gross.”
After a few seconds of silence, I cleared my throat. “Question.”
“Yeah?”
“Did you always know you wanted to be a doctor?”
Her whole face lit up when she said, “Since I was six. Why?”
“Just wondering if this is something I really want to be doing.” I’d known I wanted to work in sports when my dad brought me to a Seahawks game for my tenth birthday. The quarterback took a nasty tackle and was down for the count. When I saw the athletic trainers check him out, make sure he was okay, I’d known I wanted to do that. Be close to the action and help people. It was the best of both worlds.
We walked into the living room, Payton kicking on her sandals while I strapped on my heels.
“Is Ryan rubbing off on you? He’s the King of I Don’t Know.”
I shook my head. Payton didn’t know jack about his situation. He at least was trying to find something he was passionate about. I was the one taking the coward’s way out.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d stop ragging on him. He’s a good guy—hold on.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and checked the screen. “I need to take it.”
Mom. Daily check-in time. I tucked Dr. Ahrendt’s words in the back of my mind, ready to pull them out if Mom started her guilt-trip routine.
Walking to my room, I answered the call. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, Juliette. How are you today?” Her tone was brisk, no-nonsense.
“Fine. And you?”
“Good. Have you looked into any of your classes for next semester? I was looking on their site and it appears as if you’ll have a very full load.”
I gritted my teeth. How could I possibly be the key to my own happiness as Dr. Ahrendt suggested when my happy meter directly correlated with how often I talked to my parents? “No, Mom. I’m a sucktastic daughter who aims to disappoint.” Whoa. Where did that come from? Wherever it did, it felt good, like I had gained a little bit of power back.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, Mom. Just been a rough day.”
Her breath huffed into the phone. “Eric would never dream of addressing me in that manner.”
“Yeah, well Eric’s in jail.”
“I’m well aware. And I’d like to keep it to only one child in prison.”
“I’ll make sure to swallow my crack if I get pulled over by the police,” I deadpanned.
“How did I raise such a rude daughter?”
I knocked my phone against my forehead a few times and took a calming breath. What was wrong with me? Being mean to my mom ranked up there with kicking puppies. “Mom—I’m sorry.”