She smiles as she slugs back another sip.
“This way.” Mom leads us through the tiny apartment. “Would you like something to drink, Tucker?”
“No, I’m okay, thank you.” Tucker smiles politely, hands shoved into the pockets of his khakis as he ambles behind Mom into the living room.
I don’t have time to be embarrassed about the brown plaid couch with the old gum stain and the full-back TV I’m pretty sure you can’t even get at garage sales anymore, because Tucker beelines straight for the family pictures in mismatched frames on the wall.
“This one you?” he asks.
I peer over his shoulder.
“Yeah, that’s me.” The picture is from one of my many hospital admissions. I’m maybe three years old, and I’m wearing a green hospital gown and oxygen tubes up my nose. But you’d never know it based on the huge smile on my face.
“You look so happy.”
“She was a happy kid,” Mom says proudly. “Even sick as a dog.”
Tucker turns to face her, expectant.
And here it goes.
“Right, have a seat,” Mom says.
Tucker squeezes my hand before settling in on the couch. I’m too anxious to sit still, so I lean against the wall instead.
“Hope was born four and a half months premature,” Mom begins. “Didn’t even weigh one pound.” She says this as if it’s an accomplishment or something. I cross my arms. If Tucker was serious about dating me before, he’ll change his mind after Mom is done with him.
“She lived off a breathing machine for seventy-four days. Almost died twice. I watched them do CPR on her once for ten minutes—”
“Mom.”
“This is important, Hope, and he wants to know.
“We thought we were past the worst of it, and then she was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis.” Mom shakes her head. “We practically lived in the hospital her first three years. First it was RSV—a viral lung infection,” she explains, “and then she kept getting pneumonia. With her CF compounded by bronchopulmonary dysplasia, she gets sick really easily. Anything could set her off.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I say. But it’s no use. I let her do her spiel and tune her out, turning my attention to my cuticles. The kitchen is deathly quiet, and I know Jenny is listening to every word.
“Well, you’d never know it,” Tucker says when Mom’s finally done. “She doesn’t let on that she’s sick at all.”
“That’s part of the problem. We need to be diligent so she doesn’t run into trouble.”
I roll my eyes.
“She’s lucky to have you,” Tucker says. Mom’s exterior cracks slightly at the compliment. Give them an evening, and I swear they’ll be friends.
And that’s about enough of that.
“Well, thanks for the ride,” I announce. “Tucker, you should probably get going now. Don’t you have that thing in the morning?”
He catches the pointed gleam in my eye. “Oh, right. That thing.” He stands up and flattens the nonexistent creases in his pants. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Callahan.”
“Call me Debbie,” Mom says. Tucker wasn’t lying about his way with moms.
When his back is to her, he winks at me, a hint of laughter in his eyes. Relief floods through me as I realize he’s not laughing at me but with me. And I see no sign that she’s scared him off with all this talk of my imminent doom.
I walk him to the door. “See you tomorrow,” I say.
He turns to face me. A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. Without warning, he leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek, and then he’s trundling down the stairs and walking back to his car, his shirt flapping in a light breeze. I’m so stunned I forget to immediately murder Mom for humiliating me, as I planned.
“He seems nice,” Mom says behind me.
“Hope has a boyfriend!” Jenny sings.
“Very mature,” I say, though it’s not very convincing when I can barely contain a smile.
They’re both looking at me, so I push past them and shut myself in my bedroom, where I flop onto my bed and try to get a grip on what I’m feeling.
Embarrassed.
Jittery.
Guilty.
I think of Ethan and his incredible smile and silky hair, his throaty laugh and lean body, our never-ending well of inside jokes. I like Ethan. So much it physically hurts just to think about him. So why did I let this happen with Tucker?
Because Ethan’s taken, I tell myself. He doesn’t want me. So I shouldn’t want him. Easy.
And in some way, it is easy. Tucker wants me. The most popular boy in school finds me attractive. It’s hard to believe, but my stomach warms at the thought.
It’s so surreal. So normal. Too good to be true. But he sought me out, shared his secrets, and drove me home when I wanted to take it slow.
Wait….He drove me home. All the way from his front door to mine.