Scratch that. He thinks I’m Josh. “Just drop it. I can’t take being compared to a guy right now—”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“How’s your mom? I’m sorry, I’ve hogged our entire conversation, and this was supposed to be about her, and I didn’t even ask—”
“You did ask. It was the first thing you said when you answered. And technical y I cal ed you. And I was cal ing to see how the show went, which is what
we’ve been talking about.”
“Oh.” I fiddle with the stuffed panda on Matt’s floorboard. It’s carrying a satin heart that reads I Wuv u. A gift from Cherrie, no doubt. “But how is she?
Your mom?”
“Mum’s . . . all right.” His voice is suddenly tired. “I don’t know if she’s better or worse than I expected. In some ways, she’s both. I pictured the worst—
bruised and skeletal—and I’m relieved it’s not the case, but seeing her in person . . . she’s stil lost loads of weight. And she’s exhausted, and she’s in this lead-lined hospital room. With all of these plastic tubes.”
“Are you all owed to stay with her? Are you there now?”
“No, I’m at her flat. I’m only all owed a short visit because of the radiation exposure.”
“Is your dad there?”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I’m afraid I’ve crossed a line. But final y he speaks. “He’s here. And I’m dealing with him. For Mum’s sake.”
“St. Clair?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” His voice is quiet as Matt’s car pul s into my neighborhood.
I sigh. “I need to go. We’re almost home. Matt and Cherrie are giving me a ride.”
“Matt? Your ex-boyfriend, Matt?”
“Sofia’s in the shop.”
A pause. “Mmph.”
We hang up as Matt parks in my driveway. Cherrie turns around and stares. “That was interesting. Who was that?”
Matt looks unhappy. “What?” I ask him.
“You’l talk to that guy, but you won’t talk to us anymore?”
“Sorry,” I mumble, and climb out of his car. “He’s just a friend. Thanks for the ride.”
Matt gets out, too. Cherrie starts to fol ow, but he throws her a sharp look. “So what does that mean?” he cal s out. “We aren’t friends anymore?You’re
bailing on us?”
I trudge toward the house. “I’m tired, Matt. I’m going to bed.”
He fol ows anyway. I dig out my house key, but he grabs my wrist to stop me from opening the door. “Listen, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I just have this one thing to say before you go in there and cry yourself to sleep—”
“Matt, please—”