You'll Be the Death of Me(40)

ZACK: Would you say it’s in character for Ivy to take a day off?

EMILY: Well, no, but—

ISHAAN, popping back into camera range: You guys, I just checked our stats. We’re doing some serious numbers.

     ZACK: Huh?

ISHAAN: Like triple our usual views. No, wait…(Ducks out of view again, then reappears.) Quadruple.

ZACK: Really?

ISHAAN: We’re trending, baby. Okay, not trending, exactly, but almost five hundred people are watching this.

EMILY, eyes widening: Oh God.





IVY


My thoughts are a messy tangle on the drive back to Carlton. My practical side reminds me that I have much bigger problems to deal with right now than the question of whether Mateo bought the Sugar Babies as a friendly joke, or something more. My inner twelve-year-old doesn’t care about that, and is screeching in heart-eye emojis. But my conscience is louder than either of them, and keeps repeating the same thing, over and over and over:

You have to tell him.

It’s not like I haven’t thought about it, even before this disaster of a day. I’ve been in knots ever since I got back from Scotland and realized the domino effect of what I’d done last June. I tried to make up for it, in a roundabout way. When I still had distance from Mateo, as someone I hadn’t talked to in years, it seemed like that might be enough. But now I know that it was nothing but cowardice—a convenient lie I told myself to avoid doing something that felt impossibly hard.

    Shame inches up my spine and makes me squirm in my seat. I’ve been judging Cal all day, almost relishing the fact that his relationship with Ms. Jamison is so clearly, unequivocally wrong. It didn’t occur to me, until just now, that focusing on Ms. Jamison’s bad behavior has been a highly effective way to ignore my own.

I can’t even enjoy my Sugar Babies. I’m trying, because I don’t want Mateo to think I’m ungrateful, but they taste like chewy cardboard. He and Cal have been sharing sour gummies for the entire drive and, as usual, Cal is carrying the bulk of the conversation.

“Have either of your parents checked in?” he asks, taking the Carlton exit off the highway. It’s just past one-thirty in the afternoon, so we’ve barely hit any traffic on our way home.

“Mine are on a plane,” I remind him. I don’t add for another four hours, but I’m definitely thinking it. It’s okay, though. Four hours is more than enough time to stop school gossip about me from spreading any further. Especially if Charlie can provide the kind of connection between Ms. Jamison and Boney that will send the police after her. For one brief, shining moment, I fantasize that he’s already done exactly that, and the next update on Boston.com will be a picture of her in handcuffs.

Sure, it’s far-fetched. But if something even close to that happened, then Boney would get the justice he deserves without Cal, Mateo, and me having to tell anyone we’d been inside the studio. This entire day could simply—go away. I’d get home early, take a desperately needed nap, and still have plenty of time to get ready for the award ceremony: shower, straighten my hair, put on makeup, and make sure all the tiny buttons on my complicated Belgian dress are fastened properly. The thought sends a fizzy burst of relief flooding through me, and my Sugar Babies suddenly taste good again.

    “My mom’s in the Bronx,” Mateo says. “Thank God. If she was at work, she would’ve already left to barge into school and check up on me. You know how she is.”

I do, and he’s right. She’s a total mama bear. Mateo has loomed over her since he was twelve, but I’d still pick her in a fight.

“Where’s your mom working now?” Cal asks.

I turn in my seat to face Mateo as he says, “Couple different places, but mostly she’s at Jeff Chalmers. You know, the car dealership on Spring Street? She does admin stuff for them.”

“Does she like it there?” Cal asks.

Mateo shrugs. “It’s a job. It’s easy, physically. She needs easy right now.” He gazes out the window, like that’s all he has to say, but then he adds, “She has osteoarthritis, so she can’t move all that well without medication.”

“She has what?” I almost choke on my last Sugar Baby. I can’t imagine Mateo’s mother, always so energetic and vibrant, being slowed down by the same disease my grandpa Sterling has. “When did that happen?”

“What’s osteoarthritis?” Cal adds.

“Joint disease,” Mateo says, the corners of his mouth turning down. “She has a lot of pain and stiffness in her knees. People don’t usually get it till they’re old, so her doctor’s not sure why it happened. He said it might have something to do with an old softball injury, or it might just be bad luck. There’s medicine that helps, but she doesn’t always…take it when she’s supposed to.” He pauses and lifts his shoulders in another shrug, like he’s surprised at himself for telling us. I know I am. It takes a lot for Mateo to open up, especially about family stuff. He’s always been fiercely protective of anything related to his mother and Autumn, including their privacy.

    Then he meets my eyes and adds, “She was diagnosed in July. Right after Spare Me got sued. That was a shitty month.”

Oh my God oh my God oh my God. My stomach fills with lead, and it feels heavy enough to sink me through the bottom of Cal’s car and splatter me onto the road. For a second, I wish it would.