Wrong About the Guy(54)

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said lightly, and stood up, tucking the laptop under his arm. “I’ll come back tomorrow to work on your mom’s office, Ellie, but it’ll probably be when you’re in school. Take care, both of you. Congratulations on submitting your applications.”

“You’ll stay in touch, right?” Heather said.

He smiled at her. “Of course. Call me the second you hear from Elton. Good or bad news. We’re in this together.”

“I will,” she said. “And if it’s a yes, then we’ll all go out and celebrate together, right?”

“Absolutely.” He gave her a quick hug and then nodded at me. “Bye. Enjoy your night out.” He walked out of the kitchen.

Heather and I just stood there for a moment, gazing at the doorway.

And I had thought hitting send felt anticlimactic. . . .





twenty-six


Heather called her parents and told them she’d sent in her application. I wanted to call mine but had to wait: it was five in the morning in London.

Heather was very quiet on the drive to Aaron’s, so I asked her if she was okay.

“Yeah,” she said, staring out the window. “It just felt so weird. I thought more would happen at the end. But we all just sort of sat there and then George left.”

I glanced over at her. “Be happy. We’re about to see Aaron.”

“Fun.” She didn’t sound as enthusiastic as I’d expected, but I understood her dim mood; it was sobering sending off the application. It should have felt like the start of something, but instead it felt like something had ended. “Where do you think he was going?” she said after a moment. “George? Do you think he, like, had a date?”

“Nah,” I said. Then: “I mean, maybe. I don’t know. He did keep checking his phone, which isn’t like him.”

“Has he ever mentioned a girlfriend?”

“Never.”

“Do you think he’d tell you if he was going on a date?”

“Probably not.” We were both silent for a moment and then I said, “I bet it wasn’t a date.”

We reached the Marquands’ front gate, and I punched the call button on the keypad. No one responded. “That’s weird,” I said after an entire minute had gone by and I’d pressed it a few more times. “He said he’d be here.”

“Try texting him,” she suggested, so I did.

No response to that either. Since the gate was tall and solid—designed to block prying eyes—I couldn’t tell if there were any lights on in the house or any movement around it.

“Do you have their home number?” Heather asked.

“No. I’ll try his cell but he’s not answering my texts.” I let it ring a few times, and then to my surprise and relief, he actually did pick up, but the first thing he said was “I can’t talk.”

“We’re in front of your house,” I said. “Can you come out?”

“Wait a sec,” he said. “No, wait . . . Don’t wait.”

It sounded like a joke, so I laughed, but he didn’t.

“Just . . . go home,” he said in a strained voice. “I’ll come over when I can. If I can.”

“Are you okay?” I asked, but he had already hung up.

“What’s wrong?” Heather asked.

I stared at my phone, bewildered. “I have no idea.”


Heather and I decided to ditch our plans, since Aaron had said he’d meet us back at the house and I felt too worried now to just go out without him. Instead we picked up sandwiches and chips at Whole Foods and brought them back to my house, where we ate them in front of the TV—Grandma was watching The Stoned Housewives of Dippity-Do or whatever it was, and Heather wanted to watch it, too. Before it was over, her parents called to say they’d like her to come home soon, since it was a school night. “I’d argue with them if there was a reason to,” she said as she packed up her laptop, “but since we’re not really celebrating—”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Go.”

“You have to let me know what’s going on with Aaron as soon as you find out. And also whether George went on a date.”

“I’ll pass on any information I get.”

Poor Heather. She looked pretty deflated as she dragged herself out to her car. No wonder: she had made herself look so pretty for Aaron and then he’d totally flaked on us. What was going on with him?

I called Mom around eleven—it was still early in London, but I figured Jacob would have woken her up by then. “Is everything okay?” she said.

“Stop worrying every time I call you. I just wanted you to know I submitted my application to Elton. The deed is done.”

“Wow,” she said. “Congratulations!”

“How’s it going there?”

“Meh.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Remember how I told you Jacob liked Bob? The male babysitter we got through the hotel? He was amazing and was making my life so much easier—but then he had some kind of family emergency and now he can’t come anymore. We’ve tried two other people since then. One of them was really young and she quit after the first day because Jacob wouldn’t stop crying. She was in tears when I came back to the hotel. I mean, literally in tears. She and Jacob were both crying in different corners of the room. . . . It was ridiculous.”