Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
ALLY
My visits to Drew’s bedroom become routine. We never discuss it during the day, but every night he leaves his door open and I walk through it. And every night, it’s hungry and heated, and tender and sweet.
It’s also addictive. When Drew has to work late Tuesday night, I find I can’t fall asleep. He finally gets home shortly after one, and five minutes after I hear him walk down the hall, I join him in bed.
“Thought you were sleeping,” he mutters, slipping a hand under my pajama top.
“No.”
“Good.”
And it’s all the conversation we need. My top comes off, and his lips find mine.
But every night, I go back to my own bed when it’s done. Even though the relationship doesn’t feel fake anymore, it won’t be long-term. And I have to remember that.
On Sunday afternoon, I’m folding laundry when my mother calls.
“So,” she says, once we’ve made it through the usual pleasantries. “I wanted to talk about the plan for next Saturday.”
“Next Saturday?”
“Hayley’s graduation,” Mom reminds me.
“Oh, right.” With everything going on with Drew, Hayley’s graduation had completely slipped my mind.
“You’re still planning to come, right?” Mom asks. “Hayley’s the valedictorian, so she’ll be giving a speech. I think it’ll mean a lot to her to have you there.”
I almost ask why Hayley isn’t reaching out to me herself, if my presence means so much. Instead, I just say I’m planning to come.
“Great,” Mom says. “I’m going to make reservations for Nico’s that evening.”
“Sounds good.” Nico’s is a fancy Mediterranean restaurant downtown.
“Justin’s coming with Hayley,” Mom says. “I wondered if you’d like to bring someone?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes. I’m really not looking forward to being the fifth wheel at a fancy dinner with my parents, Hayley and Justin. And if I explained the situation to Drew, I’m pretty sure he’d come with me.
But Drew and I are temporary, and bringing him to this dinner would imply things are more serious than they are. So when my arrangement with Drew runs its course, my family will assume I screwed things up. Mom will be legitimately sympathetic, and Hayley will pretend to sympathize.
And Dad will needle me with comments that suggest he expected this from the start.
“No, I’m not bringing anyone,” I tell Mom. “Just me.”
Two minutes after I end the call with Mom, I get a text from Sarah Hayes.
Sarah: What time is it there? Can you talk?
I swipe the button for a FaceTime call, and she picks up immediately.
“Hey.” Sarah squints at her screen—my phone camera picks up part of Drew’s couch, which is far too nice to be mine—and she grins. “Still living with the boss, I see?”
“He’s not my boss anymore,” I remind her.
“But you are still living with him?”
“Yeah. I told you, we’ve got a three-month arrangement.”
“Hmmm,” Sarah says thoughtfully. “Can I talk to him?”
“Why?”
“I’d like to read him the riot act,” she says seriously. “Make sure he knows that if he doesn’t treat you properly, he’ll have to answer to me.”
“What’ll you do?” I ask with a chuckle. “Hit him with an overhead smash?”
“Maybe,” she says. “So can I talk to him?”
“Nah, he’s at the hospital. It’s his weekend on call.”
“Ah,” Sarah says, before she mercifully changes the subject. “So I had to fire Brooke yesterday.”
“Who’s Brooke?” I ask.
“My personal assistant.”
“Oh, right.” It still blows my mind that Sarah has a personal assistant. “What’d she do?”
“She was selling info to the tabloids.”
“Shit, Sarah, really?”
Sarah nods. “It’s how they found out about Piers and me.”
Over the past week, I’ve seen a couple tabloid articles about Sarah and Piers, with headlines like Swiss-American Merger? and Love-Love?
The tennis world loves the love puns.
“And you’re sure it was Brooke?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah. She forgot her phone at breakfast, and I saw a text from a photographer. Pretty stupid, huh? I mean, if you’re going to sell out your boss, at least change your phone settings so your messages don’t show on your lockscreen.”
“I’m sorry, Sarah. That sucks.”
Sarah sighs. “Yeah. I mean, they would have found out eventually anyway, because Piers is Piers, but . . .”
“It’s a betrayal.”
“Yep. And it especially sucks because she was good at her job. So if you know anyone who’d like a job as my PA . . .”
“Maybe I’d like a job as your PA,” I say with a laugh.
“Really?” she asks hopefully. “It’s yours if you want it.”
I realize she’s been thinking of that from the start, but she didn’t want to ask outright in case I’d be insulted.
But I’m not insulted. It’s a real job, not something Sarah’s made up because she feels sorry for me and wants an excuse to give me a handout. After all, she was paying Brooke to do it, and the disloyal bitch was selling her out.
Would it be awkward to work for Sarah? At times, maybe, but it could also be a lot of fun. And I think I could do a better job than Brooke was doing.
“The job’s mostly scheduling, and booking travel and hotels,” Sarah continues. “I was paying Brooke sixty grand a year, and covering expenses.”
“Sixty grand,” I sputter. “American dollars?”
Sarah grins. “Yeah, American dollars.”
I’m silent for a moment, trying to convert that to Canadian in my head. But even without the conversion, it’s considerably more than I’m making at the hospital.
“And expenses would be what?” I ask.
“Accommodations and travel.”
Damn. If I were making sixty grand a year, American dollars, and I didn’t have to pay rent? I could actually save some money, and maybe—just maybe—start to get ahead.
“You can think about it,” Sarah tells me. “Brooke’s already booked everything for Wimbledon, so that’s taken care of. And I won’t have time to look for anyone else until after.”
“Thanks,” say. “Yeah, I’ll think about it. It’d be a great opportunity, but . . .” I trail off, trying to make sense of my thoughts.
“I get it,” Sarah says gently. “It’d painful to be back on the tour as a PA. But I wanted to ask, just in case—”
“It’s not that,” I interrupt. “It’s been long enough, I think it’d be okay. But . . .”
“Is it because of your thing with your boss?” she asks curiously. “You think it might go somewhere?”
“No,” I blurt. I can’t let myself think that. “Drew and I have a three month arrangement. And he’s not my boss anymore. But I . . .”
Sarah’s expression makes it clear she’s not entirely convinced. “But you. . .” she prompts.
I take a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking of going back to school.”
“Really? That’s great.” She looks surprised, which is understandable, since she knows how much I disliked community college. “What would you study?”
“Nursing, probably. The community college has a two year practical nursing program that might be an option.”
“I didn’t know you were interested in nursing,” Sarah says. “That’s exciting.”
Exciting seems like the wrong word, but nursing seems like a sensible choice. Working as an admin assistant isn’t particularly stimulating, and I can’t imagine doing it for the next forty years.
And ever since I met Melissa at the barbecue, I’ve been toying with the idea of going back to school. If she can go to Teacher’s College while parenting two kids, there’s no reason I can’t go back to school and do something.
So over the past week, I’ve been looking at programs online.
I looked at Somerset University first, but my high school grades weren’t stellar and I’m not sure I’d get in.
It’s painful to think about the scholarship offers I turned down at eighteen, when top American schools wanted me for their tennis teams.
But I might get into a practical nursing program at community college. The tuition’s significantly less than university would be, and it’s two years instead of four. I’d have to get a student loan, but if I kept working part-time I might get through without an astronomical debt load.
“I haven’t applied yet,” I tell Sarah, “but I’m probably going to. It’s too late to apply for September, but there’s an option to start in January.”
“Good for you. Let me know if you change your mind, though. The PA job’s yours if you want it.”
“Thanks, Sarah.”
She smiles. “I almost forgot, I rented a house for Wimbledon. There’ll be an extra bedroom if you want to come.”
“Are you staying with Piers?” I ask.
“No, he’ll have his own place,” she says with a chuckle. “We didn’t want to distract each other. But my parents are coming over for it.”
“I wish I could,” I tell her truthfully. She’s invited me to tournaments before, but this is the first time I’ve wanted to go. “But there’s no way I’d get the time off work.”
“That sucks,” she says with a frown. “Oops, I have to go, I’m meeting Piers for dinner.”
“Right, of course,” I say. “Say hi to Piers for me.” I highly doubt Piers remembers who I am, but whatever.
“Will do,” she says with a grin.
I disconnect the call and go back to folding my laundry.
Sarah’s job offer is tempting, and part of me wants to take it.
I doubt being her PA would be more stimulating than what I’m currently doing—I’d basically still be working as an admin assistant—but I bet it’d be more fun.
I never minded the travel aspect of the tennis tour, and I’m sure it’d be even better now that Sarah can afford decent hotels.
And I might get to help Sarah train, and that would definitely be more fun than what I’m currently doing. I could keep her company on runs, even be a hitting partner if she thinks I’m good enough.
Not to mention that instead of paying college tuition, I’d be making sixty grand a year. American dollars.
Seen from that perspective, only a fool would turn down the job.
But it’s a job that comes with an expiry date.
Best case scenario, Sarah will stay near the top of the tour for another ten years, but that’s not guaranteed.
She could get injured, or get sick of tennis.
Or slip in the rankings and lose her endorsements, to the point that it no longer makes sense for her to pay a PA.
The bottom line is, Sarah won’t need a PA forever, so at some point I’d find myself out of a job. I could try to get a job with another athlete, but it’s probably a competitive field. And as I get older, the travel would probably get tiring.
So nursing is the sensible choice, and a practical nursing diploma could be a stepping stone to a lot of things.
I could work for a few years, then go back and do a bridging program to get my RN.
And after a few years of that, I could apply to a nurse practitioner program, or do an MBA.
Heather Larkin got her start as a nurse; maybe one day I’ll have her job.
The sort of job where I could date a surgeon and no one would be surprised.
I fire up my laptop and pull up the community college’s nursing admissions page.
I don’t have the prerequisites to apply through the regular stream—I’m missing a math credit.
But since I’m over twenty-one, I can apply through the mature student stream, which doesn’t need the math.
This seems a bit nonsensical, since my math skills didn’t magically improve when I turned twenty-one, but I’m not going to question it.
Unfortunately, the mature student stream requires two reference letters. I hate the thought of asking people to write them, but the prospect of trying to get the math credit is even worse. I can ask my former employer, Dr. Lisa Harrington, but there’s no great choice for the second letter.
So I guess I’ll have to ask Heather Larkin. It’s not ideal, since I’ve only worked for her for a few weeks, and I’ll have to tell her I’m thinking of leaving my current job. But on the plus side, she’s a nurse herself, and maybe that will count for something with the college.
And when I ask Heather about it on Monday, she’s very gracious.
“I’d be happy to write you a letter, Alexandra,” she says, beaming at me. “I think you’d be a wonderful nurse.”
“Thank you so much,” I say. “I’m hoping to start in January, and the deadline to apply is in two weeks. I know it’s short notice, but—”
“It’s no problem,” she cuts in. “I imagine the submissions are electronic, right? You can email me the link to upload it.”
“Thank you,” I repeat, breathing an inward sigh of relief. I expected this to be much more difficult. “I really appreciate this, Heather.”
“It’s my pleasure,” she says with a smile. “I’ll be sorry to lose you, of course, but I understand.”
“Well, I might not get accepted,” I point out. It’s why I haven’t mentioned this to my family, or to Drew. If I get rejected from nursing school, I’d rather no one else knew about it.
“They’ll accept you,” Heather says kindly. “I have confidence in you, Alexandra.”