Chapter 31
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
ALLY
L ucy didn’t need a CPR refresher, even though she swore up and down that physician’s assistants needed regular training just like everyone else. I didn’t doubt that, but I assumed she’d have been able to fit in a quick course at the hospital, rather than signing up for a Saturday session at the community center with half the babysitters and teachers of Green Valley.
But Lucy was the kind of friend who’d pretend she needed a CPR refresher and spend half a day pumping on the chests of plastic dummies if it would keep me company on a day when I needed re-certification. And more than that, when I needed to figure my life out next to a willing friend.
“Are you sure you don’t just want to stay in? I can make us breakfast,” I offered.
Lucy looked around my small rustic kitchen, peeked at all the take-out containers in my fridge, and shook her head. “We need to get you out of the house before you become one with the furniture.”
“I’ve been out. I go out every day to work,” I protested. It was a half-truth. I’d been to work, but I’d pretty much come and gone without lingering or chatting with my colleagues. Most of them probably just thought I was busy working on signage for the carnival and didn’t give it a second thought. Only Witty had reached out to make sure I was okay, either because he’d caught wind of potential drama or because he missed having me as his dutiful audience in the teachers’ lounge. Likely both.
Meanwhile, Lucy called my bluff on breakfast. “If you can show me where you have an egg or some fresh cheese, I’ll let you make me breakfast. Otherwise, we’re getting out of here.”
I mentally tabulated the contents of my fridge, then admitted, “Fine. You win.”
I’d signed up for the class months ago as part of my recipe for self-sufficiency, and this morning, I’d called Lucy to back out.
Fifteen minutes later, she showed up at my house with a vanilla latte. The creamy delicious drink made me think of Clay, which she knew it would, and before I’d finished half of it, I’d told her everything. Somehow, in the process, Lucy had managed to get me out of my yellow plaid pajamas and into a pair of equally comfortable sweatpants.
“These are more fit for public display,” she said, pushing me out the door before I had time to protest. I was too bleary after a week of poor sleep to argue.
As we drove to the center of town, Lucy began a monologue she’d obviously prepared before coming. “I just want to say I’m proud of you.”
She paused and waited for me to ask why. So it wasn’t so much a monologue as a planned discussion. Either way, I groaned at the thought.
“Don’t you want to know why?” she teased, her voice lilting over the words.
“You’re going to tell me either way, right?”
I didn’t have to look at Lucy to know she was smiling, happy she’d caught me in her conversational net. “I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself and asking for the kind of relationship you want. The fairy tale.”
Throwing a hand over my eyes, I cringed. “I’m an idiot. Telling that to Clay was idiotic, and look where it got me. Here, with him running for the hills just like my mama warned me he would.”
Lucy tsk-tsked, waving a finger while keeping her other hand on the steering wheel. “No, he freaked out because of his own baggage, and you did right, telling him to deal with it.” And now I regretted having filled Lucy in on every detail of our breakup.
“But I’m talking about you,” she continued. “You did good. You asked for what you wanted and you should always continue to do that. Whether it’s with him or somebody else.”
“But I want it to be with him,” I whined, finally saying the truth out loud.
“I know, honey, I know. And if that stubborn greyhound removes his head from his ass, it will be. I sincerely hope he does.”
After that, Lucy stopped talking and let me nurse my latte. Nothing else needed to be said.
When we arrived at the community center, I snapped back to reality. Too many people. Too many potential conversations. Too much in general.
And wouldn’t you know, the first person Lucy and I ran into was Rosalie. “Hi, you two. Fancy meeting you here, Lucy Gibson. Are you the one teaching the class?”
“Hey, Rosalie.” My greeting lacked enthusiasm, but Lucy picked up the slack immediately.
“Aw, good for you for getting certified, but I’m just here for fun.”
Rosalie popped her hip out to the side, giving Lucy the once-over with furrowed brows. “Fun? Well, that’s sure good to hear. I was worried this class would be a bore.”
Lucy didn’t have time to respond because the instructor stood at the front of the room in hot-pink scrubs clapping her hands rapidly. Her high ponytail bobbed as she bounced on her toes and greeted us with a smile that instantly gave me a headache. It was just too...perky. “Okay, everyone, find a partner and we’ll get started in a minute.”
The room was empty save for a handful of blue exercise mats in the center and a bunch of folding chairs that had been set to the side to make room for the thirty or so people who were now abuzz with chatter as we partnered up.
“I’m going back to bed,” I threatened, turning toward the exit and running smack into John Witty.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Witty’s hair was slicked back like he’d just gotten out of the shower, and it pained me how many people in Green Valley were up and oh so perky at the frightening hour of...ten in the morning. Okay, maybe slothful, wallowing Ally needed an intervention.
“Why are you here?” I half whined.
Witty grinned. “Ran into Lucy earlier and she mentioned y’all were taking this class. Since you’ve been draying around school all week, and Clay’s taken five personal days for the first time in forever, I decided all teachers ought to know CPR, including this guy.” He pointed to himself with both thumbs.
I couldn’t help it. I smiled at my goofball colleague who’d rather lie about wanting to learn how to do two hundred chest compressions than make me ask for help.
I reached out and hugged him and gratefully accepted his return embrace. “Don’t be a lonely pot when there’s a lid out there that suits you,” he whispered.
Before I could answer, our teacher started barking instructions over the din in the room, pointing to the loosely clothed dummies on the blue mats and telling us to gather around them. Witty couldn’t help himself—he checked inside our dummy’s pants. “It’s a dude.”
“It’s no such thing,” Lucy admonished. Witty shrugged.
“Still not sure why you’re here,” I grunted at Witty, glancing around the room to see if any other high school teachers had shown up, specifically one who taught the senior English seminar. I’d mentioned a couple weeks ago that I was signed up for the course and Clay said he might come along. I couldn’t decide whether I was relieved or disappointed not to see him here.
Relieved. No, disappointed. No, just exhausted.
“I’m here for moral support. To encourage you to follow your heart while simultaneously being good to yourself.”
And maybe Lucy was right. I had stood up for myself and my romantic aspirations, even if they wouldn’t end up coming to fruition with Clay. I was a dreamer, a romantic. I wanted the fairy tale, and dammit, I was going to keep believing in it.
“How do I do that?”
“You do more things that fuel your own happiness,” Witty said, producing a white bakery bag seemingly out of thin air and opening it. The scent of a freshly baked almond croissant hit my nose and reminded me that I’d barely eaten in a week.
He took one from the bag and handed it to me, then offered the bag to Lucy.
I took a big bite of the almond pastry and let it dissolve on my tongue. Normally, eating one of Donner Bakery’s specialties was something that fueled my happiness. But today it tasted less than good, just like everything felt.
“I’m not sure what those things even are.”
Witty chimed in, “You go to work. Engage with your students. Make the carnival the best Green Valley High has ever seen. And you wait for your dumbass boyfriend to come to his senses. Ask me how I know he will.” Witty bounced his eyebrows and waited for me to ask him about this newest piece of gossip.
“Not interested, Witty. Not today,” Lucy told him. “This is about Ally being Ally. Not self-sufficient Ally or girlfriend Ally. Just Ally—whoever she wants to be.”
No one had put it that way before, but upon hearing Lucy say it, I knew she was right. I wanted to be that person, whoever she was, without being guided by her mom’s fears or her own self-doubt. “I want to go to Donner Bakery and eat my weight in cake. Then I want to paint signs for the carnival,” I said. “So let’s revive these dummies and get going.”
“Deal,” Lucy said. “The cake is my treat.”