That I related to. “So I’m guessing there’s food in the fridge we could make if you want,” I suggested. But, seeing the pain on her face, I kept going in the hopes that I could smooth the dimple on her forehead. “Or if you need a break—which would be more than okay and quite frankly, very understandable—I’d love to take you out.”

The pain (and dimple) disappeared, replaced by a spark of excitement. “For real?”

“For reals.”

She beamed at me.

Man, did I want to sweep her off her feet.

“Let’s plan to get going in an hour,” I told her, checking my watch.

I had some arranging to do.

Chloe CHAPTER 40 FISH BALLS

Okay, I was really excited.

Since I wasn’t sure what we’d be doing, I showered, then dressed for cute comfort: baggy but semi-flattering boatneck red sweater plus stretchy black pants. I planned to pair the outfit with my purple knee-length puffy jacket and gray padded boots.

So that took twenty minutes. I swiped on some mascara but left it at that since I wasn’t my mother’s daughter: any more makeup and I’d be dealing with smudge city later from accidentally rubbing my eyes.

Thirty-five minutes to go. And I was not someone who should be left alone with her thoughts.

I sat down at my desk and doodled, trying to draw a sheep in a tuxedo pajama, but, um, it ended up looking like a donkey stuffed into a Twinkie with filling spilling out the sides. I tried drawing another sheep with antigravity boots above Mr. Twinkie. She fared a little better, but not by much. She was sheep-adjacent at least, but also part donkey.

I slipped Frankensheep into my pocket anyway, because why not, but I folded the paper six times because it was truly that bad.

I still had thirty minutes until we left. Yes, that was how fast—I mean, bad—that drawing was. My thoughts wandered to all the places I hated: the stickiness of the situation I’d inadvertently created; the shame, guilt, and disgust at what I’d done to my parents and what they’d done to me; and all the secrets we were still keeping.

I needed to know what was going on with my father. By the time I stood and made my way downstairs to find Drew, I’d come up with a plan about as risky and desperate as my rent-a-boyfriend one. And it was a good thing I had that horrible sheep drawing as a bargaining chip, because I would need Drew’s help. Again.

When I reached the living room, I paused, wanting to run back upstairs.

“I didn’t know you were dressing up,” I said, embarrassed by my casual outfit. Drew had paired an ivory shirt and red tie with the navy suit from yesterday, which still had a little grass stain on the sleeve.