We walk in silence for a few minutes. It’s a party. I don’t have to go for Annabelle. Holly isn’t interested.

Why not try to meet someone else?

My gut clenches uncomfortably, but the logic makes sense, so I give up.

“Okay, I’ll go. It’ll be fun.”

“Awesome. Now, if you can say that without sounding like you’re on death row, I might actually believe you.”

7

HOLLY

“Wow, I guess it has been three weeks! Time flies, huh? Well, I thought I’d just stop by—no, that’s so stupid.” I roll my eyes at myself as I approach Ben’s parents’ house and practice what to say when I see him. “Hey! Just happen to be in the neighborhood”—if that’s what you call riding two busses to get here—“and had this lying around”—or maybe spent twenty minutes in the shop, agonizing over which one to buy—“and thought you might like a visitor.”

Still complete garbage. And I’ll feel like a liar if I try spouting off that nonsense.

Now, I’m outside the Gerhards’ intimidating townhouse on a Thursday morning, gripped with doubt.

Why did I think this was a good idea?

I could have texted him. Instead, I settled on this surprise approach.

But who knows if he’s here? When you have your own dialysis machine, there’s nothing mandating that you keep the same schedule. Maybe I’ll ring the bell, only to find the house is empty.

And, even if he is in there, why am I so sure he wants to spend time with me? I practically ghosted him.

Normally, I’m so sure of myself, but just the thought of Ben pushes me off-balance.

So, now, I’m stuck here, gripping the strap of my bag that holds my peace offering while my other hand hangs in the air as I hesitate over the doorbell.

Before I can make a decision, the door opens.

“Oh!” I exclaim at the same time as Victoria Gerhard, who almost steps on me.

“Holly! You surprised me!” Ben’s mom slips the phone she was staring at into her pocket and smiles.

Luckily, the abruptness of her appearance unfreezes my arm, and it drops to my side. “Sorry. I was going to ring the bell.”

Was I though?

“Of course. Please come in.” She steps back and ushers me into the house.

I follow her, my confidence rising with her positive greeting.

“How is everything with you, Holly?”

“It’s good. Lots of studying for midterms, working—you know, all that.”

“I’m sure you are performing fantastically. Would you like something to drink? Water? Wine?”

We’ve come to a pause in their beautiful kitchen, and I chuckle at her joke.

Then, I take a good look at Mrs. Gerhard. She’s dressed in a power pantsuit, tailored perfectly to her body, with a set of ass-kicking heels. Her outfit exudes professionalism, but the way she wrings her hands and stares at me betrays a hint of desperation. And I realize she wasn’t joking.

“It’s nine in the morning. Also, I don’t drink. With the donation and all.”