Mrs. Alexander was never one of the mothers who helped Madame Matvienko with the costumes or peered through the glass windows of the studios to watch our classes. With all those kids, she just didn’t have the time. I haven’t gone up to Mrs. A. and she hasn’t seen me yet. Her eyes are too red to see straight. I listen for snatches of conversation when the nurses come over to her. “Eleanor didn’t have her EpiPen.” “Eleanor is still being stabilized.” “Eleanor’s reaction was severe.”
I fuss with my phone to keep myself distracted. I click open the app that is connected to the video camera feed in Gigi’s room. Still nothing.
Someone touches my shoulder. I look up; it’s Eleanor’s mother. “Bette,” she says. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
She wraps me up in a hug. Her jacket smells like chicken soup and baby lotion, and what I imagine a real mother smells like. Her arms feel strong but soft. She kisses my head several times. She rubs my back, her strokes telling me everything will be all right. I let myself sink into it. Like she knows that these past few months have felt like a series of bad reactions and I need to be stabilized, just like Eleanor. But she needs me to be strong. No tears.
When she pulls away, she can barely hold back her sob. “She knows to check for peanuts. She’s known her whole life. I don’t know how this could happen.”
“Must be an accident, Mrs. Alexander,” I say. “Has to be. She’s the most responsible person ever.”
She squeezes my shoulder and I hold her elbow because she feels light and wobbly, like she might just topple over. “She looked so small in there.”
“What happened?”
“Nurse Connie called. Said she’d accidentally eaten hummus with peanuts in it.”
Peanuts in hummus? She always buys the exact same fire-roasted peppers kind. There’s no way any of those could have nuts in it.
“I’m going to tell them you’re her sister, so they’ll let you see her. I mean, you pretty much are, anyway. She needs someone here. I have to run to Brooklyn and pick up the twins. There’s no one to get them from their dance classes.”
She looks at her watch, worried. She’s got a ways to go. Eleanor’s family lives deep in the heart of Brooklyn, and it’s a good hour on the subway. I want to offer to call my mother’s car service for her, but I think she might be offended.
“Promise me you’ll stay here until she wakes up?” Mrs. Alexander asks.
“Yes, yes,” I say. “I have nowhere to be.” Which is the most truthful thing I’ve said in the past few days.
“I’ll be back as soon as I get a sitter for the twins.” She kisses me again and returns to the nurses’ desk. I hear my name and they both glance over at me.
A few minutes later, I settle into the chair next to Eleanor’s bed and gaze at her. She looks like one of the round-faced dolls my grandmother used to send me every Christmas. But her porcelain skin is covered with a deep red rash—forehead, nose, and chin. Her lips are cherry red and swollen two sizes larger than normal. Her eyelids are so puffy it looks like she got punched in them.
“Eleanor?” I whisper. “You okay? It’s me.” I don’t know why I expect her to open her eyes, sit up, and tell me what happened. “You’re going to be fine.”
I babble on for a bit about my lessons with Yuli, about the new coffee shop I found down the street, about how much I miss her and Alec and school. I tell her about the video, how it could be what I need to clear my name.
I take her hand and rub it. “I’m sorry for everything. All those times when I wasn’t good to you.”
Her chest lifts up and down with her shallow breathing.
“I’ll get Breakfast at Tiffany’s sent over so we can watch it.” I lean over and move her hair around so it looks nicer. “You’re going to get better.”
One of the nurses bursts in, shooing me out for a few minutes while she changes Eleanor’s IV bag.
I go back into the waiting room, where a few sad-faced grown-ups sit, and an old grandma snores in the corner. I take a seat near the vending machines, and wait until I can go back into Eleanor’s room. I get impatient and return to the nurses’ station. “Can I go back now?”
“There’s another guest already in there. I know your mother said you could stay, but only one visitor in the room at a time.”
Another guest? “Okay, but I left my scarf. I’ll just grab it.”
She waves a hand at me. “Be quick! Better see you back in this room in less than a minute.”
“Okay.” I head down the hall to Eleanor’s room. I wonder who is in there. I didn’t see anyone come in asking about her. I look through the slats of the blinds and see someone standing close to the bed, holding Eleanor’s hand, touching her face. It’s a man I recognize immediately by his build, by the close-cropped hair, by the curve of his back.
Mr. K.
I’m happy that he’s checking up on her, and that he cares enough to make sure she’s okay.
But then he leans down, too close, in a way that makes me sick to my stomach. He kisses her hand, and then, hovering over her, her forehead, and her lips. My breath catches in my throat. But before I turn around and walk away, I snap a quick picture with my phone. I’ve learned enough to know that no one will believe me otherwise.
17.
Gigi
THE WORDS LEAVING ALEC’S MOUTH don’t feel real. They bounce off the glass walls of Studio C and slap me in the face.
“Wait, what?” I push his hands off my body, and untangle from inside his arms, away from the barre he had me up against as we stretched.
“I went to see Bette, and I’m just letting you know about it.” He states it like he’s just telling me he ate a quesadilla for lunch.
“Why? And when?”
He reaches for me again, but I swat his hands away. “Earlier this month. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“It’s been weeks.” I try to keep my voice from going shrill. My stress level is high after what happened with Eleanor. And now this. “When were you planning on telling me?” I search his face for the hidden answers to these questions, buried in the look in his eyes or the way his mouth curves.
“It’s not a big deal,” he says. “I just went over to check on her. See how she’s doing. We spent a lot of time together over the years, and you can’t just turn caring about someone off. I’m telling you because I didn’t want you to freak out.” He erases the distance I put between us and now I have nowhere to go. My back is pressed up against the studio wall, and I feel a bit like we’re putting on a show. “I love you, Gigi. That hasn’t changed.” He grabs for my face and kisses it. His touch is rough and forced.
“Her life sucks right now,” he says in defense of his visit.
“I asked you if you were still friends. You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie,” Alec says, his face angry now. “I just—”
“Did you forget—she tormented me last year? And others? That she’s a bad person?” I shove him off. “I can’t do this anymore, Alec.” The words leave my mouth half-formed and I don’t realize their weight and magnitude until they’re out, hanging there between us. “I asked you straight-out. You lied. If it wasn’t a big deal, you would’ve told me beforehand, and if not then, right after. You carried this secret around for weeks.”