Kate in Waiting Becky Albertalli (best way to read books TXT) 📖

end, I ask Mom. She picks the dogs and me up right after breakfast, which works great—until I casually ask her to drop me off at Matt’s house.

“What?” She gasps. “Katypie, like a date?”

“No, like running lines—”

“And here I thought you liked that boy Alexander!”

“Who?”

“The one you and Andy were talking about at Shabbat dinner. Alexander from Lansing, Michigan?”

“Oh my God. How do you even remember that?”

“But you and Matthew! Now, how cute would that be? He’s just such a sweetheart. And he’s Jewish! Sweetie, grab Charles—he can’t climb on the gearstick like that.”

I scoop Charles back onto my lap. “Not that it matters, but I don’t think Matt’s Jewish.”

“He is! Ellen’s Jewish, so Matthew’s Jewish.”

“Does he go to temple?”

“Do we?” Mom drums the steering wheel, clearly delighted. “Does Ellen know about today?”

“How would I possibly know that?”

“Now, you know I’m going to call her.” Mom’s voice gets suddenly stern. “Six inches. You know the rule.”

Ah yes. The most pointless rule ever. If I’m alone in here with any boy who’s not Anderson, the door stays open six inches. And the same applies to Ryan’s room with girls, or at least it would if Ryan ever had girls over. I have no idea where Mom got the impression I’m capable of sealing any kind of deal. There’s honestly no need to cockblock me. I myself am the cockblock.

“Mom. It’s not a date. We’re running lines.”

“Yeah, kiddo, that’s how it starts. One minute you’re running lines, next minute the script’s on the floor—”

“Whoa. Can we not?”

Mom glances sideways, looking genuinely confused. “Can we not what?”

“Can we not, like, graphically imagine this hookup that isn’t happening?”

“No kidding, it’s not happening. Because that door’s going to be six inches open.”

Scene 38

Mom drops me off at Matt’s house, which is in one of the newer neighborhoods near school. His whole street is a series of identical townhomes, all gleaming and well-maintained, with tiny patches of yard in the front. It’s a different vibe from the swim-and-tennis McMansions in Dad’s neighborhood, and it’s very different from the quirky, woodsy older houses on Mom’s street. But it’s kind of charming and safe-feeling, and just the fact that it’s Matt’s street makes me gooey inside.

By the time Mom parks, my heart’s bouncing around like a pinball. Ellen’s car is parked across from their townhouse, right beside Matt’s, and I can just picture this turning into a Mom Thing. Mom will be like oh, just one quick hello, and that hello will turn into three hours and several wineglasses, and Mom plus wine plus my crush is a nerve-racking equation.

But Mom doesn’t walk me in, because she doesn’t want to leave the dogs in the car. So I’d like to nominate Charles and Camilla Garfield as Dogs of the Year, canine heroes, saviors, and general MVPs. Mom does, however, wait in the car, like she does whenever she drops anyone off anywhere. “Don’t ever leave until they’re inside.” She must have said this to Ryan and me a hundred times. “You know, your father dropped me off after a date once and sped off before I realized I’d forgotten my key. I was stranded out there for hours.”

Mom barely ever talks about Dad, but when she does, it’s always like this. She gets this lemon-mouth expression, and then she calls him “your father,” and then she tells about something he did that was stupid or careless. But she never seems like she’s actually mad about it. It’s funny, I think a lot of divorces happen because someone cheats or there’s fighting or something. But my parents just drifted apart. The way Mom describes it, they just weren’t that close anymore. They stopped telling each other things.

It’s kind of scary if you think about it. Just how easy it is for a relationship to dissolve. And how especially easy it is to stop confiding in each other. Like Andy, for instance. He never did respond to the dog selfie, but when I asked him how his plans with Matt went, he said they watched a bunch of superhero movies and went to Waffle House, and it was fun. And that’s it. I mean, if this were a normal communal crush, Andy would be flipping out in my texts, unpacking every single interaction and shouting about the good parts in all caps. So his restraint, when it comes to Matt, is really unsettling.

But maybe I’m overthinking this whole Andy and Matt thing, especially seeing as I’m literally standing on Matt’s doorstep. For a hangout he initiated. Of course, the word “hangout” is probably overly broad, seeing as we’re just running lines. So in that way, it’s more like a business meeting. It’s just that I’m having trouble thinking businesslike thoughts. Also, this just in: freaking out on a boy’s doorstep is extremely uncool, especially when your mom’s still parked here, watching you. I have to breathe. I have to ring the doorbell.

Right away, footsteps. So now my heart’s just putting a down payment on its new forever home, in my throat. Matt opens the door, smiling sweetly. “You made it!”

Mom honks and waves and finally, finally drives off.

Ellen’s not home, as it turns out, despite her car being here. Matt says she flew to New Jersey for the weekend to help Matt’s great-aunt Sylvia move into a retirement community. As soon as he says that, my brain splits off from my mouth completely. It’s like, here I am saying soothing, heartfelt things about Aunt Sylvia, but underneath all of that, my mind’s spiraling in two totally opposite directions. Because—holy shit—I am—oh my God—alone in a house with Matt Olsson. But on the other hand—

So was Anderson.

Whatever that means.

He gives me a quick tour, and my brain’s sputtering holy shit, holy shit over and over, like the world’s least articulate broken record. The foyer, the dining room, the staircase, the hallway, his bedroom. Matt’s bedroom. Even the idea of it makes it hard to stand upright. I have this