Page 59 of Never Have I Ever
“The dean, Rosalie.” I almost roll my eyes. Of course, my mother would be on a nickname basis with the dean of the school. “If you didn’t go to class, then where did you go?” she asks.
A smile appears on Leila’s face, no doubt wondering the same thing. What would I even say?Oh, you know, I skipped class to ride a motorcycle with a drug dealer who then gave me my first kiss and nearly made me orgasm.Yeah, no.
I hesitate. Not knowing what to say.
“Well?” My mom asks.
“Uh… I was sick,” I tell her.
“Sick?”
I clear my throat, trying to cover up Leila's laughing. “Yes, mom. I got a cold and couldn’t go.”
“A cold? Did you go to the hospital? You know I have Dr. Derin’s number. I’m sure he could make a house call to your apartment if you’re not feeling well.”
“Mom.” I interrupt her. “I’m fine. It was just a cold, and I’m better now.”
“Are you sure? I could call Dr. Derin.”
“He lives in New York.” I doubt our family doctor would be making out-of-state house calls.
“He could get a flight. Lord knows we pay him enough.”
I sigh, shaking my head. “I’ll be there next week, mom,” I tell her.
“Good,” she says. “Beth’s son was so disappointed that you weren’t there. He’s looking forward to meeting you. And preferably in an appropriate dress. I don’t know what you’ve been doing while in college, Rosalie, but you need to come with the attitude of the girl I raised.”
“Dress appropriately, got it,” I tell her.
“Tilly is coming soon to plan the party. I’ve got to go.”
“Okay, mom. Love you.”
“Love you too, Rosalie.”
I hang up the phone and let out a deep breath. I thought I got out of attending the charity gala to virtually sell me off. But instead, I got myself invited to another one.
“Sorry about that,” I tell Leila, pinning the hem of the dress a little higher.
“No worries,” she says. I fix the dress to mold her body, and after a while, she clears her throat. “So, where did you go last Friday?”
I groan. “Not you too.”
She laughs. “I know you weren’t sick, which means it must be good if you’d lie to your mother about it.”
“Why? Because I’m a goody two shoes.”
“Yes,” she says. I narrow my eyes at her, and she shrugs. “It’s not a bad thing. That’s just who you are.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, well, I’m trying to change that.”
“By doing…”
“Not answering that.”
She laughs again, and I get up off the floor, spinning her around to view the dress from the front. It’s a long satin green dress that hugs her curves and flows out at the bottom.
“It looks great.” I smile at her. “Thank you again for agreeing to model for me again.”
