Page 13 of On His Mind

“Mom—”

“Wear it, Penelope. You’ll do beautifully. Call me tomorrow.”

The line clicks.

I stand there for a second with the phone still at my ear, which is a thing I hate and do every single time.

Ivory doesn’t say anything as I grab the dress. We both look at it.

“You didn’t know about the interview,” she says.

“No.”

“But she knew?”

I hold up the dress. “Yeah, and she didn’t bother to tell me. That’s nothing new.”

Ivory doesn’t push it any further, which is why I tell her things. She just picks the tissue paper up off my floor and balls it and lobs it at the trash can and misses by a foot.

“So,” she says. “This interview is at six.”

I nod.

“Which is a dinner. Which means it’s over by eight-thirty, nine at the latest.” She turns around. “So, you can come to Hawthorne.”

“Ivory.”

“I’m just laying out your calendar.”

“You’re scheduling me.”

“For your health.” She picks the tissue paper back up off the floor and makes the shot this time. “Come to the party, Penelope. One party. You can leave at midnight and I won’t say a single word about it.”

I look at the dress.

“Midnight,” I say.

She stops. “Wait, really?”

“Midnight, and you don’t leave me for Drew.”

“I wouldnever—”

“You do it all the time.”

“He’s so hot.” She sits back down on my bed, grinning. “Okay. Midnight. Deal.”

I go back to the suitcase.

The address comes through at four-forty, from a number I don’t have saved.

The Camerie, 6:00. Looking forward to it. — Oliver Whitmore

I read it twice.

The Camerie is not an office. The Camerie is white linen, with a wine list and a piano. Nobody has ever been interviewed at the Camerie.

Ivory called it two hours ago without knowing anything about it.