"How are you, Ally? We've barely talked all week."
"I'm busy."
"Well, how was dinner?"
"You know. It was dinner. It was nothing." She contorts her face in a look of distaste.
"Tell me anyway."
"Why? It's boring."
"It's not boring if it's about you," I say. "Did something happen?"
"A dozen people from the production went out to dinner. And we had drinks. Ellen and Nicholas claim it's a tradition. To get drunk before the first day of previews."
"And?"
"I had a few drinks."
"What did you eat?"
She throws me a side eye. "This again?"
"Humor me."
"I don't know. I ate food. Some kind of salad. It was very healthy and wholesome and exactly what I should be eating. Are we done with this area of conversation?"
She's always resistant to talking about her recovery, but this is something else. Something more. "Ally, what's up? You're defensive."
"You always think I'm defensive."
"Talk to me. I want to hear it."
"There's nothing to say. I've been busy. I've been less than perfect about my recovery work. But it's fine. It's not a big deal that I've been skipping lunch."
My stomach drops. Alyssa is skipping meals.
She clears her throat, and I bring my gaze back to the little image of her on-screen. "It's really not a big deal," she says. "I've been too nervous to eat during rehearsals. So I have some coffee and that's that."
"You're too nervous to eat but coffee is fine?"
"Luke, it's not a big deal."
"It sounds like a big deal."
"You pushed me to move here," she says. "You pushed this on me. Don't be a fucking pussy about it now."
"Ally..."
She folds her arms. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's just... I'm trying to handle this the best I can, okay?"
"Why do you have to handle it on your own? Why can't you talk to me about it?"
"I don't know..."
"Tell me what you're feeling. Please. I want to help."
"You'll get scared and run away." Her eyes turn towards the floor. What must be the white sheets spread over the bed.