Promise Me (The Me Novellas)

by Gates, Shelby

  Her giggle turned into peals of laughter. “Seriously. I don’t know how he manages to have sex with you when he can barely even kiss you.”

  Grant was not high on Sage’s list of favorite people. Considering I felt the same way about her on-again off-again relationship with Mitch, I let it slide. We were best friends and we did what best friends did: look out for each other, expect and want the best for each other.

  “Whatever.” I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. “I’m probably going to head over to his place for a bit. We didn’t have much of a chance to catch up.”

  “Or screw.”

  “Stop. Dad is supposed to be home for dinner so I need to be back for that, to see him. And Joel. But I was thinking we could get together tonight? I could come by or something?”

  “Of course.” She hesitated for a minute, thinking. “I’m supposed to go to some party with Mitch, but I’ll cancel. Or tell him I’ll meet him later.”

  “I don’t want to butt in on your plans,” I began.

  But she cut me off. “Please. I haven’t seen you in forever. Mitch can wait. It’s just a party.”

  “Alright.”

  We hung up and even though I wanted to spend the rest of eternity lounging on my soft bed, I didn’t. I got up and made a beeline for the shower. The water warmed quickly and I peeled off my clothes and stepped into the steamy enclosure, letting the water pelt my skin. The water pooled at the drain, a grayish-red color and I grimaced, wondering what shade my skin actually was underneath the layers of dirt and sweat and grime. I washed my hair, scrubbing my scalp, inhaling the scent of the shampoo. I rinsed and lathered on conditioner and then, grabbing my razor and a bottle of body soap, attacked the three months worth of hair on my legs and under my armpits. The hair on my legs had turned blond from the hours of sun exposure, had grown soft and fine as it lengthened, but I still wanted it off of me. It took almost twenty minutes, and almost the entire contents of the hot water heater, but when I turned off the water and grabbed a towel, I felt like me again. Almost.

  I wrapped a towel around my mid-section and padded back to my bedroom. I lifted my wet hair off my shoulders and adjusted my towel, loving the feel of the cotton as it skimmed the smooth expanse of skin on my legs. I’d never felt so deliciously clean.

  I rifled through my dresser and pulled out a pair of denim shorts. I slipped into them, zipped and buttoned them. They promptly slid to the floor.

  I knew I’d lost weight but hadn’t expected my clothes to fall off of me. “Shit.”

  I rummaged through my drawer for something else to wear but it was useless. Every pair of shorts I owned had a zipper or buttons. I made a mental note to visit the mall. Soon. Frustrated, I searched my closet for something else to wear. I found a simple black sundress and pulled it over my head. I didn’t wear dresses often, but it would have to do.

  I brushed through my hair and applied some eyeliner. I inspected my reflection in the wall mirror mounted in my room. I was clean. New freckles dotted my cheeks and my nose. My hair had lightened a little, blond streaks through my otherwise brown hair. The exterior changes were subtle. But the ones inside weren’t.

  I turned away from the mirror and texted Grant to let him know I was on my way. I headed toward the laundry room, dumping the meager contents of my backpack into the washing machine. I’d brought elastic-waist shorts and pants, tank-tops and loose-fitting long-sleeved shirts on my trip. I’d left half of those clothes behind, for Rosa and her family. They were almost threadbare but I knew she would use them, repurpose them into clothes for the kids or rags for the house. Nothing went to waste there, not even t-shirts riddled with holes.

  I called out the back door to my mom, reassuring her I’d be home for dinner, and I headed out the door.

  My car, an older Toyota Corolla, was parked in the alley behind the house. I felt a little flutter in my stomach as I inserted the key into the lock. I sank into the driver’s seat and hesitated before starting the engine. What if this was something I’d forgotten how to do? What if I didn’t remember how to drive a car? Not the steering or the braking or anything like that, but those little rules that you learn along the way. Just how much gas you need to give to make it through the yellow light; how hard you need to step on the brake without jerking to a stop; and just how close you can cut it when squeezing past a car as you make your way to the right turn lane. It had been three months since I’d driven and I suddenly felt like it was my first day behind the wheel.

  “Stop it,” I whispered to myself. I’d only been gone three months. Driving a car hadn’t changed. I hadn’t changed so much that I wouldn’t remember this. I was being ridiculous.

  Thankfully, I was right. As soon as I turned the key and backed out of the alley, I relaxed. This was my car, the same car I’d been driving since I was sixteen. A lot of other things might have changed, but my little car was the same.

  Grant lived in an apartment in Mission Beach, a few blocks north of Belmont Park, bayside on the little strip of land that jutted out from Pacific Beach. I crawled along Mission behind tourists and locals, catching glimpses of the Pacific as I drove past store fronts and restaurants and low-rise apartment buildings. I turned left on Island Court and navigated my way to the alley, parking directly behind the garages attached to his apartment. It was the end of summer and street parking was nonexistent.

  I climbed the steps to his second-story apartment, a blue building badly in need of a paint job, and rapped once on the door.

  “It’s open,” Grant called from inside.

  He was sitting on the couch, watching a Padres game. A burger and package of fries from Jack in the Box sat in front of him on the wooden coffee table, a massive drink next to it. My mouth watered. Somehow, I’d forgotten to eat.

  He popped a french fry into his mouth. “That was fast.”

  I sat down next to him on the couch. “I tried to hurry.”

  He picked up the burger and took a bite. Mayonnaise and ketchup oozed from the bun and I salivated some more.

  “That looks amazing. Mind if I have a bite?”

  He looked at me. “Thought you were starving?”

  “I was,” I said. “I am. But I was more dirty than hungry.”

  I reached for the burger but he held out his hand to stop me. “Hang on. Let me grab a knife. I’ll cut you your own piece.”

  I sighed. “I didn’t bring home the Ebola virus, you know. And I’m pretty sure giardia isn’t transferred by saliva.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You have giardia??”

  “Oh my God, no.” I shook my head. “I was joking.”

  He went to the kitchen and came back holding a butter knife. “Well, I didn’t know. You’ve been living in a Third World country for three months, Em.”

  “I went to the clinic yesterday,” I said, watching him as he sliced off a section of his burger. “I have a clean bill of health. No gastrointestinal issues. No skin diseases. No STDs.”

  His eyes shot to mine.

  “Again. Kidding.”

  He handed me the burger and I bit into it. The flavors exploded on my tongue and I almost cried, it tasted so good. I resisted the urge to wolf my half of the sandwich down and chewed slowly instead, savoring it.

  Grant was still staring at me.“So, you’re kidding about not having any STDs or not being tested?”

  I stopped chewing. “Jesus Christ. I was on an experiential learning trip, not a swinging singles cruise.”

  “I don’t like it when you joke about that kind of stuff.” He picked up his drink, his eyes locked on me. “You know that.”

  I rolled my eyes and looked away. I wasn’t sure if he meant he didn’t like me joking about being with someone else or about having been exposed to potentially contagious diseases. It could be either one with him.

  “I did not sleep with anyone while I was in Mexico.” I plucked a french fry from the carton and popped it in my mouth before he could object. “Except Matteo.”

  His m
outh dropped open.

  “He’s two.” I shook my head. “Because, see, when you live in a shack in Puerto Vallarta, everyone shares a bed. Or a mat, as the case may be. There are no beds, Grant. No couches. No television. And no one has time to hook up because they’re all so goddamn busy trying to find enough food to eat so they don’t starve.”

  His eyes softened a little. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean–”

  I cut him off. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t.” I finished the burger, wiping my hands on the sides of my dress. I was thirsty but I didn’t dare ask for a drink of his soda.

  He crumpled the sandwich wrapper and tossed it into the paper bag sitting on the floor. He inched closer to me and his hand found my thigh. I could feel the heat of his touch through the flimsy fabric of my dress.

  “I missed you, Em,” he said. His fingers inched toward my hem and then slipped under.

  I sighed. He was a neurotic freak but he was my freak. And I’d missed him. I leaned into his touch, shifting closer on the couch so our bodies were pressed together.

  “I missed you, too,” I whispered.

  I kissed him. He kissed me back softly, one hand under my dress, the other moving up my ribcage. I opened my mouth a little, inviting him to deepen the kiss and he groaned. His mouth slid away from mine and he trailed kisses along my cheek and down my neck. He leaned me back on the couch so he was on top of me. In a matter of seconds, his shorts were off and my dress was hiked up to my waist. I didn’t care. I didn’t want foreplay or romance or whispered sentiments.

  I wanted him.

  FOUR

  I was on my second helping of lasagna. My parents took their time eating, watching me as I shoveled forkfuls of noodles into my mouth. They both had a glass of wine but my Dad’s sat untouched. He was headed back to the restaurant and I knew he’d be pounding diet Cokes as the night wore on.

  I’d filled them in a little on the trip, talked about some of the experiences I’d had living with Rosa and Eduardo and their children. They nodded and listened and asked questions, all things I’d expected them to do. But I knew from their faces that it was like listening to a bedtime story. They were paying attention but it was like a fairy tale. Not a pleasant one, to be sure, but something that was simply outside the realm of their reality.

  I’d expected that. When I’d signed up for the trip last Spring, my parents had balked at the thought of me spending the summer living in Mexico. Not because they didn’t want me to travel but because they didn’t understand what it was I wanted to do.

  “If you’re interested in doing a semester abroad, let’s research a little,” my mom had said. “No need to just rush into this.”

  “But this isn’t a semester abroad,” I’d told her. “This is a cultural exchange. People Helping People.”

  She’d frowned when she heard the name of the organization. “So you’re going to go there and work? Help people? What exactly are you going to do? What on earth are you qualified to do?”

  I’d bristled at the statement. Sure, I wasn’t trained in anything. Hell, I’d just finished my second year at Mesa, the local community college because, as my father put it, I was still “looking for direction.” I’d opted to get an associate’s degree in business administration. Numbers spoke louder to me than words and I figured if I started toward a degree, I could maybe transfer it somewhere else. At the very least, I could pretty much guarantee myself a job as a bank teller. Not that counting out other people’s money was something I aspired to do, but it was better than not working at all.

  “I’m not going to work there, Mom. The organization helps people in poor countries finance loans. But this cultural exchange—the thing I want to do—it helps bring their plight into focus to the world around them. Allows people like you and me to experience what life is like for them.”

  “And you want to do that because…?”

  I frowned at the memory of the conversation we’d had. She didn’t understand then, and I knew, sitting at the table, her expression expectant, she wouldn’t understand now. More than anything, I’d done it because I didn’t have anything else to do. Because, suddenly, with an associate’s degree two classes from completion, I still had no freaking clue what I wanted to do with my life. I thought about the portraits on the wall in the hallway and the posters lining my room. I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted. But I knew what I didn’t want. I didn’t want to work in a bank. I didn’t want to keep going to school mindlessly, out of habit more than a purposeful decision.

  But, more than anything, I didn’t want to make a decision that would send me in the wrong direction, a decision that might set me up for a lifetime of regret. I stole a glance at my dad. I was pretty sure he hadn’t aspired to be a restaurant manager. I knew he hadn’t. He’d spent his childhood in the water, surfing just like my brother did, had started his marine biology degree at UCSD immediately after graduating from high school. And then Mom had gotten pregnant. With me. And he’d dropped out to support her, to support us. Twenty years later, he’d never stepped foot back on a college campus. I looked away.

  I remembered the day at school back in the Spring, the day I’d first seen the flyer tacked to the billboard at the student center on campus. People Helping People. Something about the faces of the people in the photos resonated with me. I didn’t know why, but as I looked at that poster, I knew that I needed to go. To bust out of the cocoon I’d created for myself and see what else was out there. To see if upending my world would give me the kick in the ass I needed.

  My dad cleared his throat. “So, what’s the plan now?”

  I reached for the spatula and scooped another helping of lasagna onto my plate. At this rate, I’d gain back every pound I’d lost and then some.

  “Well, I thought I’d head up to Mesa tomorrow. Sign up for those last two classes I need.”

  It was the last thing I wanted to do. But I knew they expected it of me. And, after running away for three months, I felt like I owed it to them, to at least finish the one goal I’d set for myself, regardless of whether I wanted it or not.

  He nodded. “Good idea. And what are you thinking on the job front?”

  I reached for the glass of ice water in front of me and took a long swallow. I hadn’t thought of anything at all.

  “She just got back, Mark,” my mom said. “She needs a little time to readjust.”

  “She also needs to start thinking seriously about how she’s going to repay the three-thousand dollars we loaned her to take the goddamn trip.” My dad wasn’t mad but he was serious.

  “I’ll start looking tomorrow,” I told him.

  “We’re always looking for good help at the restaurant. You know that.”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  When he raised his eyebrows, I added, “I don’t want any handouts. You’ve already done enough by loaning me the money to go. I’ll find something on my own.”

  It was a half-truth. I didn’t want handouts. But the last place in the world I wanted to work was the restaurant. Not just because my dad managed it, but because it had been my go-to for as long as I could remember. It had been like a revolving door for me, a position always there when I needed to work for a week or a month. I’d scrubbed dishes, been a hostess, bussed tables, taken orders.

  I needed to do something on my own. Like the trip I’d just taken, the job had to be what I wanted, what I needed. It was up to me to figure out what I wanted to do, who I wanted to be.

  The front door slammed shut and footsteps echoed on the tile floor. Joel poked his head into the dining room, his expression contrite.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said as he slid into the empty chair at the table. He flashed me a smile. “Hey, sis.”

  My mouth dropped open. He’d grown an inch for every month I’d been gone. His hair, blond like Mom’s, was almost white from his sun-filled days at the beach. And his braces were gone. A set of beautiful, white teeth smiled at me.

  “What
happened to your braces?” I asked.

  Joel reached for a breadstick and bit into it. “Uh, the ortho took them off.”

  “They look good.” I looked at my little brother who suddenly didn’t look so little anymore. “You look good.”

  He shrugged. “Thanks. You look…skinny.”

  “She’s working to remedy that,” Mom said. Her voice was stern. “And we need to figure out a way to remedy your tardiness issue.”

  Joel rolled his eyes. “This isn’t school, Mom. It’s summer vacation.”

  She nodded. “You’re right. This isn’t school. It’s home. And when I give you a time to be back for dinner, I expect you here. In that seat. Eating.”

  “Alright, alright,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.” He scooped lasagna on to his plate and tried to make himself invisible.

  My dad, who watched the exchange silently, shifted his focus back to me. He held a breadstick in his hands and broke off a piece. He chewed it, his eyes on me. “Back to the job.”

  I stared at my plate.

  “The offer is there. Promise me you’ll at least consider it.”

  I nodded. “I promise.”

  He took a tiny sip of his wine, more for my mom—to acknowledge that she’d poured it—than because he wanted a taste. “I need to head back. Dinner rush.”

  He planted a kiss on my mother’s head and squeezed my shoulder as he walked by.

  My mom stood and began stacking empty plates. “You can keep eating. I just want to get these dishes cleared. Susan is coming by tonight.”

  “Sage’s mom?” I asked.

  She nodded. “She’s been doing some gardening this summer. Had some questions so I told her to swing by.”

  Sage and I had been best friends since sixth grade but our parents had never had more than a casual friendship. That had changed a year ago, when our moms had bumped into each other at some gardening expo at the convention center. Like the seedlings they’d both carried home that day, their friendship had blossomed. Sage and I always snickered about it, mostly because they’d never bothered to take the time prior to that day to see if they had any interests in common. With all of the time they spent together, shuttling us between houses when we were younger or sitting next to each other on the bleachers during volleyball games, it somehow never occurred to them that they might have something in common other than their children.