Promise Me (The Me Novellas)

by Gates, Shelby

  “OK.” I scraped my fork across my plate and licked it. Three pieces of lasagna and two breadsticks and I still wasn’t full. Maybe I’d been wrong about bringing home a virus or bacterium. Maybe I had a tapeworm living inside of me.

  “Are you going back to Grant’s tonight?” she asked from the kitchen.

  I picked up my plate and glass and brought it in to her. Our galley-style kitchen, small by most home’s standards, seemed gargantuan when I compared it to the shack I’d lived in for the past three months. Rosa’s entire house would have fit in our 9x9 kitchen, with room to spare.

  “No. I haven’t seen Sage yet. We’re going to hang out for a little while, I think.”

  She opened the dishwasher and loaded the plates on to the bottom rack. “And how are things with Grant?”

  “Fine.”

  “Everything’s good?”

  I rolled my eyes. Didn’t I just tell her they were? “Everything’s fine, Mom.”

  She turned the faucet on and rinsed the spatula in the sink. “Good. I just didn’t know. Three months can be a long time when you’re young.”

  My mother had a love/hate relationship with Grant. As much as she liked him, she also had no qualms about telling me I was too young to settle down. Her picture of a perfect life for me would be seeing me date several guys, even if it meant I slept with all of them, too. Not all at once, of course. But her mantra was that it was better to experiment and figure out what I want now than to settle on the first guy I dated and never find out what I was missing. I’d never had the guts to ask her if she was speaking from experience. After all, she’d married my dad when she was eighteen. I wondered if she had regrets, if she felt like she’d taken a wrong turn, gone in the wrong direction.

  “Three months was a long time to be apart,” I said. “He’s glad I’m home.” I didn’t know for certain that this was true, but it’s what I hoped. I needed some consistency when everything else in my life felt like it was spinning out of control, regardless if my actions were causing it.

  Mom smiled at me. “I am, too, Emma. I am, too.”

  FIVE

  Sage handed me a drink and sat down next to me on the saggy, corduroy sofa. We were in her apartment, a one-bedroom just off Balboa. She’d moved in shortly before I left for Mexico.

  She sat close to me, our knees touching. Her welcome-home hug had nearly strangled me. “Tell me everything,” she said.

  I swallowed a mouthful of the cherry red liquid I was holding. And gagged. “What the hell is this?”

  She grinned. “Dirty Shirley. Did I make it too strong?”

  “A dirty what?” Neither of us were twenty-one but alcohol was easy to get, especially since Mitch was a year older and worked part-time at the liquor store.

  She pushed at her bangs, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. I spied a new piercing in the upper corner of her lobe. She was up to four. “Shirley. It’s a Shirley Temple…with a little cherry vodka.”

  “No. With a lot of cherry vodka.” I sipped tentatively. “Good God, that’s strong.”

  She rolled her eyes and grabbed the drink out of my hand. “You’re such a lightweight.”

  I frowned. “Hey, I didn’t say I wouldn’t drink it. Give it back.”

  “Chill. I’m just gonna grab some more grenadine. Tame it down a little for you.”

  She flounced into the kitchen of her tiny apartment and pulled a bottle from one of the painted white cupboards. She returned a moment later, my drink visibly redder.

  She settled back next to me and tucked her feet under her legs. “OK. Now tell me everything.”

  I sighed. I was sick of hearing that. No one asked specifics; they just wanted sweeping generalizations.

  “No.” I took another sip and swallowed. The vodka wasn’t quite as pronounced this time. “Ask me a question. I’ll answer.”

  She grinned. “Fair enough. Um, what was the grossest thing you ate?”

  I shook my head. Only Sage would choose that as her first question.

  “A maggot.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Oh my God.”

  “Not on purpose. But somehow they’d gotten into the rice…”

  She held up her hand. “Stop. I’ll ask a different question.”

  I laughed. “I was kidding.”

  A look of relief crossed her face. “Oh. OK. Um, what was the coolest thing you saw?”

  I thought for a minute. I’d seen a lot of cool things. Amazing sunsets. Beautiful mountains and miles of rocky shoreline. People working together, people helping each other.

  “Happiness,” I finally said.

  “Huh?”

  I nodded my head, remembering. “Everyone there was happy. And you wouldn’t think they would be, you know? I mean, they don’t know how they’re gonna feed their families from day to day, they have no luxuries to speak of, but people there are just…happy.”

  “I couldn’t be happy, living like that,” she said. “I like my luxuries. My life.”

  “I know,” I said. I did, too. But there was this part of me—a huge part—that coveted my surrogate family’s simple existence.

  She considered what I said. “OK. And the worst thing you saw?”

  “Poverty.” I closed my eyes, thinking about the conditions I’d lived in for three months. “They have nothing, Sage. Nothing. And it’s just this vicious cycle, you know? Kids born into poverty, their entire future determined simply by being born in the wrong place.”

  “But the organization you went with—People Helping People, right?”

  I nodded.

  “They’re working down there. Helping to change things.” She said this confidently, as if it was a sure thing. But change was slow. I’d lived there for three months and had seen virtually nothing change for the family I lived with. I’d arrived and then left, and they were still poor and still hungry.

  I stared at my drink, watching the ice cubes floating on the surface. I was fairly certain Rosa’s kids had never seen an ice cube, much less had something truly cold to drink.

  “Well, sure.” I looked at my best friend. “I mean, they do what they can. But it’s a long road. These people are proud and they want to take care of their families. They don’t want handouts.”

  She stuck a finger in her drink and twirled, thinking. “Why did you go, anyway? You never really said.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t really know.”

  “I mean, it’s not like you’ve had this huge interest in charities or helping people.” She widened her eyes and covered her mouth with her hand. “Jesus, that didn’t come out right at all. I just meant that you’d never done anything like that before. Never been all into volunteering or anything.”

  “No, you’re right,” I said. “I wasn’t. No one I know is. And I didn’t really have a reason. I told you what happened.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. The poster.”

  “Yep. And I just decided I wanted to check it out. So I went to the website and made a phone call and the next thing I knew, I was boarding a plane to Puerto Vallarta.”

  “Seriously. You made the decision in like warp speed.”

  I rolled my eyes. “No. It took at least a week.”

  “It felt like hours. One minute you were here, the next you were abandoning me for a foreign country.”

  “Oh, DQ.” I laughed. “Hardly. If memory serves, you and Mitch were on a good roll at the beginning of summer.”

  Her cheeks reddened just a bit.

  “Remember?” I swallowed another sip of my drink. “You guys broke up over Spring Break. His trip to Mexico wasn’t quite as innocent as mine.”

  Mitch had called off their relationship a day before he left for Spring Break in Acapulco. It had taken her months to forgive him. Three, to be exact. They’d made up—and spent an entire week holed up in the bedroom of her new apartment—around the same time I’d been getting ready for my trip.

  “That’s the trip we don’t talk about,” she said. “Or mention. Ever.”
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  “Who? You and Mitch?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Anyone.”

  I frowned. “Hmm. Well, I’m not going to abide by that. I’m your best friend and if I want to remind you that your boyfriend was an asshole in the past, I’m gonna do it.”

  She sighed. “Fine. Then I reserve the right to do the same.”

  “Deal.”

  We sat in silence for a minute. It was a comfortable silence, the kind that comes from being secure in the company you’re with. Sage and I could sit together for hours and not speak and it would be absolutely OK. Other times, we’d run at the mouth until we were both gasping for breath. And that was absolutely OK, too.

  “So, how is your asshole of a boyfriend?”

  I smiled. “Grant is fine. And he’s not an asshole.”

  “Right, right,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Just a neurotic germaphobe.”

  I felt like I should defend him. “He’s not that bad.”

  She leaned toward me. “Really? How many times did he kiss you this afternoon?”

  “A few.” I didn’t mention how he’d quickly shifted from my lips to my neck, and I didn’t mention our discussion about diseases or how he’d cut a piece off his burger rather than having me bite directly into it. She didn’t need any more ammunition.

  “Bull shit,” she said, chuckling. I’d complained enough about his aversion to kissing for her to know better. “So things are cool with you two? Everything is back to the way it was?”

  “Seems to be.” I wasn’t sure about the rest of my life, but things with Grant were just like before. Not perfect but not awful. At that moment, I’d settle for that.

  “Alright.” She sighed, her eyes focused on me. “You’re OK, right?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Just worried about you.”

  “Don’t be,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  She nodded. “OK.” She hesitated. “Promise me something, though?”

  It was the second time that evening that someone was asking for a promise from me. I wasn’t used to making promises. And I certainly wasn’t sure how I was going to keep any.

  “What’s that?” I asked warily.

  “Promise me you’ll keep looking.”

  I frowned at her. “Keep looking for what? I’m in a relationship, Sage.”

  She shook her head. “Not what I meant. Just promise me you’ll keep looking for whatever it is you’re searching for. Because I’m pretty sure you haven’t found it yet.”

  SIX

  I forced myself to drive to Mesa the next day. Classes were scheduled to start in a week and, even though I could register online, I wanted to meet with a counselor to be sure I was on track to receive my AA degree. The degree I didn’t want. The degree I could care less about. The degree that, despite my ambivalence, still gave me nightmares as I worried I’d somehow forgotten to take a class required to finish it.

  The campus was packed. Even with mandatory online registration, people were on campus buying books and doing who knew what else. I circled a couple of times, looking for parking before finally pulling into one of the overflow lots. I crossed the campus quickly, navigating around construction zones before finally making my way to the Student Services building.

  Once there, I lined up with a dozen or so students outside the Counseling office. Appointments were first come, first serve. I glanced at my watch. It was almost eleven o’clock. I’d texted Grant that morning, telling him I’d meet him at the beach at one o’clock. There was no chance I’d be done by then. None.

  Ninety minutes later, I was next in line. I’d slid to the floor forty-five minutes earlier, occupying myself by texting Sage. She worked part-time as a receptionist at a paper supply company. I was pretty sure they paid her just to have a body in the chair because her rapid-fire responses indicated she actually wasn’t working at all. But that was exactly why Sage worked there. She’d started over a year ago and loved it. Her shift began early and she was finished by two o’clock every day, which left plenty of time to hit the beach. The pay was enough to cover her rent and support her mall addiction. I didn’t know if I resented or admired her for this. She had no aspirations, no driving force to do anything other than buy cute clothes and have a year-round tan.

  “Next.”

  I looked up. It was my turn.

  I stuffed my phone back into my purse and stood up. I followed a stout, middle-aged woman into the counseling office. She motioned to a chair across from her desk and I sat down. A brass name plate told me I was talking to Mara Hanson. A very frazzled, sleepy-eyed Mara Hanson.

  She forced a smile. “How can I help you?”

  I fished out a few papers from my bag and pushed them across the desk.

  “I just want to make sure I sign up for the right classes. I’m pretty sure I’m two away from my degree.”

  She turned to her computer and tapped on the keyboard. “Name?”

  I frowned. The information was on the transcript I’d just given her. “Emma Wakefield.”

  “Date of birth and social?”

  Dutifully, I recited the information to her. The screen lit up and she reached for her glasses, peering at the information displayed on the monitor.

  “Looks like you need Teamwork Dynamics and Motivation” Her eyes scanned the screen. “And Evaluation and Recognition Systems.”

  I nodded. “OK. That’s what I thought, too.”

  She lowered her glasses. “Anything else I can help you with?”

  Yes, I wanted to say. Help me. Guide me. Counsel me as to what the hell I should do next with my life.

  She waited, her fingers drumming the desk top. I was pretty sure she was doing this in an attempt to keep herself awake.

  “No, I think that’s it,” I said.

  She nodded. “Alright, then. You can sign up for classes online.” She shuffled the papers on her desk, rearranging them in a haphazard pile. “Enrollment in both classes is low so you shouldn’t have a problem registering. Book store is open today if you want to grab textbooks now.”

  I stood up. “OK. Thanks.”

  I made my way out of her office and past the line of students still waiting. I should have felt a sense of relief, knowing I’d been right, that I was two classes away from my degree. But I didn’t feel anything except confusion. I might have a two-year degree at my fingertips but that didn’t solve anything. I still didn’t know what my future held. I didn’t know anything.

  I pushed those thoughts out of my head as I entered the bookstore. The aisles were packed with people carrying stacks of books. No one looked particularly happy to be there, especially with the warm August sun and cool ocean breeze beckoning. I found the business section, located the textbooks I would need and carried them to the register. The line was longer than the line outside the counseling office but at least it seemed to be moving quickly.

  “Nice bracelet.”

  I turned and looked over my right shoulder.

  A guy stood behind me, his arms loaded with more than a dozen books. His sandy hair was long, and for one second, I mistook him for a girl. But then I noticed the muscled biceps holding the books, the thin layer of stubble on his chin, the single hoop that graced his earlobe. He was definitely all guy.

  I glanced at my wrist. It was a friendship bracelet, a woven design of red, pink and white threads.

  “Thanks.” I turned back around.

  “Did you make it?”

  I rolled my eyes. No, I wasn’t thirteen, making friendship bracelets for my BFF. “No,” I said. “I bought it. In Puerto Vallarta.”

  I didn’t share the hows and whys. That I’d picked it up at a make-shift kiosk outside of the airport when I’d first arrived in Mexico. Given it to Rosa as a thank you for hosting me. And how she’d tearfully transferred it to my wrist when I left. Because it was the only thing she had to give me.

  “Cool. I thought it might be from Mexico.”

  I didn’t respon
d. The line moved forward.

  “Did you go on a cruise there?” he asked.

  I was not in the mood for small talk with strangers. Even cute ones. “No.”

  “Oh. A trip then? They have some nice resorts down there.”

  “I went on a cultural exchange program,” I half-snapped, turning to face him.

  He drew back, startled. “Oh. OK. Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.”

  I immediately felt bad. He was just being nice, making small talk while we waited in line, and I’d practically bitten his head off.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m just frustrated. A lot of lines today.”

  He nodded and a lock of brownish-blond hair fell into his eyes. He blew it away. “Yeah. I’ve heard the week before classes is always a bitch. Name’s Dex, by the way.”

  “Emma.” I frowned. “Dex?”

  “Short for Declan.” He shifted his feet, adjusting his arms a little. The stack of books swayed and I shot my free hand out to steady it.

  “I got it,” he said, grinning.

  I glanced at the titles. “You’re a business major, too?”

  He nodded. “Yep.”

  “I took some of those classes last year. Wilson? Martinez?” I named two of the instructors.

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re decent.” I thought for a minute. “Wilson gives easy tests, always multiple choice, always straight from the book. Martinez docks you if you’re not in class.”

  “Good to know.” Dex looked at the books I was holding. “What are you taking?”

  I told him. “My last two classes.”

  “Oh, cool.” He smiled. “That has to be a good feeling.”

  I didn’t answer. The mixed feelings resurfaced.

  We moved forward again. Three people were ahead of me now.

  “I got a late start on the whole college thing,” he said. “Wanted to do some traveling first.”

  “Let me guess. Mexico?”