Promise Me (8 page)

"I love you," I say to her as sincerely as possible. She is amazing. I don't know what I did in a past life to find her, but whatever it was; it had to have been really good.

She pulls her sunglasses off her eyes, puts them on her head and smiles before pulling me into a hug and ushering me into the boutique. I try on at least a dozen dresses, one after the other, until we both agree on one that is "not too slutty". It's a black, soft satin, almost gauzy material, with no sleeves, that reaches to about mid-thigh. It has a boat neck cut, hugs my body in all the right places and from the front has a very classic and simple look to it. It's the back of the dress that is the show stopper. There is almost none to speak of. The material doesn't start again until about an inch from my waist, leaving almost my entire back on display. According to Julia, a bare back will drive a man wild. Whatever. I love the dress. And if I'm being honest, I do look pretty damn good in it.

"I already have the perfect shoes for it at home," I announce before she feels the need to spend more money on me.

"Ok, then let's go to Frankie's and pick up a pie so we can sit back and crush on Ben for awhile."

"You mean, crush on Noel," I correct her, throwing down the gauntlet yet again. She scoffs at the mere mention of Noel and gives me a sly smile before she says, "You're so lucky I love you too," and we head off to pick up dinner.

Four back to back episodes of
Felicity
, one large cheese and tomato pizza, and several glasses of red wine later, we're still lazing on the couch discussing the dynamics of our favorite show. It's almost midnight, my flight is just under ten hours away and I have yet to pack one single thing. With that admission, we scramble to my room and start to go through my closet, trying to make the best selections possible given that we are both fairly tipsy at this point. Julia mumbles something under her breath about going to check on something in her room and that she'll be right back, leaving me alone in the eye of the storm, or of what's left of my closet.

Right where I had left it a few weeks ago, the box marked "old stuff" is sitting on its perch. Before switching off the light to my closet, I pull it off the shelf and hunker down right in the middle of a pile of rejected clothes. This time, I immediately open the box and dig out the yearbook. As I flip through the pages, Julia returns and slides down the wall to sit beside me, asking me questions about certain people. When we get to Tyler's picture, I stop and touch my fingers lightly over it.

"Hey," Julia says breaking me out of my trance, "no sulking, remember."

"I know. Just...," I trail off, not sure of exactly what I want to say.

"Just, nothing," she says, "It's all going to be fine, trust me. Now put that away, I have something for you."

She hands me a box that's been wrapped beautifully with a big red bow on top. I carefully tear off the paper and gasp out loud at the sight of the designer's name. I look up at her and see she's sporting a smile from ear to ear.

"Julia, it's too much, I can't take them," trying to hand the box back to her. She puts out her hands to shove them back in my direction.

"Every woman deserves a pair of Louboutin's. Didn't you know that one pair of shoes can change your life, Sabrina."

No, I didn't know that, but I do know that they cost a fortune. I look up at her again and she raises her eyebrow to warn me that there is no way in hell she's going to take no for an answer. I gingerly lift one of the shoes and hold it in my hands as if it were a semi-precious stone. They're black, soft satin, peep toe pumps with an ankle strap that is adorned with a bow… and of course, the trademark red sole.

"Thank you so much, for everything. They are the most beautiful shoes I've ever seen and they're going to look amazing with the dress I'll be wearing. You've made me feel like I'm Cinderella today."

I pull the shoes out and clutch them to my chest, causing the box to fall from my lap lopsided and see about a dozen condoms spill onto the floor. Laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, I grab one and throw it at Julia.

"Yeah, figured you might need those too," she says, winking at me.

After we quickly clean up the mess in my closet, Julia gives me a hug and calls it a night. I crawl into bed, catching a glimpse of the clock on my night stand. 2:15 AM. Staring at my packed suitcase, I sigh out loud and roll over. I eventually fall asleep, and dream about Cinderella running after her pumpkin carriage in the most kick ass pair of Louboutin's I've ever seen.

I hate travelling period. But with a hangover, it's excruciating. I'm cursing myself for drinking so much last night when the plane finally arrives in Philadelphia. At least I was able to squeeze in a power nap for much of the flight, but I'm still dragging.

Navigating my way through the terminal to get to my rental car, I stop at a stand full of tourist brochures. I grab the flyer for the Philadelphia Museum of Art and stuff it in my purse, making a mental note to check out some of the exhibits while I'm visiting for the next week. Why I let Julia talk me into booking my flight an extra couple of days before the actual reunion is beyond me. Not only that, but she somehow talked me into staying for an entire week. God, I'm such a pushover sometimes. I swear that girl will be the death of me. Shaking my head, I think about her departing words when she dropped me off at the airport earlier today, "Don't let dickhead and the whore ruin this for you. You go and get your man, girl."

Getting into my rental, I turn on the GPS to get to I-476. It's been ten years since I've been back here so I need all the help I can get. Finally, after a couple of "turn right" and "turn left" prompts, I'm on the open road and heading home. The rest of the way I can probably do in my sleep since I use to spend a lot of weekends at the museum, usually by myself. At first, Chris would come with me, but after the fifth time he confessed that it really wasn't his thing. I turn on the radio and settle on the classic rock station. As Stevie Nicks', "
Edge of
Seventeen"
comes on, I try to get as comfortable as possible for the rest of the drive.

My exit becomes visible in the distance and my palms begin to sweat as I grip the steering wheel a little tighter. Ten years is a long time to be away from home. I say home, but it doesn't really feel that way to me. It hasn't felt that way since I left for college. This place feels tainted to me somehow. On any given street, a memory can come crawling back out of nowhere from my time with Chris and Lisa. Back then everything was so simple and innocent and I was completely in the dark of what was really going on right under my nose.

Taking a breath and then exhaling loudly, I calmly try to tell myself that I'll be fine when I take the final turn onto my old street and see my parent's house come into view. My mom must have her dog ears on today since I can already see her pushing open the screen door waving like a lunatic. Laughing at the sight of her, I pull into the driveway and barely get my car parked before she's squealing with delight.

"My baby's finally come home!"

My mom, for all of her fifty-two years of age, doesn't look a day past thirty. The woman must drink daily from the fountain of youth. She's petite, curvy, and as beautiful as ever. Her auburn hair that I was lucky enough to inherit, is chin length and falls softly across her cheek as she starts walking down the front steps. And from where I'm standing I can already see that her green eyes are glistening with happy tears. I give her a big hug and remind her that we see each other once, sometimes twice a year, when they come to Miami to visit me. Then the screen door props open again and I look up to see my dad coming towards me. His large frame lumbers across the front yard briskly. My dad is usually very soft spoken and lets my mom's vibrant personality take the spotlight quite often. Today is no different. I spy his grey eyes light up at the sight of me through the veil of my mom's hair while she's still hugging me. That is, until he wants to cut in and she finally steps aside.

"Let the girl breathe," he says to my mom before he picks me up into a bear hug. "Welcome home, baby girl."

"Daddy, I can't breathe," I try to say but sounds more mushed together since he has me pinned in his arms like he's the Crocodile Hunter.

"Sorry," he says with the biggest grin I've ever seen on his face, "we're just so happy to have you home, is all."

Before I can protest, my dad grabs all of my bags from the trunk and carries them directly into the house. My mom ushers me in right behind him and when I cross the threshold I feel like I've been transported back in time. Not one single thing has changed. The furniture, the paint color, everything... it's exactly the same. If this is any indication, I'm afraid to check out my old room. I say as much to my mom, but she ignores it and continues talking a mile a minute. Stopping long enough for me to get a word in, I ask her about our dinner plans for tonight.

"We made reservations at The Roadhouse, your old favorite, at 7:30."

"Thanks, Mom," and kiss her on the cheek, letting her know that I'm going to take my bags to my room. I glance at the clock on top of the fireplace and hope that I might be able to get another nap in before we head out since the one I took on the plane isn't quite cutting it.

Opening the door to my old bedroom and dropping the bags on my bed I look around the room. The corkboard over my desk still has all my concert tickets tacked on it along with several famous artist postcards that I used to collect, including my favorite that I use to keep taped in my locker, "
Blue Nude
" by Pablo Picasso. I've since bought the print in a larger size and it currently sits in my office at the gallery. I smile at all the other items that are still on my desk, as if they've been waiting for me to come home too. "I can do this," I say to myself, and walk back over to my luggage to begin unpacking.

A quick power nap and I feel rejuvenated as I start to get ready for dinner. After I blow dry my hair straight, I decide on a pair of black linen shorts, white tank top, and a red short sleeved cardigan, just in case I get chilly at the restaurant. I slip on my black wedged sandals and a pair of silver hooped earrings, then grab my clutch to head out to dinner with my parents.

The drive to The Roadhouse takes all of ten minutes and since we have reservations, we're seated quickly. Our table is dead center of the restaurant, easily allowing me a full view of every other diner in the place. I recognize a few people and they wave politely and nod their heads in acknowledgment. I smile and find that I'm surprised by my reaction to being home. I honestly thought I would hate it already, but it's actually... nice. A wave of relief washes over me so I sit back and start to peruse the menu in front of me.

As the waiter finishes writing down our dinner order, I hear a loud gasp and then in an almost shrieking voice, "Sabrina Chandler, is that you? Oh my God, it is!"

I tilt my head towards the hostess stand and see Lauren Callahan, a fellow 2001 Skippack High School graduate and from what I remember, self proclaimed gossip hound, pointing at me in disbelief.

She rushes over, completely ignoring the stares that have now been garnered by every single person in here. Even the kids that were absentmindedly playing on their electronic devices have put them down in an effort to see what is going on. "I can't believe it, you're actually here for the reunion!"

My parents look so uncomfortable by the attention, so I nod at her question and put a finger to my lips to motion to her to keep it down. "Yes, I'm here for the reunion."

As if the heavens parted for just a moment, the waiter arrives with our drinks. Just this morning I had sworn off alcohol, but instantly make a grab for my Cosmopolitan and take a huge gulp, almost downing it completely. "Well, Lisa told me that she talked to you and you told her you weren't going to be able to make it."

My mother gives me a confused look then asks, "Sweetie, when did you talk to Lisa?"

"I didn't," and before my mom can start the questions, I turn my attention back to Lauren. "Obviously, you were misinformed, because here I am, in the flesh."

She's chomping at the bit, dying to ask me more questions, but I effectively put an end to it before the inquisition can begin. "Lauren, I'm so glad I got to see you, but as you can imagine, I don't get to see my parents that often," I say motioning over to my mom and dad.

She puts her hand over her chest, feigning innocence, "Oh, of course! I'm so sorry to have interrupted. Enjoy your dinner and I'll see you on Saturday at the reunion, okay?"