Page 67 of All the Promises We Break

“You know how that works.”

He sighs. “So you saw a doctor? Took a test?”

“No. I didn’t have to. Please don’t make me explain it.”

“Okay. Okay.” He chuckles a little bit. “It’s not that bad. You’re fiercer than anyone I know. You can handle this.”

Elijah

It’s nice to have more news to add to the good column. A slight alteration in medication to give my body a lower pressure andthat’s it. I could have told Dylan in a phone call, but I know she could use a pick-me-up in person.

The advantage of booking the studio time for her is that I always know where and when it is. I pop in on Will first. He’s packing up for a yearlong sabbatical. He’s getting to write the book he’s always talked about. Having Dylan in my life has made me want to feel creative in a new way. Maybe one day I’ll think about doing some writing of my own.

I pass about seven studios before I reach Dylan’s. Her door is cracked. Where I would usually hear music, I hear talking. I hear a man’s voice. I hear her crying. It doesn’t take me long to realize who the voice belongs to. Wes. Why is Wes here talking to Dylan?

“Dylan, you’re going to get through this. We’re going to get through this. I promise you,” he says.

“How can you promise me? You’ve promised me so much for weeks I don’t know that I believe you anymore.”

Just as I’m about to enter, I get a view of them from between the cracks in the curtains. He’s sitting on the floor huddled around her. Her head is against his chest. She’s got a hold of the sleeve of his jacket. He gives her a kiss on the forehead and keeps her close.

“Everything that we’ve done has been to protect us. He’s going to know soon enough, then it will be over.”

“I’m terrified that this will end badly,” she whispers.

I’ve heard enough. I’ve seen enough. My heart is in my stomach as I turn and walk away. Nothing makes sense. This isn’t happening, right? Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same spot. Or does it?

Hayley

When I’ve had to tell something to my parents that was even a little hard, I’d always check with Eli first. He’s my go-to, my conscience sometimes, and my best friend always. This is the first time I’ve had something big, and he isn’t in the know.

Mom and Dad were both free to meet for lunch today. I chickened out and invited them via text. I knew if I got one, or both of them, on the phone they would be able to tell I was off and start asking questions. When I’m nervous, I usually eat. I can polish off half of a pizza, a bag of chips, or part of a loaf of sourdough. I thought 3 Giovani was the right place. It’s close to Wes’s apartment, and one of Mom’s favorite places.

I make reservations for one in the afternoon. The lunch rush would be over or near over. The restaurant would be busy enough, but not so packed I’d feel self-conscious. I get there ten minutes early so I can feel settled when they arrive. I ask the host to seat me at a more intimate table in the back corner.

The table is an image of how I’m feeling inside. The table is dark yet solid, like my mood. There are yellow roses that I push to the far corner. It’s like a symbol of the opening of something new happening inside me and in Wes. What catches my eye is the glasses of water. There are three of them…me, Wes, and Eli. They’re all chilled in each other’s paths, I’m in the middle.

That’s when I look up and see my father escorting my mother in the door. She looks so beautiful today. Her hair is slicked back into a low ponytail and her green flowing summer dress is the perfect fit alongside my father in his golf shirt neatly pressed,under his suit jacket, so one would be none the wiser that he played nine holes this morning.

I give them a wave to bring them in my direction. I feel like I should stand up to greet them, but my father gives me a little shake of his head and a smile as a cue not to bother. He pulls out a chair for my mother and leans in to kiss my cheek at the same time. “This is such a nice surprise. Hello, darling,” my mother says, patting my hand.

“It is. Thank you for inviting us out,” my father concurs.

“I just wanted some time with you, and I know you love this place. I ordered us the usual. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is. Soon we can see each other every day. Have you selected your start date?” my father asks.

“I have. I just need a week or so to get everything in order before I start. I want to do that with a clear head.”

“Do you need help moving things home, sweetheart? We can hire a truck for you,” Mom offers.

I look up, thankful the server is bringing our salad and bread for the table so I can take a deep breath before admission number one. “That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ll need to store a few things, but not everything is coming home.”

My father rests his elbows on the table, folds his hands, and rests his chin on top, his Sawyer crest ring shines at me. “It’s not? Are you going to be settling into another place?” He casts a glance across the table at my mother.

I begin to pick at the linen napkin in my lap. I roll the corner over and over between my fingers, feeling the roughness of the stitched edge. It’s giving me some sensory comfort for my anxiety which ticks higher and higher with every passing minute.

“I am and I’m not,” I breathe. “I love being at home. I do. There's security there, but I’ve started seeing someone. It’s new,however, I hope there is a future in it, so I’ll be staying with him here in the city some nights. I’m not moving in with him, just sleeping there part time.”

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