Page 1 of The Promise Of You

one

Chloe

Breathe in, breathe out.

I got this.

I clench and unclench my hand around my leather backpack-slash-laptop bag, and glance at my reflection in the mirrored walls of the office building. Nothing weird like greasy paper stuck to my four-inch heels or a pigeon dropping on my elegantly understated pantsuit.

I got this.

I deserve it.

I check my phone screen. Thirty minutes early.

My meditation app interrupts its ocean sounds to announce Fiona wants to connect via video. Answer? I’ve been dodging Mom’s calls this morning because I don’t need another one of her lectures on how I should live my life.

But my sister rarely calls, and when she does, it always brings a smile to my face. And it’s always on video. A lightness spreads through me as I accept the call and her feisty face fills my screen.

“Hey, did Mom call you?” she asks point blank.

My chest tightens. “Why?”

“Uncle Kevin died.”

I blow air as dull sadness over my uncle’s passing replaces the tension I always feel where Mom is concerned. “Oh no.” Images of my uncle’s big belly trembling with his hearty laughter blur my vision. “How’s she doing?”

“Not great. You know how she gets.”

Yeah, I can just picture it. Mom sobbing, Dad mumbling, ‘Another asshole gone.’

Another lovely day in the Sullivan household.

“Funeral is next week. Think you can make it?”

“I’ll make it.” Uncle Kevin was a nice guy, and even if I haven’t seen him or my aunt Dawn—or my cousins, for that matter—in what must be now over ten years, they hold a special place in my heart. And not only because summer vacations at their home in Vermont is one of my favorite childhood memories.

They were good people.

“How about you? Can you make it, or will you be touring?” I ask her.

“Nah, couple concerts got canceled.” Her eyes shift to the side. “I’ll try and make it.”

“What’s the holdup?” I ask.

“They’re kinda behind on payments, and last-minute flights from Europe at this time of year are going to be through the roof. But it’s Uncle Kevin. I’ll make it work.”

“D’you need money?”

“Nah, I said I’ll make it work.”

“I’ll send you money.”

“I don’t want charity, Clo. It’s annoying enough.”

“Charity? Who’s talking about charity? Consider it a loan. You can repay it by playing at my wedding.”

“You have that kind of money sitting around?” She grins. “Damn. I wish I had my shit together the way you do.”

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