Page 10 of The Moment Promised

Saturdays are my only days off, so I always try to make the most of them, starting withthe shower.I exfoliate the skin on my legs and shave extra good, making sure not to miss any spots. I give myself a voluminous blowout, since the auburn strands look like a lion’s mane any other day.

By the time I finish my second romcom movie of the day, it’s six in the evening, which means Finn will be here any minute.

Only moments later, headlights shine through my blinds. I run down my stairs and out the front door. The white pebbles seem to find their way into my flip flops with every step toward Finn’s car.

He’s silent as I get settled in, but not in an awkward way. Finn and I can spend hours talking but can just as easily sit in the silence and not be bothered by it.

He puts the car in drive and heads south, following the one main road on the island. He doesn’t bother asking me where we’re going, knowing I’ll just tell him when to turn.

The next island, Islamorada, has the cutest restaurant on the water where we can eat the freshest seafood while watching the sun go down. I’ve always wanted to go, and it seemed too date-ish to do with my best friend, but since it’s a special occasion—Finn’s birthday—it feels okay to eat there.

He glances at me, “I miss your freckles.” He says, “I can hardly see them.”

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, “I haven’t been in the sun much lately.” The hard-to-see freckles that line my nose and cheeks become more visible in the summer, except forthissummer. This summer, I’ve spent every day indoors, without giving the sun a chance to kiss my fair skin.

“We need to change that. You love being outside.” His eyes are on me again. “I like what you did with your eyes, by the way.”

My cheeks heat. “I put on mascara.” I hardly ever put on makeup.

I see the name of my favorite song on the tiny screen of his dash. I turn the radio up. It blares in my ears, exactly how I like it. I press a button, rolling down the windows. My hair slaps me in the face, strands sticking to my lip-gloss. The whole world whizzes by, as if only Finn and I exist.

I stick my arm out, and the air kisses all my pores. I move my hand in a wave motion to the momentum of the wind. It’s hypnotizing.

I feel alive for the first time in months.

“Your hair is hitting me in the face, Adeline!” Finn’s shouts to get louder than the music.

I awaken from my hypnotic state, pulling my arm inside the car.

Finn rolls up my window.

“Hey!” I complain, pulling the sun visor down to glance in the mirror. My hair sticks up in every which way. I attempt to smooth the mess, but it’s a lost cause. Maybe closing the window was for the best if I want to appear at all presentable for dinner.

I lower the music to a more appropriate volume, focusing on nothing for a few heart beats. “What do you think the meaning of life is?”

Finn doesn’t question my question, he just asks, “In what way?”

This is how our friendship is. I pick his brain and he entertains me with the beautiful abyss of his mind.

I point to a silhouette of a man running on the sidewalk. Pinks and golds morph into purples as the sun starts to set. I hope we make it to dinner before it fully descends behind the horizon. “That guy could be doing literally a million other things right now, but he chose to spendthismoment running onthatsidewalk.”

“So?”

“The only thing really promised is now.” I sigh. “That’s it.”

I point between me and him. “You and I spend our only promise from the world driving on this massive rock, floating in space.”

His eyes fixate on the road in front of him, but they twinkle in amusement.

“No one knows why we’re here, or what we’re supposed to do. All we can do is choose how to spend our precious seconds,” I say.

“I can’t think of a single thing I’d rather be doing right now,” he says, no hint of sarcasm in his words. Even so, I still can’t help but hear the echo of my insecurities, telling me he’s lying.

I raise my chin, signaling to my subconscious toshut the fuck up.

“Waitressing has really shown me how lost some people are,” I tell him. “Some couples sit there and just…eat.” I shake my head. “Like that’s it. They don’t talk about their day or compliment one another. They sit down, order their food, stare at the wall or their phones, and eat.”

We stop at a traffic light. His face glows red, and the Saturday night traffic reflects onto his perfectly sharp features. His eyes are a liquified amber. I get lost in the way the world before us is pocketed into them.

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