Page 68 of Promise Me Forever

Shit. That was close. I almost dropped an accidental “I love you” into the conversation. And neither of us are ready for that hand grenade to be tossed into our relationship just yet.

Chapter

Thirty-Two

AMELIA

My mom had the absolute best time at the movies and stayed for all ofWitnessandWorking Girl. I could see the change in her, the way she laughed and smiled as she was transported back to the eighties, a time when I guess her life was more carefree. Before she was a mother and had to work so hard to raise me.

I have always felt loved and cherished by my mom. I know she never regretted having me for a second, but I also know it’s been tough. She doesn’t talk about my father, but I always got the impression that he hurt her badly. The few things she let slip over the years suggested that he didn’t want anything to do with her once she got pregnant and that he left her to deal with it all alone. I don’t care who he is, and I have no desire to meet him. If he hurt my mom like that, he isn’t worth shit and doesn’t deserve to know me. Mom is enough for me, and I love seeing her happy.

Having the whole theater to ourselves was such a treat, and I spent as much time watching her as I did the giant screen. Seeing such simple joy on her face filled me with new hope, as well as love for Drake that he would organize something like that for her. She took her little oxygen tank with her, and because we were there alone, she didn’t feel embarrassed about using itor her inhalers. Going to the bathroom wasn’t an endurance test for her because they stopped the films when she left. She ate a hotdog, popcorn, and got through a huge container of Coke, so excited by it all that you’d think she’d never eaten from a concession stand before in her life. Money can’t buy happiness, I know, but on nights like that, it sure can feel like it.

Since then, she’s seemed much more upbeat. Her health hasn’t changed and her blood oxygen levels are still unpredictable, but mentally, she seems much better. Today is her birthday, and she’s actually agreed to come out for lunch with me to celebrate. We’ve booked a table at a cute little Italian place she likes in the neighborhood, and Emily and Kimmy are going to meet us there.

I know she’s nervous, but at least she’s willing to try, and that’s really all I can ask. Looks like Drake James has worked his magic in more ways than one.

My body heats and my heart flutters when I think about him, which I seem to always be doing. Things are going so great that I’m actually anxious, which I know is completely messed up, but life has taught me a few harsh lessons. Everything about him thrills me, and I can’t get enough. So far, the feeling seems entirely mutual, but part of me wonders how long that will last. How long a man like him will be interested in a woman like me. I mean, even Chad got fed up with me, and he wasn’t a fraction of the man that Drake is.

As soon as I think about Drake, I miss him. I took the day off work, and although I’m excited about my day, I still wish he was in it. He hasn’t been in touch this morning, but my phone has been giving me issues, so maybe that’s why. The landlord of my building seems to have gone temporarily insane and has started an impromptu schedule of renovations. We’ve now got security cameras in the lobby and everyone is getting an individual intercom system so we can buzz our own guests up.He’s even upgrading the Wi-Fi hub and introducing free cable. It’s all pretty great, but the disruption is a little annoying, and I must admit that I’m worried about my rent when it comes time to renew my lease.

Men wearing Hi-Vis jackets and hard hats have been outside using their pneumatic drills since seven this morning. Whatever it is they’re up to, my Wi-Fi has been out for hours, and my data service won’t connect.

I’m sure it will all be back to normal soon, and until then, maybe I can have a little fun. Drake often messages me real early and asks what I’m wearing, even though he’s going to see it in the office. It’s a little joke between us. I decide to preempt it and type out a few lines, grinning as my fingers fly over the keyboard.

Today I’m wearing a cute little sundress with a lace-up top. But not so long ago, I was wearing nothing at all. I was naked and thinking of you.

I’m getting better at this stuff, but I still occasionally feel embarrassed when I flirt with him so outrageously. He’ll want photos, and I know exactly what he likes. Lying back on the bed, I untie the ribbon on the peasant-style top—just enough to let my breasts spill out a little—and take a quick snap. I know he’s in meetings all day today, and I love the thought of him seeing this while he’s in the middle of one. I know the effect it will have on him, that he will immediately go hard as he imagines untying the rest of that ribbon.

Maybe he’s right, I think, as I press send. Maybe I am a vixen after all. I love the way he makes me feel about myself.

I tie myself back up so I look respectable and grab my jacket and purse. I want to stop by the florist on my way to the restaurant and buy Mom a huge bouquet of her favorite flowers.

I wave to the workmen as I pass and get an appreciative smile in return. No wolf whistles, though, and I laugh as I picture them sitting through workplace sensitivity training.

It’s a gorgeous summer day, the sun bright and warm on my skin, so dazzling that I wish I’d brought shades. I love this time of year, when everything feels so bright and hopeful, the colorful flowers and bright blue skies making it difficult to remember the gloom from a few short months ago. New York can be hell in winter, but this always makes up for it. My optimism and joy are at an all-time high as I stroll through the neighborhood and exchange pleasantries with people I’ve known my whole life. The florist knows exactly what I’m there for and has already put together the most gorgeous bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers that emit a mildly sweet scent. I call out my thanks once more and bounce out the door, excited about having lunch with Mom and my best friends.

I haven’t told any of them about Drake. The two of us made a deal to keep it a secret, and I intend to stick to it. It’s there to protect us both. But I’m so damn happy and desperate to share the reason for that happiness with the three of them. They were all there for me when Chad broke my heart, and I can’t wait until they can be there to see how well my heart has healed. That it’s stronger than ever.

I duck into Wanda’s, intending to get a box of cannoli for later. For Drake, when he comes over to untie this dress. I’m waiting in line, hoping there’s some pistachio left, when my phone lets out a barrage of bleeps. Looks like it’s back in action. Rolling my eyes, I fish it from my purse. A whole morning’s worth of communication is probably all landing at once.

There is a whole load of messages and missed calls. Unease creeps in as I scroll through them. The unease turns to outright panic starts when I realize that most of the early ones are from Mom. After that are several from a number I don’t recognize.

I click quickly through to my voicemails, and the first one is from my mom, telling me she maybe doesn’t feel well enough to make lunch today, apologizing for being a “wet blanket.” The next is also from her, saying that she definitely can’t make it because she feels too rough. The third one asks if I can come by, and she sounds terrible—breathless, exhausted, her voice small and strained as she struggles to get the words out and breathe at the same time.

My heart is beating frantically in my chest. The line at Wanda’s has moved on, and it’s my turn to be served, but I stagger outside, tears filling my eyes. In spite of my shaking legs, I run toward Mom’s house, pulling up the last voicemail as I do. It’s from a nurse at the local hospital, telling me that she’s looking for the next of kin of Edith Ryder and could I call her back as soon as possible.

My feet seem to stop working. I stumble before quickly righting myself and continuing toward her place despite knowing she’s not there. It’s fine. It will all be fine. My breathing is fast and shallow. Blood whooshes in my ears. Fear grips my chest, and I suck in deep, rasping breaths. What could have happened? Why didn’t I check on her earlier? Why didn’t I spend the night with her so I could wake up with her on the morning of her birthday? I’m the worst daughter in the whole damn world.

I reach my childhood home out of breath, my head spinning with questions and scenarios. Mrs. Katzberg shouts me over and lays a wrinkled hand on my arm. “Calm down, honey. Take a breath, won’t you. It’s not gonna help anyone if you pass out as well.”

“I know, I know… What happened, Mrs. K?”

“She left in an ambulance maybe an hour and a half ago, dear. She didn’t look great, I won’t lie, but she was still kicking, and that’s what matters, right? Now listen, I’ve been in thehospital so many times I’ve lost count, and she’ll need some things. Go into the house now and put her a bag together. Her pajamas, her toothbrush, her favorite pillow—anything that will make her more comfortable while she’s there. Then hightail it over there—I’ll give you a ride.”

I nod, grateful to have the older woman tell me what to do. I let myself into the house, and it all feels so normal. The TV is still on, and her half-empty coffee mug is on the table next to a romance novel she was reading. I stand still and force myself to breathe like Mrs. K said. I feel sick. Hot and sick. But I dash around my childhood home, grabbing the items Mrs. K suggested. I add the romance novel as well, hoping she gets the chance to finish it.

I’m stressed and distracted during the drive there, which is probably a good thing because Mrs. K is eighty-seven and really shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a car anymore. I quickly message Emily and Kimmy, telling them what’s happened and promising to be in touch later. I thank Mrs. K for the ride—and thank God for surviving it—and clamber out, telling her I’ll let her know what’s going on. She’s parked in a taxi zone, and when one of the yellow cars beeps its horn at her, she leans out the window, gives him the finger, and swears at him in several different languages. Damn. Remind me to never mess with Mrs. Katzberg.

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