Page 9 of Everlasting Promises

“I grabbed all the good stuff.” She grins as she holds two bottles of wine above her head. “We’re in for a great night, ladies.”

She struts—yes, struts—to my kitchen and immediately pours three drinks. I place the shopping bag on the counter and pop the second bottle into the fridge for later. She passes Lucyand me a glass each and holds hers up for a toast. “To a fabulous girls’ night in.” We clink our glasses together and simultaneously take a drink of the sweet Moscato.

I watch my two friends, dressed similarly to me in hip-hugging jeans and cute tops, and my heart swells with appreciation for them. I don’t know how they’re still my friends after years of neglect on my part. All of my energy has gone into barely surviving, which has left nothing to invest in my friendships. How they’re still here supporting me is beyond my comprehension.

“Thanks, ladies. I don’t deserve you.” My nose tingles, and I press my lips together to stop them from quivering. I should just put on my big girl panties and go out with them. “You shouldn’t have to spend your Saturday night stuck here with me instead of meeting your hot firefighter and his friend.”

They move to either side of me, wrapping themselves around me. “We wouldn’t be anywhere else,” Lucy announces.

“Yeah, we don’t leave a girlfriend in need behind,” Savannah adds.

I force a smile. “Thanks, girls. I appreciate you so much.”

“We know. All right, let’s get started.” Savannah places her glass on the counter, then starts dragging items out of the shopping bag. Chocolate ice cream, a six-pack of Hershey’s chocolate bars, Hershey’s chocolate sauce, brownies, and a giant bag of Reese’s. “Welcome to death by chocolate, ladies.”

We all chuckle. “What a way to go,” Lucy moans as she opens the bag of peanut butter cups and inhales.

We load up our bowls with ice cream and chocolate sauce, then carry the remaining treats into the living room and turn on my favorite trashy TV—The Bachelor. I try to stay on top of as many trashy shows as I can, because I find it provides the best conversation starters with most clients. Most people want to either talk about their kids and grandkids, complainabout their partner or work, or talk about what they’ve read or watched. Sometimes, I feel like I know my clients better than their therapists do.

As we get caught up watching the dates while Lucy and Savannah give a humorous running commentary, I do my best to stay in the moment, laughing at the right times so as not to get lost in my head. Hours pass as we watch episode after episode, only pausing for bathroom breaks and wine refills. They’ve done an incredible job of dragging me out of my misery for a few hours, but the night has ended, and that crushing feeling from earlier returns.

We walk to the front door, and they both come in for hugs. “We love you, Hope,” Lucy says as she pulls away, gripping my arms and trapping me in her gaze. “When you’re ready to go out, we’ll go out. Until then, we’re happy to spend nights in with you.”

My heart squeezes with gratitude. They could have easily gone out and kept their plans without me, but they chose to stay and support me. It felt kinda nice.

“You guys are the best. Thank you for tonight. For everything.” I push my mouth up into what I hope looks like a genuine smile, because it is.

“Anytime, lovely,” Savannah says as she gives me one last squeeze. “See ya at work on Monday.”

“Yeah, see you guys on Monday.” I walk them out to Savannah’s car, wrapping my arms around my middle as I watch their taillights shrink.

Turning to walk inside, I lock the front door and head into the living room to clean up. The house feels so empty. So silent. I wash the dishes and leave them to dry, throw out the trash, and as I turn out the kitchen light, my laptop catches my attention.

I rarely use it. I have it to pay bills and store our photos and videos …our memories. Flipping the lid, I pull out a chair tosit at the table. I navigate to the photos, click on the video I’m looking for, and press play. Dragging the progress bar until I get to the part I want, I sit forward and study every inch of Wyatt’s handsome face, then hit play. He dips me low and my startled chuckle fills the silence, then his lips are on mine and he devours me. Applause and cheers echo in my silent kitchen as I grip the back of his neck and kiss him with abandon.

When the kiss finally ends, we stand with our eyes locked together. My lips are swollen from his attention and the smile stretching them is as wide as the Mississippi.

Salty tears touch my lips and I spread them across the pillows with my finger. It’s almost like I can feel the ghost of Wyatt’s thumb as he rubs my smeared lipstick, a proud grin decorating his face.

Will this ache ever go away?

Swiping at my cheeks, I shut down my laptop, then switch off the lights, leaving the room lit only by the moonlight streaming in through the kitchen window.

I move through my nightly routine with an emptiness that won’t ebb, and when I finally climb into my lonely bed, the tears I’d pushed away earlier come tumbling out.

5

BEN

I moanas I take a bite of my sugar cookie and turn to the next page of the old album. I can’t help but grin at the goofy photo of Sebastian, Tahlia, and me. We did some stupid shit when we were young.

A chuckle bursts over my lips, spraying cookie crumbs down my T-shirt, when I look at the next photo Seb took. I have my arm wrapped around Tahlia’s shoulders, and I’m poking my tongue in her ear. She’s wearing a disgusted face as she tries to push me away, but I remember how I held on tight, so she couldn’t escape my torture.

I can’t believe it’s been nine years since I saw her smile or heard her laugh. My heart stutters, and I pause to draw in a deep breath as I squeeze my eyes shut.

Growing up, the three of us were inseparable. People often called us The Three Musketeers, and we loved it. Tahlia was such a tomboy and fit in with me and Seb effortlessly. We were the best of friends until the unthinkable happened and we lost her.

At eighteen, we were too young to experience such a tragedy. But cancer doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t care about age, hopes, or dreams for the future.

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