Page 3 of Promise Not To Fall

2.25 oz. Van Gogh Acai-Blueberry Vodka

1.75 oz. Lemonade

5 mint leaves

Muddle mint with .75 oz. lemonade in a mixing glass

Add remaining ingredients and ice

Shake well until chilled with a Boston shaker

Strain into glass

I’m panicky, trying to figure out if I can pack in that amount of time. I always need a lot of time for checklists.

Yeah, I’m that person.

I’m also the person who needs to be prepared, and a spontaneous trip isn’t something I enjoy. I need weeks to organize my schedule. Although, now that Justin isn’t a client of mine, I suddenly have more free time.

I also know, when I get back to town, I’ll need to take on another client, but it’s kind of nice just having Revel to deal with. When I said I didn’t have a job, I wasn’t lying. Revel is not so much of a job. I’m more or less a babysitter for him. He has three other assistants.

After calling Laci—and making sure she can handle him—I send an e-mail to Revel and his three other assistants, letting them know I’ll be out of town for two weeks and that if he needs anything, he can call Laci. Laci is my mentor. When I started out in the world of being a personal assistant, I met Laci in college. She was a senior when I was a freshman at Arizona State, and she taught me everything I needed to know about the business, even hooked me up with a few clients. Revel Slade being one of them, a drummer for a rock n’ roll band based out of Phoenix—aka, needy man-whore.

I won’t lie here. When I first started out being a PA, I had no idea I was basically taking care of celebrities and musicians. Everything from paying their bills to driving their car while they sat in the back seat, and even doing their laundry. And in Revel’s case, buying industrial-sized boxes of condoms. I shop for them, lie to wives and girlfriends, and never asked questions. I’m trusted with confidential information, their credit cards, and secrets—including their infidelity.

I knew Justin was the same, they all are, but I ignored it. That’s why it’s such a mystery as towhyhe broke up with me. You would think because of how much I was willing to ignore that he would look past me being controlling. I mean, c’mon, I’m a pretty fucking great girlfriend if you ask me.

It wasn’t an easy task for someone like me to ignore things like that either. Given I had access to Justin’s bank accounts, I would look over credit card statements and spot charges from flower shops, knowing I wasn’t on the receiving end.

That hurt.

But it’s a job, and with my personality, it’s an easy job because I’m so detail-oriented.

As I’m packing, I find a box of DVDs Justin buried deep in my closet.

Seeing that box brings tears to my eyes, and I’m reminded of him. Breaking up with someone is like dropping a glass that breaks on your kitchen floor, and for weeks afterward you keep finding little shards of it that nick your feet. I’m reminded of another failed relationship. The gut ache and confusion that once again I’ve driven a guy away with my social awkwardness and overbearing demeanor.

I dated Justin for about two years. Last year he moved in. Exactly one year from the day he moved in, he moved out.

I’ve said this already—Justin did too—but I’m a very controlling person. And by “controlling,” I mean if I could control every aspect of my life and predict the future, then I would be that girl. I’m not afraid to admit that at all. I don’t like surprises either. They make me nauseous and constipated. Neither are fun.

Iamthat girl who would rather schedule sex because I don’t have time for spontaneity. I need my life in order. It relaxes me to know what I’m doing every minute of the day and keeping to it. Besides, if I schedule sex, then at least I can remember to shave my legs and keep the bits trimmed nicely.

I can’t say that I’m proud of this particular characteristic of mine—given the failed relationship—but I’ve been this way since I was a child, and some, not me, would say that’s why I’m feeling the way I am right now.

Closing the box of DVDs, I toss them in the trash. He’s not getting them back and I’m surely not leaving them out while I’m gone. I can’t stand a cluttered house when I come back from vacation. Actually, I can’t stand clutter anytime.

As I sort clothes and decide on which outfits I will take and which matching shoes, I think a little more about my current “suck at love” situation.

My biggest problem is knowing that, come this winter, I will be turning twenty-eight. That is another year closer to thirty. The dreaded thirty!

When I was three, I told my mother I would be married when I turned thirty. I’m not exactly on the right path to that particular goal, now, am I?

The correct answer would be no.

When I was younger, I used to get pissed off if my mom wouldn’t have dinner done at the exact moment she said it’d be done. I’d even sit there with a timer like an asshole.

I like people to be precise, and if you say you’re going to do something, you’d damn well better.

At the doctor’s offices, if the doctor is late coming into the room, I’m pissed off. If my room is a mess, I freak out. If my skin is dry, I lather up. Obsessive-compulsive disorder? You really have no idea how much of an understatement that is for me. By some standards, I should be on medication. By others, I should be in an institution. And others, maybe only me, would just tell you I have my shit together.

I’m not as bad as I used to be, but sadly, I haven’t improved enough to, let’s say, keep a relationship alive.

After I finish getting everything packed and have my lists organized for what I need in the morning, I am able to relax in bed, read a little about the Bahamas, and then set my alarm to be sure I am up on time. Not that I actually need an alarm, but still, being late wouldn’t be acceptable to me.

As I read about the islands, I’m somewhat surprised I haven’t been there before. For work, I travel all over the place: Australia, Hawaii, Mexico, you name it, and I’ve been there with clients before. Never to the Bahamas, though.

I’m looking forward to lying on the sparkling white sand, watching the beautiful turquoise water lap at my feet… all with an adult beverage in hand. But, most of all, I’m anxiously seeking the relaxation and opportunity to only worry about myself and not what has to be done for my clients when I typically travel to destinations such as this.

Paradise Island is going to have a whole other meaning for me on this trip.

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