Page 11 of Promise Me Nothing
So, looking back, there wasn’t anything I wanted that I didn’t have, apart from my own family. Because I’d never been taught to desire anything more.
Some of how I felt is probably because I didn’t reallyknowwhat wealth looked like when I was a kid. And then I didn’t care about it as I grew older. Sure, you see Beyoncé and Jay-Z’s family on magazines at the grocery store and wonder what it might be like to have unlimited spending power. But nothing like that feels real, tangible, something you can feel with your own hands.
But this? Right now? The sprawling entry that leads through a home where I can see the sun setting in floor-to-ceiling windows on the other end?
This makes me embarrassed of the food stamps as a kid, the foster care as a teen, the apartment I could barely afford as an adult. Everything about my life screams that I’m lacking in the things that Lucas seems to have in abundance.
Like money. And confidence. Complete comfort in his own skin and a belief that he deserves to take up space in this world.
I hate how it makes me feel.
My host doesn’t seem to notice, though, as he walks in and casually chucks his keys onto a small entry table, setting my bag down and heading to the right.
“Want something to drink?” he calls out, and I force myself to close my mouth and follow him in.
“I’m not really thirsty,” I say, clutching my backpack tighter against my chest, my eyes flying all over the place, trying to swallow everything I can as if I only have seconds to take it all in.
“Are all the houses in the area this big?” I ask, hating myself for being curious but still unable to keep myself from asking.
“Actually, no. Good catch,” he says, leaning against the counter and crossing his legs, his hands braced behind him on the marble. “This house is a double lot, so it really is an obscene amount of space.”
I nod, still glancing around.
The kitchen is large and modern, with stainless steel and double ovens, fancy marble and antiqued white cabinets. It opens up to an expansive living room with a flat screen on the wall and multiple overstuffed couches. A glass dining room table separates the kitchen from a wide balcony that looks out to the beach.
“Welcome, officially. Do you want to snoop around on your own, or do you want a real tour?” Lucas asks, chuckling. “We have people here all the time but if you’re going to be living here I guess I should make sure you know where everything is.”
I manage to nod again, setting down my backpack on the floor near the kitchen island.
“Let’s go downstairs first.”
“I thought this was the ground floor.”
“It’s the floor that’s at street level, but the house is built in to an incline. So the actual ground level is downstairs and opens out to the beach.”
I smile at Lucas and try to push away some of my initial discomfort. “I feel like I’m onLifestyles of the Rich and Famous.”
Lucas laughs, shakes his head and motions for me to follow him downstairs.
When we emerge from the staircase, we enter what looks like a living room, fairly similar to the one upstairs, with a large TV and lots of couches. Though there’s also a pool table, a long bar stocked with alcohol and a novelty juke box in the corner.
“Down here is the party room,” he says, then turns to point to a few closed doors. “There’s also the home theatre, a gym, and the wine cellar. This space gets used a lot when friends come over because it opens out to The Strand.”
He walks over to the sliding doors that lead out to a patio, opens one up, and then slides it all the way to the side, effectively taking the indoor living room and making it part of the outside.
And then there’s the sand and sea. Right there. Close enough to touch right now if I want to.
“That is so cool,” I say, stepping out onto the tiled exterior space and pulling in a deep inhale of salty sea air. “God, I love that smell. It’s so weird, there’s something familiar about it, but I’ve never been to the beach before.”
Lucas doesn’t say anything, surely just watching me be a weirdo.
Once I’ve got my fill, I open my eyes and turn to look at him. “So, if you have a party room, do you have lots of parties?”
He gives me a smile that I’ve seen on a lot of my foster siblings. The ones who feel like they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t.
“I wouldn’t say a lot,” he answers, and I know instinctively that he’s downplaying the party atmosphere at his house. “But I do host a huge 4th of July event every year. And there are a few others throughout the summer, for sure. But mostly, it’s just a hangout room. My friend Paige says it’s our MTVroom because it’s so flashy.”
I nod, deciding not to say anything else, then step back in and help Lucas close up the sliding doors.
