Swear on This Life

  “But you know we aren’t right for each other, right?”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “Will we be friends?”

  “You are my friend. Now. You brought me here and saved me, and I want you in my life too.”

  He held my hand as he walked me to the front. Near the door, he bent, kissed my cheek, and whispered, “Thank you.”

  “Stick with it, number seventeen.” I socked him in the chest.

  “’Bye, Emi.”

  As I walked to my car, I said good-bye to Emi, the girl who begrudgingly went to frat parties and football games; the girl who pretended like everything was always okay while unenthusiastically teaching Intro to Writing classes; the girl with no past; the girl who wasn’t real and didn’t exist.

  Once I got back to my apartment, I sat down and started writing.

  17. How We See Ourselves

  Over the next month, I did nothing but work, write, and send updates to Professor James, Cara, and Jase.

  One morning, after I finished the full first draft, I got an email from Andrea. She told me that Professor James had reached out to her about my book, and that she wanted to talk. I sped all the way to campus and ran through the halls to the professor’s office, where Cara was chatting with him eagerly.

  “Hey, girl,” she said. “Looking for me?”

  I didn’t look at her. “Professor,” I said, out of breath.

  Before I could get anything out, he said, “I knew she was J. Colby’s agent and that she’d probably give it a look if you’d let her. You’re a better writer today than you were five years ago, and that means my job here is done.” He got up.

  “Wait,” I said.

  “Really there’s nothing to say. Cara is well on her way out, and you . . . you have a book in its infancy, but a book nonetheless. Go forth and write, my dears. You’ve got the whole summer ahead of you. If you want to remain here, Emiline, I will gladly keep you on staff, but I have a feeling that won’t be happening.”

  “Thank you, thank you so much!”

  “Go, both of you, get out of here.” He chuckled a husky, warm laugh from his belly.

  Cara looped her arm in mine as we headed toward the parking lot. “See, I told you.”

  “Thanks for putting up with my shit this year, Cara. You’ve been a really good friend.”

  She stopped walking. “What do you think about moving to New York with me? Let’s do it, Em. Let’s totally live the life and be writers.”

  I laughed. “It does sound amazing. But you’re moving in with Henry, no?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll be with Henry, but we’re not moving in together right away. He’s busy becoming a surgeon, and I’ll need some time to get myself established there. What do you say? Roomies?”

  “I’ll definitely think about it.” It did sound enticing, the freedom to finally be able to be me.

  And I did think about it. I thought about it until there was no other answer.

  I was going.

  18. Everyone Around You

  By July first, Cara and I were the proud renters of a tiny two-bedroom apartment in New York’s East Village. We spent the next few weeks unpacking, settling down, and exploring the city together.

  Strangely, she and Henry were through almost immediately. She discovered, pretty much right away, that their relationship worked better long-distance, and that Henry didn’t have time for a girlfriend. To be fair, she didn’t have time for a boyfriend either. Her agent was riding her to put together a collection of short stories, and she spent as much time writing as Henry spent saving people’s lives.

  One weekend, while we were unpacking, she pointed to a stack of boxes that I had tossed to the side. “Do you want me to take these down to the Dumpster? I think this is the last of it.”

  “Yeah, but will you make sure I emptied everything out of them?”

  “This one still has books in it.” She pulled a stack of three books out of the last box. “It’s Jase’s book.” She looked at the bookmark tucked into the very end. “You never finished it?”

  “Not yet. I’ve been so focused on my own book. Here, hand it over to me.” I took it into my bedroom and set it on my nightstand.

  A little while later, Cara came back up, but she wasn’t alone. She was with a jeans-clad, bearded gentleman wearing suspenders, and both of them were carrying mugs. “Em, this is our neighbor, Kai.” She stood behind him and wiggled her eyebrows. “He offered me a cup of coffee, and it’s the best-tasting coffee I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

  I got up and walked over to shake his hand. “I’m Emiline. Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” he said.

  “So what’s your secret?” I pointed to his mug.

  “Oh, the coffee? Yeah, I just make sure to always heat it to a hundred and sixty-four degrees, and I always use filtered water.” Cara had found herself a hipster, and she was glowing because of it. She was staring at him like he was some kind of celestial coffee being sent to her from heaven.

  “Well, I’ll have to try that little trick, “I said. “So you live right next door?”

  “Yeah,” Kai said. “Just little old me. I’m a graphic artist and I work from home, so if you ever need anything, let me know.”

  “Great.” I smiled.

  “What do you do for fun around here?” Cara asked.

  “Well, tonight I’m going into Brooklyn to the Dropzone to see my friend’s band play.”

  “Cara, you should go,” I said. “I have a bunch of stuff I still need to do here.”

  THAT NIGHT WHEN Cara came home, she told me how Kai had introduced her to a husband-and-wife musical duo who also owned the coffee shop on the corner. Cara made friends fast—she always had—and she was excited about New York. I saw her fitting in and living here forever. I, on the other hand, felt lonely and more isolated every minute I stayed.

  Over the next several weeks, Cara and Kai became inseparable, and I became more depressed. Cara said writers are supposed to be a little depressed, but I didn’t believe that. When I was down, I couldn’t write.

  I talked to Jase every few days. When I told him how I was feeling, he said it was because I was still fighting it. I knew what he meant, but I didn’t let him press it. The old woman in the airport, and her words about fighting fate, were always in the back of my mind.

  It was after a strange nightmare I had where I was looking in the mirror examining my old, wrinkled face that I realized it was time to finish the book. I could feel myself crying in the dream, but the old face wasn’t moving. I was so scared that would be me, just paralyzed by the fear, paralyzed in one moment of time while the rest of the world was moving on.

  We can’t always control our circumstances, who our parents are, where we live, or how much money we make, but in those rare moments when we can shape our fate, when we do have the power to make our own happiness, we can’t be too scared to do it.

  From All the Roads Between

  Alicia led me into Jax’s house and into the living room. The old carpet had been replaced with wood laminate flooring, and there was a hospital bed set up facing the TV. I couldn’t see him at first, but I could hear an oxygen machine and the sound of a man’s labored breathing.

  Leila had wandered down the hall to her bedroom, and Alicia motioned for me to go to him. “Wait,” I whispered. “Can I use the restroom?”

  “Sure.” She pointed down the hallway.

  I went into the bathroom. It had been remodeled in recent years, but the setup was the same. I thought about the last time I was in there. I was fifteen years old and Jax had just told me what Cal Junior had done. Jax found me crying in the shower. He held me, and he took care of me, even though he was the one who had been through something horrible.

  In the mirror, a face I barely recognized anymore stared back at me. I dug around in my purse for some lip gloss. I applied a thin coat and then finger-combed my hair, trying desperately to tame it. I didn’t know what to expect, but even
thirty-five years older, I wanted to look nice for him.

  I walked slowly down the hall. I peeked into Brian’s old room, which Alicia now occupied. She was sitting at a desk, facing me in the doorway. “Go ahead, go see him,” she said.

  Making my way into the living room, I noticed the TV was still on, but it had been turned down. I went to the side of his bed. His eyes were closed, and he was wearing an oxygen mask.

  I took in his appearance. He still had a full head of hair, but he was completely gray. He was thin and sickly, but I could see my Jax in his face. Standing at his bedside I took his hand in mine.

  He opened his eyes and squinted and then smiled. Like no time had passed, he smiled at me with perfect recognition and reverence, the way he always had. With his other hand he pulled the oxygen mask away from his face and said, “Took you long enough.”

  I started to cry and laugh at the same time. “Oh, Jax.” I cupped his face and kissed his cheek. “My Jax,” I cried. “Why? Why did this happen?”

  “Please don’t cry, Em.” No one had called me that in over thirty years. He started to cough.

  “Don’t talk. Here,” I said as I pulled the oxygen mask back onto his face.

  I reached in my purse and took out his book that I had found in the thrift store. “I only just found this recently,” I told him. “It wasn’t us; it wasn’t our story.”

  He slowly pulled the mask away again. His eyes were sad. “It could have been. I wanted it to be.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Please tell me you had a good life, Em.”

  “I had a good life,” I lied. I had to give that to him because he deserved it. If I told him it was horrible, everything we’d done would have been in vain.

  “My beautiful girl has come back to me, finally.”

  “But it’s too late.” Tears were now running steadily down both our faces.

  “Help me sit up,” he said. “I have something for you. Will you call Alicia in here?”

  Alicia was there as soon as I turned around. “The box, Alicia,” Jax said. “The small red box on my desk.”

  When Alicia returned, she handed him the ring box. “What is that, Jax?” I said.

  “What do you think?” He laughed then coughed.

  “Slow down,” I warned him. Alicia left the room.

  “No, listen. I don’t know how much time I have. You said we were too young, remember? You said we needed to be apart. It was best for us. I never wrote another book because I needed you. I needed my friend. Now we’re here, and we’re not too young anymore. I want to write another book, but I need you with me. I need you to help me.” He opened the ring box to reveal a gold band.

  “Oh, Jax, I’ve only just walked through your door.”

  “Jesus, Emerson. Did you hear me? I don’t know how much time I have left.” He laughed and coughed again. “How much longer are you gonna make me wait?” He took a breath from the mask. “Marry me, dammit. Spend the rest of my short life with me. Do whatever you want after that, but stay here and marry me. We’ll sit outside and listen to the creek and we’ll make up stories like we always did before.”

  It was still him, my old friend, my protector, the love of my life. As sick as he looked, he was still sharp as a whip. “I will marry you, Jackson Fisher.” I pressed my lips to his. “I will take care of you now. I’m sorry I waited so long,” I whispered.

  WE DID EXACTLY what we promised each other. I moved back to the long dirt road. A pastor from a local church came to the house and married us, with Alicia and Leila as our witnesses. Every day I would wheel Jax out to the back porch and we’d listen to the cicadas buzzing over the sound of the creek in the distance. He would make up stories and I would write them down. I planted a garden and turned the shed into a little writing hut while Jax watched me from his porch. He still had a sense of humor and told me I was more interesting to look at than the TV. I said that meant a lot coming from him.

  Doctors said he was beyond treatment and that we just had to make him as comfortable as possible.

  He and I watched every sunset together until he was gone. Five weeks after I first went to see him, he died in my arms.

  I don’t know much about fate, but I know something brought me back there. Maybe I fought that force for too long, or maybe everything happened exactly the way it was supposed to.

  The last words out of Jackson Fisher’s mouth as I held him were, “There once was a boy and a girl . . .”

  The end.

  For my Em. Don’t wait this long. Come let me love you.

  19. Until You Know It’s Right

  Cara was standing in my doorway. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

  “Pale” was an understatement. I was hyperventilating. “I just finished the book.”

  “Ohhh.” She smiled.

  “So. I have to pack my shit. I’ve got to go.” I got up and started running around the room, throwing all my stuff in bags.

  “Slow down, Em.”

  “No, I’m not wasting another minute.” I was frantically tossing junk into the garbage and yanking my clothes off the hangers in my closet. “I’ll pay rent until you find a roommate.”

  “Actually.” A man’s voice came from the hall. Kai peeked his head into the room and looked at Cara. “What do you think?” he said to her. “You want to live with me, Cara?”

  “Really?” she screamed. She ran and jumped into his arms. “You’re gonna move in with me?”

  He twirled her around. “This apartment is way better, and why wait?”

  I pointed to them. “Exactly,” I said triumphantly. “Why wait if you know it’s right?”

  They laughed as they watched me dancing around the apartment. “I’m going to write a happy love story,” I sang. “About a girl and a boy. But first I have to find the boy!”

  I STOOD IN the doorway with a giant suitcase and said good-bye to my very short but eye-opening New York experience. Cara and Kai hugged me and promised they’d have all my stuff shipped to L.A. as soon as I had an address.

  At the airport, I paid way too much money for a direct flight, but I didn’t care. On the plane, I had a smile on my face until we started taxiing toward the runway. That’s when I realized I was terrified. The man next to me asked if I was okay as I gripped the armrest during takeoff.

  “Yeah. It’s weird, I’ve never been scared to fly before.”

  He looked like he was a seasoned flyer, possibly on business. “What are you scared of?”

  “Well, crashing, obviously.”

  He laughed and put his finger to his mouth. “You don’t want to say that word too loud around here. I meant, what’s changed? What are you scared of now?”

  “I have no idea.”

  I ordered a drink and put my headphones on. When my Bloody Mary came, I downed it, relaxed a little, and then closed my eyes. All I could think about was Jase, being in his arms, laughing with him, talking about books. It was all I could think about.

  I pulled my headphones off. “I got it!” I said loudly.

  The man next to me looked startled at first, and then he smiled. “Let’s hear it.”

  “I’m in love, like the real kind. I just don’t want to miss a second of it, that’s why I’m so scared. I’m afraid I won’t get to tell him how I feel and . . . and . . . I’m excited about my life. That’s why.”

  He nodded. “Makes sense. Chances are he already knows you love him, but it’s always nice to tell someone.”

  I pulled Jase’s book out of my bag. “He wrote a book for me, and then I moved away. He might not know.”

  He took the book from my hands and stared at it. “This is impressive. I saw this in the bookstore. So it’s about you?”

  “No, no, it’s for me.”

  “Ah, I see. He wrote a book for you and you took off.” He chuckled. “I must admit that would be a shot to the ego.”

  I waved at the air. “Oh, his ego is fine. But I do need to tell him I’m ready now and I don’t want to spe
nd one more minute going backward.”

  “It’s quite the honor to have a book dedicated to you, isn’t it?”

  I laughed. “He wrote the book to help me heal.”

  “Okay.”

  I was beginning to think this guy believed I was an author stalker or something.

  “Anyway, I’m just excited to get back to him. He’s been patient with me.”

  “Well, you know that saying: if you love something, let it go.”

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t believe that. Jase fought for me. Not with his fists, but with this—his words.” I held up the book. “He didn’t let me go. He never let me go. He just gave me the right amount of space, and now it’s time for me to find him.”

  He smiled kindly while nodding his head. “He sounds like a good guy.”

  The plane dipped. “Ahhh!” I screamed. The seat belt lights went on and the flight attendants scurried to their seats.

  The man grabbed my hand. “It’s turbulence,” he said.

  “This is bad, bad turbulence.” The plane started diving. “Oh my god, we’re going down!” My seat was shaking and my heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my ears.

  “Shhh, stop that. You’re gonna scare the life out of these people. This is normal. The pilots are trying to find some better airspace.”

  He put his arm around me. I looked up at his nicely coifed gray hair, clean-shaven face, and crystal clear blue eyes. I guessed he was in his fifties but took extremely good care of himself. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “It’s okay. I have a daughter about your age. She doesn’t like flying either.” The plane evened out.

  “Geez, it’s like I finally figure things out and the next thing I know I’m barreling toward the earth in a fireball.”

  “My daughter is also very dramatic,” he said.

  I laughed. The nerves were settling. “Is she a writer?”