Read Online Promise Me by Barbie Bohrman - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbie Bohrman
Tags: Contemporary
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beautiful shoes I've ever seen and they're going to look amazing with the dress I'll be wearing. You've made me feel like I'm Cinderella today."
I pull the shoes out and clutch them to my chest, causing the box to fall from my lap lopsided and see about a dozen condoms spill onto the floor. Laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, I grab one and throw it at Julia.
"Yeah, figured you might need those too," she says, winking at me.
After we quickly clean up the mess in my closet, Julia gives me a hug and calls it a night. I crawl into bed, catching a glimpse of the clock on my night stand. 2:15 AM. Staring at my packed suitcase, I sigh out loud and roll over. I eventually fall asleep, and dream about Cinderella running after her pumpkin carriage in the most kick ass pair of Louboutin's I've ever seen.
I hate travelling period. But with a hangover, it's excruciating. I'm cursing myself for drinking so much last night when the plane finally arrives in Philadelphia. At least I was able to squeeze in a power nap for much of the flight, but I'm still dragging.
Navigating my way through the terminal to get to my rental car, I stop at a stand full of tourist brochures. I grab the flyer for the Philadelphia Museum of Art and stuff it in my purse, making a mental note to check out some of the exhibits while I'm visiting for the next week. Why I let Julia talk me into booking my flight an extra couple of days before the actual reunion is beyond me. Not only that, but she somehow talked me into staying for an entire week. God, I'm such a pushover sometimes. I swear that girl will be the death of me. Shaking my head, I think about her departing words when she dropped me off at the airport earlier today, "Don't let dickhead and the whore ruin this for you. You go and get your man, girl."
Getting into my rental, I turn on the GPS to get to I-476. It's been ten years since I've been back here so I need all the help I can get. Finally, after a couple of "turn right" and "turn left" prompts, I'm on the open road and heading home. The rest of the way I can probably do in my sleep since I use to spend a lot of weekends at the museum, usually by myself. At first, Chris would come with me, but after the fifth time he confessed that it really wasn't his thing. I turn on the radio and settle on the classic rock station. As Stevie Nicks', " Edge of Seventeen" comes on, I try to get as comfortable as possible for the rest of the drive.
My exit becomes visible in the distance and my palms begin to sweat as I grip the steering wheel a little tighter. Ten years is a long time to be away from home. I say home, but it doesn't really feel that way to me. It hasn't felt that way since I left for college. This place feels tainted to me somehow. On any given street, a memory can come crawling back out of nowhere from my time with Chris and Lisa. Back then everything was so simple and innocent and I was completely in the dark of what was really going on right under my nose.
Taking a breath and then exhaling loudly, I calmly try to tell myself that I'll be fine when I take the final turn onto my old street and see my parent's house come into view. My mom must have her dog ears on today since I can already see her pushing open the screen door waving like a lunatic. Laughing at the sight of her, I pull into the driveway and barely get my car parked before she's squealing with delight.
"My baby's finally come home!"
My mom, for all of her fifty-two years of age, doesn't look a day past thirty. The woman must drink daily from the fountain of youth. She's petite, curvy, and as beautiful as ever. Her auburn hair that I was lucky enough to inherit, is chin length and falls softly across her cheek as she starts walking down the front steps. And from where I'm standing I can already see that her green eyes are glistening with happy tears. I give her a big hug and remind her that we see each other once, sometimes twice a year, when they come to Miami to visit
I pull the shoes out and clutch them to my chest, causing the box to fall from my lap lopsided and see about a dozen condoms spill onto the floor. Laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, I grab one and throw it at Julia.
"Yeah, figured you might need those too," she says, winking at me.
After we quickly clean up the mess in my closet, Julia gives me a hug and calls it a night. I crawl into bed, catching a glimpse of the clock on my night stand. 2:15 AM. Staring at my packed suitcase, I sigh out loud and roll over. I eventually fall asleep, and dream about Cinderella running after her pumpkin carriage in the most kick ass pair of Louboutin's I've ever seen.
I hate travelling period. But with a hangover, it's excruciating. I'm cursing myself for drinking so much last night when the plane finally arrives in Philadelphia. At least I was able to squeeze in a power nap for much of the flight, but I'm still dragging.
Navigating my way through the terminal to get to my rental car, I stop at a stand full of tourist brochures. I grab the flyer for the Philadelphia Museum of Art and stuff it in my purse, making a mental note to check out some of the exhibits while I'm visiting for the next week. Why I let Julia talk me into booking my flight an extra couple of days before the actual reunion is beyond me. Not only that, but she somehow talked me into staying for an entire week. God, I'm such a pushover sometimes. I swear that girl will be the death of me. Shaking my head, I think about her departing words when she dropped me off at the airport earlier today, "Don't let dickhead and the whore ruin this for you. You go and get your man, girl."
Getting into my rental, I turn on the GPS to get to I-476. It's been ten years since I've been back here so I need all the help I can get. Finally, after a couple of "turn right" and "turn left" prompts, I'm on the open road and heading home. The rest of the way I can probably do in my sleep since I use to spend a lot of weekends at the museum, usually by myself. At first, Chris would come with me, but after the fifth time he confessed that it really wasn't his thing. I turn on the radio and settle on the classic rock station. As Stevie Nicks', " Edge of Seventeen" comes on, I try to get as comfortable as possible for the rest of the drive.
My exit becomes visible in the distance and my palms begin to sweat as I grip the steering wheel a little tighter. Ten years is a long time to be away from home. I say home, but it doesn't really feel that way to me. It hasn't felt that way since I left for college. This place feels tainted to me somehow. On any given street, a memory can come crawling back out of nowhere from my time with Chris and Lisa. Back then everything was so simple and innocent and I was completely in the dark of what was really going on right under my nose.
Taking a breath and then exhaling loudly, I calmly try to tell myself that I'll be fine when I take the final turn onto my old street and see my parent's house come into view. My mom must have her dog ears on today since I can already see her pushing open the screen door waving like a lunatic. Laughing at the sight of her, I pull into the driveway and barely get my car parked before she's squealing with delight.
"My baby's finally come home!"
My mom, for all of her fifty-two years of age, doesn't look a day past thirty. The woman must drink daily from the fountain of youth. She's petite, curvy, and as beautiful as ever. Her auburn hair that I was lucky enough to inherit, is chin length and falls softly across her cheek as she starts walking down the front steps. And from where I'm standing I can already see that her green eyes are glistening with happy tears. I give her a big hug and remind her that we see each other once, sometimes twice a year, when they come to Miami to visit
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