Page 2 of Here's to Yesterday

Part I

Her

1

MonthsEarlier

I’m aliar.

Or at least a truth-bender. Calling myself a flat-out liar would be alie.

So maybe Iamaliar.

Either way, I’vebeenlying. Kind of. I have a boyfriend. A semi-decent boyfriend. Each time he says, “I love you,” I say itback.

But the truth is, Idon’tlove him in the way I should. So every time I say it, I lie a tinybit.

I do love him, in more of a friendlyway.

Tapping the voicemail icon on my screen, I listen to the latest message from said boyfriend.“Hey, babe. Sorry I missed your call. We’ve been doing test flights all day. Gonna head out with the guys for a bit, maybe do a flight. I’ll try back later. I loveyou.”

I try calling Tanner back but get sent directly to voicemail.Guess he’s stillout.

Throwing myself down onto my bed, I sigh loudly. We’ve been playing phone tag for the last two days, only exchanging texts a few times. This being disconnected thing is grueling. Dating a soldier is harder than I assumed. It’s been eight months since Tanner and I first got together and two weeks since we’ve seen one another. And since he left seven months ago, we’ve only been face-to-face a total of four times. I mean, sure, we FaceTime, Skype, text and try to talk daily, but it’s not thesame.

It’ssonot thesame.

There’s part of me—the one thatwantsto love him in that way—that misses him. I miss touching him. I miss his presence. I miss his smile. But mostly, the part of me that loves him as a friend misses our friendship, which has significantly changed over the past fewmonths.

He’s been asking like crazy, but the last thing I’ll do is pick my life up and move out to North Carolina where he’s stationed. I have a life here in Wakefield, Massachusetts. Hell, I grew up here. My entire world—except Tanner—ishere.

I grab the closest pillow I can find, place it over my mouth, and scream long and hard because I’m frustrated by all this. I’m frustrated over missing him, I’m frustrated over him pressuring me, and I’m frustrated because I know that I don’t miss himenough.

“Knock, knock!” my aunt Kassi hollers, tapping on my bedroom door and walkingin.

I remove the pillow and huff out anotherbreath.

“What’s going on, kiddo?” she asks, concern lacing her voice.Kiddo.Usually, I’d give her crap for calling me that, since she’s only five years older than me, but I’m too upset to do sonow.

See, my aunt Kassi is the best aunt ever. Actually, she feels more like a sister than an aunt since we’re close in age. She’s my mother’s half-sister and came into play long after my mom was out of the house. My mother would never say so out loud, but she’s envious of my relationship with Kassi and just as equally jealous of her young age. To say it’s entertaining to witness those two in a room together is putting it mildly. Whenever they come within fifty feet of one another, the air shifts and threatens to boil over from Norah Doughers’ horrible distaste of KassiGarrett.

“Life. It kinda sucks recently,” I finally tellher.

“Buck up, Maura. It can only get worse from here,” she jests, sitting down next to me and lying back, mirroring mypose.

“Yeah, yeah, but I’m all about thenow. I haven’t talked to Tanner since yesterday morning, and I was half asleep the entire time. All I remember is him pestering me more to move. I know I shouldn’t complain, because there are plenty of people out there who don’t get to talk with their soldiers, but I can’t help it. I miss him and want to strangle him all at the sametime.”

She sighs for me this time. “Ya know, at this point,Imiss him because you’re so much happier when he’s around. Not sure what you woulddo if he were todep—”

“Don’t you dare say the ‘D’ word!” Iinterrupt.

As much as I love my aunt Kassi, I will probably hit her if she finishes that word. I know deployment is almost inevitable in the military, but it’s still not something I like to dwell on, even if not all deployments equal dangerous situations. Whether we’re together or not, I don’t ever want Tanner deploying—stateside is safest. I couldn’t handle it on top of everythingelse.

“Fine, fine,” she says on a small laugh. “But just because I can’t say the word doesn’t make it any lesspossible.”

I groan and slant my eyes her way. “Why are you in hereagain?”

“Grocery run. You want anything special or yourusual?”

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