Page 29 of The Worst Kind of Promise
He dawdles, barely pushing the cart, smearing his hand down his face like he’d rather be anywhere else but here answering my inquisition. “Of course I want to marry her, but we’ve been together less than a year.”
“Giving it time isn’t the worst decision you’ve had.” Aversion to complimenting brothers must be a hardwired sister trait.
“Thank you.” Pride hangs between each word, and I roll my eyes.
“Yes, yes. It’s a big feat for someone as stupid as you,” I mock, sheathing the pen in my short’s pocket. Out of the two of us, I’m definitely the more organized sibling. Lists and itineraries make my lady parts swoon, which is why this vacation has thrown me for such a loop. I don’t like things that are out of my control.
We round a busy aisle, passing an overwhelmed mother with a calvary of five children, all of whom are sticky-faced and snot-nosed as they run around like little gremlins. It reminds me of the students I work with. It reminds me of Pennsylvania…of familiarity.
“What about you?” He pushes me into the hot seat, waits for it to heat up, then leaves me to burn alive.
“Me?” I sputter, choking on air. The audacity. How do I unsuspiciously change the subject? Should I lie? Make up some fake boyfriend I have back in Pennsylvania? But then word’s gonna travel like wildfire, and what would Kit think?
We’re not together.
Speaking of out of my control, that’s where my feelings toward Kit seem to be.
“Yeah. How’s your love life been?”
Hah. I can’t help the roar of laughter that bursts out of me, and everyone in the vicinity stops to stare at me. I clear my throat awkwardly before shooing them back to their shopping.
“That bad, huh?” Hayes says sympathetically, inclining his head, looking like he’s about to pat me on the shoulder and say, “There, there, champ.”
I reel back from any potential consolation. “Nuh-uh. No way. Don’t look at me like that,” I demand, keeping my upturned hands between me and him in case he…hugs…me.
“Look at you like what?”
“Like a Disney cartoon dog begging for food,” I say with exasperation, wholeheartedly wishing I could uncork all my tightly wound feelings for Kit and let them go free into the world. Have someone else deal with them for a change.
Hayes leans his mile-wide shoulders over the cart to snatch some napkins. “Fine. I won’t sympathize with you.”
“Good,” I mutter triumphantly, blacking out the word NAPKINS on our list.
A bottled-up sigh. “At least tell me that Kit’s been a good host.”
Kit. Fuck.
RED ALERT! RED ALERT! WEE-WOO, WEE-WOO. BRAIN IS NOT EQUIPPED TO HANDLE SUCH SENSITIVE INFORMATION.
The punch of my pulse drowns out any other noise in my ears except for the resounding smack of my heart against my ribs. Is this what dying feels like? “Yep. Super great,” I force out, wiping my clammy palms on my frilly shorts.
Oblivious—thank God—Hayes’ eyes scan the shelves, looking for our last item on the list, which happens to be the coveted SPF 50.
“It was nice of him to drive you up.”
“Oh, uh, yeah.” Real nice.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were thinking of visiting?” he asks as we meander through a throng of people. All of the aisles are beginning to blur together, or maybe that’s due to my body overheating.
The lie pierces my throat like some kind of amateur tracheotomy.Why didn’t I tell you? Oh, just because it was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. Yeah, reliving a traumatic experience can make you do some crazy things.
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” I blurt out, picking up my pace, desperately hoping to end this shopping spree as soon as possible, or at least get in the car where I can use music as a diversion. Where is the fucking sunscreen? Why are aisles in Costco not labeled?!
My brother frowns. “You know I hate surprises.”
AHHH!
“It was Kit’s idea.”
