Tell Me Not to Go Page 15

  “You want to celebrate at dinner tonight, or are you going to Jude’s?”

  Lizzie taps her fingers on the table—one, two, three, one, two, three. “He wants me to stay through the weekend. Start making his room my own.”

  I keep my mouth occupied by chewing slowly.

  Lizzie frowns. “I know you think it’s a bad idea.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “But you’re worried,” Lizzie says.

  There’s a warning tingle at the back of my neck. This usually means I need to monitor my big mouth and proceed with caution.

  “I know you love Jude, but I don’t know how you can trust him. He’s never been in a relationship before. And all the women he’s been with . . .”

  But then again, what do I know? I never guessed Luke would cheat on me, I haven’t had a long-term boyfriend ever since, and now I’m having a ninety-day fling with my best friend’s brother. So I’m all kinds of messed up when it comes to the opposite sex.

  Lizzie wipes her hands on her napkin. “He wasn’t ready before, and now he is. Maybe it’s that simple. I’m realistic. I know this is his first real relationship, and that we might not make it.” Her body slumps, like the wind got sucked out of her.

  “Doesn’t that scare the shit out of you? Opening yourself up to that pain?”

  She gives me a sad smile, almost like she feels sorry for me. “What’s the alternative? Missing out on him? Even if I’m only his first love, and not his last, it’s worth it.”

  I have to wonder if she’ll still be singing this tune the day her heart gets broken. I wipe that nasty thought away, and mentally cross my fingers that Jude will be all Lizzie hopes for.

  “It’s going to happen for you someday,” she says, her green eyes filled with understanding. “You can’t fight falling in love forever. Just because Luke hurt you doesn’t mean every man will.” Lizzie won’t drop my gaze. “Maybe you’re already there. I see the way you look at him.”

  Jeff.

  Lizzie and I have been so good, avoiding talking about her brother so that nothing gets awkward between us. Anger begins to pound its way into my skull, which makes me ashamed. Why am I angry at my best friend for being hopeful? For caring enough to tell me the truth?

  “I’m moving. Doesn’t matter how I feel. And he doesn’t want me in that way.” The words feel forced out of me.

  “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

  “And someday unicorns will fly out of my butt.” I stand up and throw my trash away. “It’s never gonna happen. He and I have an agreement. He isn’t interested in long-term. And I won’t change my plans for a guy, anyway. No matter how great he is.”

  Lizzie and I don’t talk much on the way home, which is just as well; there isn’t much to say. I don’t want to lie to her or give her false hope. She’s wrong about Jeff. He wanted an exciting fling. He was very clear that he doesn’t want yet another girl clutching at his ankle.

  The thought of Jeff with those previous women makes me so crazy that I don’t even notice when Lizzie comes in with the mail.

  “You got something from UCLA.”

  My skin goes clammy, my stomach plummets. “What?”

  Lizzie hands me a thin envelope, and my hands start to shake. “I can’t . . .”

  “Open it, or I swear to all that is holy . . .” Lizzie says, grabbing my shoulder.

  I finally rip open the envelope, struggling to get the letter unfolded. Hard to read when your hand is shaking. “Dear Samantha, We are pleased to offer you admission to the David Geffen School of Medicine.” I can’t say any more words and the letter falls to the floor.

  “Oh man. Oh my gosh.” Lizzie shrieks, her hands covering her mouth.

  I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

  “Stop holding it in! Be excited!” she shouts.

  “I don’t know how.”

  Lizzie grabs me and makes me jump up and down with her. I go along for the ride. When she pulls back, there are tears in her eyes.

  “It’s really happening,” she says, fanning her face with her hands to stop the waterworks.

  “Why are you more excited than I am?”

  “You’re in shock. Plus, I’m me and you’re you.”

  Isn’t that the truth?

  “You’re really going to be a doctor,” she says. “Oh my Lord, you got into UCLA.”

  She finally breaks me. “Damn you, Lizzie.” I wipe a tear from my eye before it can fall, but it’s pointless; there are plenty more where that came from.

  I have this driving need to tell Jeff. I want to call him or text him immediately. And how weird is that? I should want to call my mom and dad, or maybe Angel or Marcus or my pre-med crew. But no, it’s Jeff.

  Except he’s working late again tonight; he does that a lot. I know Jeff likes his work—keeping up with the hottest industries and companies, doing research and analysis, meeting lots of new people. What I don’t think he likes as much is the Silicon Valley vibe—the constant restlessness, the people who act like your best friend when they want you to invest in their company, the wealth and excess. Jeff is a cowboy boot in an Italian loafer world. A Ford truck in a Tesla dealership.

  But there is one thing he has in common with most other men—Silicon Valley or no. So after I make plans to meet him late at his place, I slip on the bra and panties I bought for our Tahoe trip, which I never got to show off. I primp myself in all the right places, and throw on leggings and a T-shirt so he won’t suspect anything.

  “Hey there,” I say when he opens the door, admiring the way his shirt is untucked from his pants, the buttons undone at his throat and cuffs.

  “Hey.” He yawns, dark circles under his eyes.

  “Did you eat?” I ask, as he leads me to the couch.

  He leans his head on me. “Yep. How about you?”

  “I’m good.” I put my arms around him and, finally, he kisses me. A brief, sleepy kiss, but I still relish the way his stubble feels against my chin, the warmth of his breath, and the way his hand moves up to cup my cheek.

  “You feel nice,” he says.

  “You work too hard.” I run my hand through his hair to comfort him.

  “Says the girl that’s going to be working twenty-hour rotations someday.”

  “How did you know that?”

  He gives me one of his toothy smiles. “I do my homework, ma’am.”

  “Speaking of which.” I reach into my bag and pull out a bottle of champagne.

  “What’s that for?”

  I can’t get the words out. There are too many feelings and thoughts trying to shove themselves out of my mouth. I shake my head from side to side.

  Jeff’s eyes widen. “What is it?”

  “I did it. I got accepted at UCLA.”

  “Wow. When did this happen?”

  “Today. I’ve been waiting to tell you.”

  Jeff pulls me to him, tight and fierce. “That’s amazing. Congratulations, honey.”

  My breath catches. I love the endearment on his lips. I love being in his arms and sharing this news with him. Holy shit, I love him, I love him.

  It can’t be. It’s too soon. It’s ridiculous.

  But I love him. And I have no clue what to do about it.

  I put myself out of my misery by kissing him, first on the mouth, then the neck and shoulders.

  “I know you’re tired,” I say.

  “Never too tired for you.”

  I try to open the champagne, which is hard when you’re trying to nibble someone’s shoulder. Finally I pop the cork, spilling a little on his carpet. “We need glasses.”

  “No, we don’t,” Jeff says, grabbing the bottle and taking a swig.

  When I kiss him this time, he opens his mouth and lets some of the bubbly liquid spill onto my tongue.

  “Jeff,” I moan, trying to pull him down on the couch.

  “Wait, wait,” he says, pulling back. “This is major. Let’s enjoy it for a minute.”

  Words are impossible, so
I nod.

  He pulls me into a hug and holds me close. “I’m so, so proud. You’re amazing.”

  Hearing those words is even more amazing.

  I try to be content with a hug, but getting into UCLA is a reminder of how little time Jeff and I have left together, and after a while, need starts scratching at me. I push his shirt up and kiss his chest, right over his heart. I run my hands down the length of him and that moves him into action.

  He pulls my T-shirt off and over my head, and then stills when he sees what’s underneath.

  “Do you like it?” I ask, clearly fishing for compliments, because I know he does.

  He traces the see-through ivory lace with one finger, lingering between my breasts. “I want to tear it off, but it’s too pretty.”

  Instead, like he has all the time in the world, he unhooks the clasp in the front and slips the lace off my shoulders. He grabs the champagne bottle with one fist and holds it over me.

  “Don’t. It’s going to be so cold.”

  He smiles, and I know exactly what he looked like as a kid. A bit cocky and full of hell. And then the champagne hits me, leaving a cold, wet trail on my skin.

  “Aah! It’s freezing.” All I can do is laugh, until Jeff captures the champagne with his mouth and licks it off me. He pulls my leggings down and repeats the process, a little lower this time.

  “I love these underwear,” he says sucking champagne from my belly button. “But they have to go.”

  I don’t love the taste of the champagne, but it’s worth it to feel his mouth on mine. “Damn that ladder to hell,” I say, as we fall onto the floor. Always the gentleman, Jeff rolls me on top of him.

  “I have some very good memories of that ladder,” he says. And then there’s no more time for jokes.

  I try to remember every touch, every whisper. But the urgency consumes me and I let it. I do that a lot with Jeff.

  Once we’re both relaxed and satisfied, I try to stay in the moment. But all I can think about is how soon I’ll be leaving.

  “I’m really happy for you,” he says quietly.

  He holds me to his chest, the chenille blanket from his couch thrown over us but providing little warmth. I wish I could see the expression on his face.

  “Thanks. I’m happy, too. But July is coming so quickly.”

  “That’s when you have to go?” His voice is a little rough around the edges.

  “Yeah.”

  He sighs and doesn’t say anything else. I’m scared to talk, too. There are so few days left for us, and if he asks me to keep seeing him—right now, while I can hear the beating of his heart—I might cave. What would be worse is if he doesn’t ask. So silence is my best option.

  Jeff finds another solution: changing the subject. “Are your parents excited?”

  “I called my mom, but she wasn’t there. I’m supposed to go over this weekend, so maybe I’ll wait and tell them in person.”

  “I bet that will be fun.”

  “Want to come with me? You can experience it live and in the flesh. You might have to eat vegan food, though.” My desire to have him there overrides any anxiety about asking him.

  Jeff’s chuckles deep in his chest. “Absolutely. I’m in.”

  “Just remember you said that.”

  Chapter 20: Jeff

  52 Days Left

  “I know they’re here,” Sam says, knocking on the door again.

  Her mom and dad’s house is bright blue, with a fire-engine-red door. Bougainvillea frames the entryway, and there are overflowing flower beds in the front. It’s actually really charming, which makes me wonder what I thought it was going to look like.

  “Don’t you have a key?”

  “I left it at home, as usual,” Sam says, digging around in her big slouchy purse; that thing is a black hole. “No worries. They’re probably around back, and the gate’s never locked.”

  We take the brick path to the side yard, and sure enough, the gate is open.

  “Hey, Mom,” Sam shouts when we hear laughter.

  There are other sounds—a motor whirring and the splash of water. They must be in the hot tub Sam told me about.

  Yes, they sure are.

  As we round the corner, I see Sam’s mom climbing out of it, straddling the side. Completely nude.

  “Hi, honey,” Mrs. Cavallo says, swinging the other leg over the edge.

  I see Sam’s mom in all her untamed glory. I swing my eyes up—I really do—but that leaves me staring at fifty-year-old breasts.

  I try to look away completely, but there is no safe haven, because Mr. Cavallo is getting out to greet us, too. I say a prayer to the ball gods that my junk will never swing that low, and then call it quits and cover my face with my hands like a toddler.

  “Will you guys get some towels? Please?” Sam begs. She doesn’t seem shocked in the least, so her embarrassment is entirely on my behalf.

  I force my hands away from my face and man up. Just because the last time I saw my mom naked was when she breastfed me doesn’t make this weird. I think.

  Sam’s parents walk over and shake my hand, halfheartedly wrapping themselves in their towels.

  “Please, call me Divina,” her mom says, pulling me in for a hug. Yep, still thinking about her breasts, which are now pressed against me. Sweet mercy, make it go away.

  “Joe,” her dad says, also hugging me, his torso bare. I haven’t hugged my dad since I graduated college. Only got a handshake when I earned the MBA.

  But this is a family of huggers, so there are a good few minutes of embracing.

  “Come on in,” Divina says, looking like a darker, older version of her daughter. She has threads of silver in her hair that don’t take away from her beauty.

  The inside of the house is as colorful as the outside, with everything a level or two more upscale than the house I grew up in. The dining table is a beautiful cherry wood; it looks rustic, but was probably purchased at Pottery Barn. There is clutter on the shelves, but it’s organized around exotic vases and pots that were likely picked up on a trip to India or Africa. Bay Area shabby chic. But there is a great sense of ease and warmth here, and I like picturing Sam in the middle of it all.

  “I’m sorry,” Sam says, as her parents head to their room to get dressed—maybe.

  “I’ve now been in a nude embrace with every member of your family.”

  “I’m used to it, but you . . .” Then she busts up laughing and can’t stop. It’s a full-blown attack that turns into snorting and tears. It’s infectious.

  “You warned me,” I say, wiping away a tear of my own.

  “I sure did. Want a tour?”

  There’s only one room I’m really interested in, but I let Sam show me around a little. Then, finally, we end up in her bedroom. I always think a childhood bedroom says a lot about someone. Sam’s is a combination of old and new, clearly updated to accommodate her when she stays here on weekends or holidays. But there are still childhood awards on her shelves and photos and other paraphernalia pinned onto a corkboard.

  “Is this you in high school?” I ask, leaning in to a picture of Sam wearing skinny jeans and Uggs, her pin-straight hair hanging over her face. There’s a guy standing next to her wearing the same jeans.

  She laughs. “Oh man, look at me. So tragic. It was like eighty degrees out and I was wearing those sweaty Uggs.”

  “Who’s the guy?”

  “Matt. He was my boyfriend for about five minutes. But mostly we were friends.”

  I look more closely at Matt. He’s an Asian version of Justin Bieber, complete with the goofy hair and the girly face. “I’m guessing you were in to pretty boys?”

  She punches me lightly on the shoulder. “I’ve dated lots of different kinds of people.” She starts biting her nail, obviously making a list in her head. It takes longer than I’d hoped. “Although, I did have it bad for Zac Efron back in the day.”

  I grab her and pull her to me. “Oh yeah? You still get hot when you watch High School Mus
ical?”

  She goes to punch me again, so I sidetrack her by kissing her. That distracts me instead.

  “I did lose my virginity to Matt. In this room, actually.”

  No longer distracted. “How was good old Matt? Wait, never mind. How did you sneak him past your parents?”

  “Oh, my parents knew.”

  She runs her hands down my back and I shiver. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. My mom and dad wanted me to ‘explore my sexuality in a safe environment.’”

  “Wow. Well, lucky Matt.”

  She puts her finger in the neck of my shirt and pulls me closer. “He had nothing on you, Price.”

  She kisses me deep and slow, and I want to tumble her onto the bed. But unlike Sam, I’m pretty sure I’d burn in hell for defiling her in her parents’ house.

  We head back into the kitchen, where Sam’s mom is setting out food. She puts me and Sam to work setting the table as Joe walks in.

  Joe is a thin guy with intense, dark eyes and a horseshoe moustache. Any hint of threat is mitigated by his constant smile and tan Birkenstocks.

  “So Jeff, tell us all about yourself. Sam has been skimpy with the details, as usual.”

  “I’m from Utah. I came here to work in venture capital.”

  “That’s investing, right?” Joe scoops a surprising amount of food on his plate and passes the bok choy and noodles.

  “Yes. I was a financial analyst back home.”

  Divina leans forward. “How do you like California? Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Uh, yes. Very.” The noodles hit my tongue, their sweet and sour tang really tasty. But it’s spicier than I’m used to, forcing a cough out of me.

  I elbow Sam under the table, because I want her to share her news. She gives me the side eye but keeps chewing.

  “You two should do some camping in Big Sur. Amazing,” Joes says.

  Sam sets her fork down. “Give it up, Dad. I’m never going to like camping.”

  “How are you my child?” Joes asks, smiling. “All those natural family camps we took you to, and you still hate sleeping in the outdoors.”

  Sam shakes her head. “It was because of those camps. Everybody reeked by the end of the week.”