Tell Me Not to Go Page 9

  Lizzie seeks asylum in the kitchen and pours herself another cup of coffee. She stands there, carefully stirring in cream and sugar. And then she stirs some more.

  “Dammit, girl. You’re killing me. Talk to me.”

  She rolls her eyes, but takes pity on me by sitting back down. “That was like forty seconds. Your patience is the worst.”

  I look her in the eye, because I want her to see my sincerity. “We weren’t going to keep it from you, I swear. We just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a one-time thing.”

  “I believe you.” She blows out a breath. “But I don’t know how to feel about it. You’re two of my favorite people, which makes it weird. Like, I’ll end up having to pick a side. But I guess if it goes well . . .”

  My stomach sinks as it dawns on me that she is hoping for some kind of happily ever after.

  “It’s only temporary,” I tell her. “Just until I graduate.”

  Lizzie’s face goes from confused to spitting mad. “Well, you never know. Maybe you could do a long-distance thing?”

  “No, those never work. And neither one of us wants a relationship.”

  “Oh.” She sets her coffee down. “So you’re just hooking up? Lumping him in with the other losers you’ve been with this past couple years?”

  “Ouch.”

  “That’s what you called them, Sam. What am I supposed to think?”

  “He’s not a loser. But we want to keep things casual right now. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling us both to do?”

  Her silence sucks the air out of the room.

  “What?” I ask her. “Spit it out.”

  “I didn’t mean with each other. He’s better than that. And so are you.” Her hands are wrapped around her coffee mug so tightly, I think she might shatter it.

  Well, that frosts my ass. I hate that I’ve upset her, but I don’t feel like Jeff and I are doing anything shameful. I won’t choose him over Lizzie, but I also don’t want to give up without a fight. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Lizzie stares down and traces the rim of her cup with her pinkie finger. “Nothing. Just that you both deserve something solid. Something lasting. Not a quickie that’s going to end in heartache.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic? No one’s going to get heartbroken, Lizzie.”

  “Really? How long does it take to fall for someone? A week? A month? I know you both so well, and you’re crazy if you think you won’t get hurt.”

  I’m surprised at how much her disapproval stings. “Well, if so, that’s our mistake to make.”

  “How did it go?”

  Jeff looks cute in his work garb—nice tailored suit, red geometric tie, each blond hair in its place. He looks so clean-cut that I think I could eat off of him. Maybe I will. Except we’re in a restaurant, so that will have to wait.

  “You know those nature shows about giant ants that attack their prey and sting them to death slowly? Like that.”

  “Damn.” Jeff unfolds his blue cloth napkin and puts it in his lap. “She texted me from work and said she wants to talk tomorrow. She’s going to tear me a new one.”

  “She already laid into me. So maybe she’ll spare you.”

  “Nope. She looks up to me. She’s going to put any blame square on my shoulders.”

  “Well, there’s no blame. We’re not doing anything wrong.” I tap my fingernail on the tablecloth, trying to convince myself this will all work out. “Do you think she’ll forgive us?”

  “Absolutely. Luckily, she’s really bad at being mad. And once she sees us together—gets used to the idea—I think she’ll be fine.”

  I’m banking on Jeff being right. Because good friends are as hard to find as real breasts in a porno. I can’t afford to lose Lizzie.

  I calm myself down by looking past Jeff at the huge Day of the Dead figure standing in the middle of the restaurant. Kind of morbid, but so colorful and energetic. Guess that’s the point. Working in a hospital, I understand that honoring death affirms life. But right now, I don’t want to think about endings, only beginnings.

  Tin tiles line the ceiling, reflecting the patio lights twined throughout the lattice. This is definitely a date place, and I give myself silent props for getting back in the game.

  I notice Jeff rubbing his shoulder, like it’s tender.

  “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “Wrenched my shoulder. It’ll be fine.”

  “You should try a massage. Or acupuncture.”

  Jeff looks like he drank spoiled milk. “How can you believe in acupuncture when you’re studying to be a real doctor?”

  “Pretty sure you just dissed like a billion Chinese people.”

  He crosses his arms and studies me. “So you’re saying it works?”

  “Yes. It does. There’s actual science to back that up, by the way. Either way, you’re limiting yourself if you stick to the conventional.”

  He shrugs. “It’s what I know.”

  “So I’m guessing you don’t want to come to one of my dance therapy classes?”

  “What in the hell is that?”

  “It’s therapy through expressive dance. It’s actually been done for thousands of years. Some people even do it in groups—naked.”

  Jeff doesn’t speak, so I let him wallow in his confusion until he finally breaks. “You’re telling me you’ve danced with a bunch of strangers naked?”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t bad, but I prefer the clothed version. All that jiggling gets distracting.”

  Jeff motions to his soda. “I might need something stronger.”

  “Does that freak you out?”

  He holds his fingers up an inch apart, to indicate only a little bit. “There are actually a lot of naturalists in Utah, especially in the mountains. But you’re a lot more free-spirited than other women I’ve dated. That’s for sure.”

  “My parents would laugh if they heard you say that.”

  The waiter brings out a mortar and pestle and combines onions, cilantro, and other ingredients. Then he cuts up avocados and mashes our guacamole right in front of us.

  Jeff scoops a huge amount onto a chip. “Why would your parents laugh?”

  “Well, it’s all relative. My mom gave me a vibrator for my sixteenth birthday, so ya know.”

  Jeff chokes on his chip and barely avoids spewing a piece out of his mouth. “Seriously?”

  “My dad is a total hippie—Santa Cruz, born and raised. My mom was a good Catholic girl, but she gave that up and started freewheeling it with my dad. They work nine-to-fives like everyone else, but the rest of the time they’re naked in their hot tub or going to Burning Man or something.”

  “That must make for a hell of a Christmas card.”

  I laugh. “Holiday card, you mean. We celebrate more than Christmas. I think they wish I were traveling the world or having crazy affairs. They think I’m too serious.”

  Jeff shakes his head. “Wow. My dad’s version of sex ed was throwing condoms at me when I was sixteen and telling me to use them—every single time. But I’m sure you already know all about my family.”

  “Yeah. Lizzie’s told me stories.”

  “So are you too serious?”

  “About some things. But I know how to have plenty of fun.” My smile is so flirty, there’s no way he can miss it.

  Our guacamole gets whisked away because it’s empty, and soon after, the waiter sets our food down. I take a second to close my eyes and inhale the deep, chocolatey scent of my mole. When I open my eyes, Jeff is staring at me.

  “I want to know more about you,” he says.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  My pulse grinds to a halt. And then I remember what Lizzie said about hearts getting broken.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t get too personal,” I say.

  He leans back in his chair and takes a sip of his soda. “Sex isn’t personal?”

  “You know what I mean. Where do we draw the lines?”


  “I’m trying to get away from rules, not add more. Let’s start with the basics. And when you feel like I’m asking too much, you let me know.”

  “Okay. I can live with that.”

  His phone dings and he glances down.

  “You need to get that?”

  “No. It’s my mom. I’ll call her later.”

  As we sit and enjoy the cool night air coming in from the patio, I look up and catch Jeff watching me. His shy smile makes my face go hot, like it did when I first started crushing on boys. I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed but excited. Jeff is a paradox; comfortable and easy, but butterfly-inducing.

  We make soft conversation until he finally slips his hand into mine and anticipation burns low in my abdomen. It slides upward, making my heart pulse and my breasts tighten. His fingers stroke my open palm, igniting every nerve in my arm. He has sparked a current, and I know he feels it too, because his lips part and his eyes go hazy.

  When our waiter appears to ask if we want dessert, the moment is broken. But at least I get to order chocolate-dipped churros.

  “I’ve never had one of those. Are they good?” Jeff asks.

  “Why didn’t you order something you wanted?”

  He shrugs. “It’s fine.”

  I tap my finger on the table. “You let me order the appetizer, too. Do you do that a lot?”

  “What?”

  “Defer to what your date wants.”

  He frowns. “I thought that was polite. Most stuff isn’t that important to me, so I do what makes the other person happy. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Maybe. But if you had ordered, what would it have been?”

  Jeff twists his lips as he thinks about it. “Fried ice cream.”

  I get our waiter’s attention and order the ice cream. “Now, you’re going to have to eat two desserts.”

  His frown reappears. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  I sit back and consider Jeff, like I’m viewing him under a microscope. His neat appearance, his good manners, and his calm demeanor—they’re not a facade. But they’re not the whole story, either. What would it take to make him bust all the way out of that pretty shell he’s constructed?

  “Next time, be honest about what you want. How else will I learn what you like?”

  He starts to fidget with his fork, twirling it between his fingers. “Fair enough,” he finally says, closing off the subject.

  He likes the churros just fine, but when he eats the ice cream, he makes a “yummy” sound that delights me—on so many levels.

  “So, your parents must be really proud you’re going to med school,” he says when he’s almost done.

  “In my family, it’s like an act of rebellion. They would have been just as proud if I had decided to be a yoga instructor. Maybe even more so. Dad doesn’t believe Western medicine treats the whole person. He thinks it’s a broken system. I don’t totally disagree.” I mentally replay my many long, philosophical conversations with Dad—which were really arguments, but we weren’t allowed to call them that.

  “So why didn’t you become a yoga instructor?”

  He’s not the first person to wonder how my parents ended up with a kid like me. “Because science has structure. It makes sense.”

  He nods. “If anyone understands wanting to push family boundaries, it’s me.”

  “I’m not complaining. My parents have always supported me.”

  “That must be nice.” He looks down at his plate.

  “You don’t think your parents are proud of you?”

  “No, they are. But sometimes it feels like there are conditions on it. Like, I might do something someday that would change how they feel about me.” He looks away. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m getting into all this.”

  Jeff’s body language changes—his back straightens, his shoulders shift. If he could be straightening his tie, he would be, but he’s not wearing one. Obviously, talking about his feelings is not his strong suit. He wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in my family. But I wouldn’t have lasted a minute in his. They would have abandoned me on the curb.

  “You sure that’s not pressure you’re putting on yourself?”

  His eyes dart back to me. “Maybe. It’s important to me to do the right thing, I guess.” He laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “That sounds so boring, doesn’t it?”

  Jeff is struggling with something deeper. An identity crisis, or something. Which is strange, because from where I’m sitting, he’s kind of perfect. He held my arm when I was crossing a busy street, gave money to every homeless person we encountered on our way to the restaurant, and ordered a soda for dinner because he knows I don’t drink. True, he describes the color red as “loud,” and he likes routine. But goddamn, there is a lot to be said for a guy that is consistent.

  Jeff insists on paying the check. He is a little distant and unfocused, so I slip my hand in his as we leave the restaurant.

  “I think we can walk to the movie theater from here,” he says.

  I huddle next to him and pull him closer. “Yeah. But we’re not going to the movie. I want to go to your place.”

  His head spins my direction. I’m happy for once to have no poker face, because he can tell exactly what I’m thinking.

  We’re both quiet on the ride back to his place. But once I get him in the door, I kiss him long and deep.

  “There’s nothing boring about you,” I say as I run my hands in his hair. I pull his sweater over his head, along with his undershirt.

  “You didn’t know me back in Utah.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I was like a robot. Ten-hour work days, polite dinners with a girl I didn’t love but didn’t have the balls to leave. Mom pressuring me to get married.” His laugh is brief and pained. “Or maybe I’m being a whiner. Maybe I should have been more grateful. . . .”

  “There’s a reason you’re here. Go with your gut.”

  “You know what they say. You can’t run away from your problems when the problem is you.”

  “There’s not a single, damn . . .” I kiss his chest, “ . . . thing . . .” I lick his stomach, “ . . . wrong with you.” I’m on my knees now, because I want to be. I know how much it will excite him to stare down at me as I undo his pants, slide them off, and make him crazy. Jeff’s passion is there, but it’s like he’s waiting for permission to unleash it. And I want to be the one to give him that permission.

  So that’s exactly what I do.

  Chapter 12: Jeff

  84 Days Left

  I’m trying to work. Honest to God, I am. But the memory of Sam’s eyes, her mouth, her lips, won’t allow it. The sensation is so real, so strong, shivers race down my legs. This was supposed to be a casual thing. But she has ruined me, and now I think I’m obsessed.

  It’s lust, I remind myself as I head to my fourth meeting of the day. I like her—absolutely. But it’s only physical chemistry. That’s to be expected. It’s like an opposites attract thing.

  I end up working late, and since Sam’s working too, I go home to an empty house and eat dinner in front of the TV.

  I’m not answering my mom’s calls, so she texts me again. She’s more on top of things than Dad, who still refuses to get a cell phone.

  Why did you say no to Mrs. Hill?

  Time to man up and stop running from my mother. Because I didn’t want to go.

  You’re being rude to my friends.

  You haven’t seen her in years. And please stop trying to arrange my social life.

  As I hit send, I get a call from Lizzie. Just what I need; another angry female relation.

  “Yes, dearest sister,” I answer.

  She sighs. “I’m too tired from work to come over, so we’re going to need to do this on the phone.”

  “You’re making it sound like I’m going to the electric chair.”

  “Jeff, she’s my best friend. Why?”

  “You’re the one that told me to meet a nice girl.” Liz
zie goes quiet, and I know I won’t be teasing her out of this mood. “I really like her, Lizzie. But I don’t want to hurt you. If you want us to stop seeing each other, we will.”

  “It’s not about me. I mean, it was at first, because I was freaked out. But now I’m worried about you.”

  I lay back on the couch. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Stop blowing me off. At least one of you is going to get attached. Which means at least one of you is going to get your heart smashed.”

  “We’re keeping it casual.” Sort of. Maybe.

  “You say that now. When I first met Sam at the hospital, I thought she was pushy and loud. But she grows on you, quick. Because I figured something out.”

  “What?”

  “She’s got a gigantic heart. When she loves, she loves fierce.”

  My stomach feels hollow, until I remember that Sam is in this for the same reasons I am. “It’s for a short time, Lizzie. No one’s going to fall in love.” I try to tone down the exasperation in my voice.

  “Look, I’m not going to stop you from doing what you need to do. But it’s annoying that you always think you know best.”

  I smile. “Maybe I do.”

  She sighs, and I know she’s on the other end of the phone, making her “I’m not happy about this” face at me.

  “I won’t stand in your way,” she says.

  “Promise me you’ll tell Sam that.”

  “I’ll do the right thing for Sam. Just make sure you do, too.”

  Lizzie ends the call abruptly, probably needing time to cool off. I’m left wondering when my little sister got old enough to lecture me about relationships. And why I have the niggling feeling I should listen.

  Sam and I are huddled together in a dark theater, creating the illusion we’re alone. We’re not, but there’re only two other couples here, and they’re way up in the front.

  “We finally made it to a movie,” I whisper to Sam as the previews drone on.

  She smiles and kisses me. “I love movies. I used to ride my bike to town and see whatever I could get in to.”

  “We hardly ever went. How come you didn’t go with your parents?”

  “I did sometimes. But they were busy and they tried to make me watch art films.”