scarred.

{10} promise.

{10}

T E N | P RO M I S E 

There are three things I had learned about wealthy people in distress after only one hour of talking to Anette.

1. When in pain, drown out your emotions with buying

things you don’t need.

2. There is no such thing as overspending.

3. It’s best to avoid situations that make you express your

true and deep feelings about a conflict of some sort.

Then again, perhaps it was just the Maddox family consisting of a mother and daughter that acted like this.

            “Markus, can’t we stop for ice cream?” There was a pinch of whininess in Anette’s otherwise calm and humble voice as she talked to Markus, who was driving the luxurious car we were in. She rested her chin on the right shoulder of the leather driver’s seat, waiting for a response.

            Markus didn’t show a sign of annoyance as he replied, “Of course, Anette. Anything you want, sweetheart.”

            “Yes!” She exclaimed, “You’re the best, Markus!” She looked back at me after she said this, searching my face for a response.

            I smiled at her, trying to be warm. Under my white long sleeves, the skin on my forearms itched and tingled.

            No. No. I’m happy. I’m fine. I don’t need to cut. I don’t. I don’t.

            “What’s wrong, Jill?” Anette asked me, placing her hand on top of mine and furrowing her brows. Either she was a great actor or she was truly a person who cared about others, because I can assure you she had mastered the art of facial expressions to its fullest extent.

            “I—I’m fine, Anette.” I told her, “I’m just totally in the mood for some ice cream.” I added with a smile.

            With this, Anette’s face lightened up as she smiled showing her teeth. I realized then, how easy it was to make Anette happy. Here was a girl with a body that was slowly dying and she knew it deep in her mind that her chances of surviving this were slim. Yet, she never stopped smiling. And I didn’t even remember how to properly smile.

            “I never liked Vanilla as a kid,” Anette explained as we sat outside the ice cream shop, focused on devouring our scoops of ice cream as they sat perfectly on waffle cones.

            “But it’s so simple and nice. I like simple things. They’re just so… not… sophisticated.” I replied.

            She chuckled, “But that’s no fun, Jill. I like different things. Different flavors. Like bubblegum or rainbow sherbert!”

            I shrugged softly, “You’re quite interesting, you know.”

            Anette looked at me in reply with a look of admiration. She didn’t say anything, just sort of examined my face. Getting used to it, I suppose. Trying to make it seem like I had the familiarity of an actual sister.

            “So,” I started, feeling the summer breeze wiggle through my hair, “How’s Mom like?”

            “Mom?” She looked down at the ground for a few seconds, as if she had forgotten all about her mother all at once, “She’s doing okay.”

            I never asked how she was doing.

            “Okay?” I repeated, slowly.

            “She’s been different, but I mean, that’s okay. Dr. Peterson said it was normal, that she was supposed to change a little. He said it was okay. So it’s okay. She’s okay.”

            “Okay.”

            She locked eyes with me again, a hint of a smile on her ice-cream tinted lips.

            “You’ll like her, Jill. I’m sure she’ll like you.” She assured me.

            I took a bite of the cool waffle cone and chewed it as I told her, “And how does Mom look like?”

            Anette paused shortly, looking down at the ground again, and then up at the sky. Nostalgia shifted onto her deep eyes as she smiled faintly.

            “Mom used to be the most beautiful person I ever saw.”

            “I’m sure she’s still beautiful.” I kept looking at Anette, trying to decipher what had exactly happened to her mom.

            “Not like how she was before.” Anette shook her head softly, no longer smiling.

            “Wrinkles aren’t—,”

            She interrupted, “It’s because of me.”

            Silence clouded the air around us like a dense fog. I didn’t know what to say, and Anette knew that very well.

            “I don’t mean it—I really don’t.” She said, her voice growing tense and upset.

            “Mean what?” I remained calm as I waited for an answer. I knew that if I reflected her sadness, she’d sink deeper into her negative feelings without even knowing.  If I remained calm, she’d try to mirror me and stop getting upset. It was something I’d learned from my years at St. Joseph’s—if you mix two sad people, you only get more sadness. But mix two people, happy and sad, and you usually end up with happiness. Usually.

            “I don’t mean it—” Anette repeated, this time her chin softening and her lip trembling, “I don’t mean to make everyone feel horrible about me. I can feel horrible for myself. I don’t need other people. I hate pity so much.”

             Slowly, I placed my hand on hers and felt the soft trembles in her arm.

            “No,” She pulled away. “No pity.” Sniffling once more, she wiped her eyes of any stray tears with the sleeves of her sweater.

            “No pity.” I repeated for her with a smile.

            “Promise?” She held out her hand, her pinky sticking up, “Pinky promise?”

I held up my hand across from hers as we pinky promised.

She tried to smile, and so did I.