The Promises I'll Keep

Chapter 1

All I want is silence when I come home. So I can drown in emo angst and throw my phone against the wall without getting worried looks from my dad. The world, realizing that I've been through a lot and just need to wind down, gives the verdict on my latest wish. It's a big fat no.

Guess you can't argue with tradition.

My dad is sitting on the couch when I walk in, sweet talking Bella, my six year adopted sister. She smiles and does that whole helicopter thing with her mouth. He turns and looks at me, not realizing that I'm not in the mood for a parental interrogation.

"Hillary, you're home early," he says carefully. As if one wrong move can turn me explosive. In the mood I'm in, I'm probably a volcano about to erupt.

"Oh, you know. Someone spilled ketchup on their dress and when the Fashion Police arrived, everyone was forced to evacuate the area as to make sure the crime scene was untouched." I shrug, hoping to emphasize my point.

"Oh, Hillary," dad sighs. I can spot the lecture from a mile away. Which is where I need to be right now. Forget teenage angst, I need to vent. A whole lot.

"I'll be at Nina's house," I tell him, heading for the door. His whole body sags in relief and I roll my eyes before bounding out of there.

Nina is right next door. She's the only real mother I've ever had. If only my father had remarried to her. Too bad that could never happen because Nina is WAY out of his league (what? It's true!) and she's already happily married to Mark. The door to Nina's house swings open before I even touch it. I don't bother asking how. She has her ways.

"It's my favorite person still experiencing hormones and too many mood swings fit for the human body to handle!" Nina is like joy and sugar had a baby who got adopted by Santa Claus.

"Ummm, nowadays they call them normal teenagers," I point out, already stepping into her house.

"Yada, yada! Enough with the small talk. Tell me everything!" She's practically salivating at the mouth. Was there something I missed? My confused expression must have shown because Nina kept right on talking.

"About the dance! Did you meet any guys? Wait, no guys. I don't think your mother would approve."

I roll my eyes. "Nina, it's a mother daughter dance. The only guy there was the one making sure you had bought a ticket. And I'm sure to the day he dies, he'll have nightmares." The whole dance seems like a big joke. I don't know why I was so worried. My mom's broken promises before. This time's not any different. I sink into the sea of pillows about to tell her about the dance (Deluxe Edition, with hashtags and everything).

My phone buzzes violently and I skim over it quickly. Basically I need to get going. Now.

"See ya, Nina. I need to get going." The couch shakes as I jump off and I sprint off to my house. I can already hear arguing. My mother can argue about anything and everything. Paint, calories, books, the theoretical nicknames of dead philosophers, you name it. I think it's the lawyer in her. I burst into the house, putting on an equally dramatic smile.

"Oh, good, you're home. We were so worried that you had gotten yourself hurt, or worse, crocodiles!" Does she ever hear herself? I think, fighting a smile.

"Mom, we live in the suburbs."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it," she warns, as if this is a scenario where that's applicable. Her hair is tied into a perfect knot and her makeup looks flawless. Wow, mom, I can practically see the worry just seeping from your pores.

"So you're probably wondering why I couldn't make it for the banquet thing, right?"

Now, how to respond...
"It, uh, vaguely crossed my mind."

"Yes, Caren, tell us," my dad says in a very angry tone that he'll never be able to pull off. My dad has one of those smiling eyes everyone gets worked up about.

"Well, you know how I'm going to be living in Rome for a few, just for a change in scenery, correct?" Her smile is off the charts cheery. What does she have up her perfectly tailored sleeve?

"Wrong. So, soooooo wrong." The path to the fridge is blocked off and I wonder if this is my mom's plan. To cut me off from food until I forgive whatever reason she comes up with.

Well, it won't work. I'm have a strong will. A strong....but hungry will.

"Yes, well I am. So I was searching for a gift to give you." Her cheeriness increases, if that's even possible.

"Having you at the banquet would have been gift enough," I say. It's true. But now it's too late. The only thing that will crack my shell would be a diamond. A really big diamond. Or a ruby? Yeah, definitely something red. It's the color of anger, right?

"Well I got you something even better!" My mom doesn't sound like a lawyer.

She sounds like someone trying to push a sales pitch. And I am not buying it. There's a pause, like its supposed to be suspenseful when really it's just plain stupid.

Obviously someone needs to hurry this up. "And that is..."

"A diary!" She pulls out a leather journal with the words The Promises I'll Keep designed on them in whites, greens, and purples. My least favorite colors.

Well, now they are.

Taking it into my hands, I can barely hear the gushing going on.

"What is this?" The words come out hasher than I meant them to. What does she expect, talking about promises like she knows what they are?

"You can write down all your promises, Hillary. I bought it a while ago but it hasn't worked for me," she trails off with a bitter laugh. "Hopefully, it'll work for you."

I don't say anything. The book is a disappointment of epic proportions. If I speak, I'm afraid I'll yell. She missed the banquet for a journal. A freakjng journal. And she actually expects me to be pleased. Tears burn at my eyes and I will them to disappear.

"I should get to bed. It's late." I walk up the stairs feeling my mother's eyes on me. When I hit the landing, I squeeze my eyes shut until I feel about to burst. Be happy, Hillary. That's what they want you to be.

1. I promise not to expect too much from people. Because it ends in disappointment and soon your disappointment disappoints them. It's a domino effect. And I promise I won't be a part of it anymore.

Let's just say, it's a promise I'm inclined to keep.
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"I'll get you that toy, promise. All you need to do is stop making a scene. Be a good girl for mommy, okay?" Mom begged, embarrassed. The cart was stocked with school supplies but I didn't want any of it.

"You promise?"

"I said it, didn't I?" She stopped blushing and her game face was on.
"Okay! Can I go get it now? Please! Please! Please!"

"Later, okay," she replied, pushing the cart out of the store.

"But we didn't get the toy, mommy! You promised!"

"And I also promised my boss I'd have the defense for my case written up. So we can't spend any more time at the store, hon. I need to finish it. After all, that's a pretty important promise, don't you think?"

But she had promised me that toy for weeks! After a few moments, I nodded.
"Okay."

I learned from my mother that day that some promises are important and the others don't matter.

I believed her.
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