2. Shane
“Brothers are always helpingyou out for free; they work pro-bro-no.” ~Anonymous
Amelia is going to owe me so much for this favor.
My head had barely hit the pillow when my phone rang this morning. After working a 48-hour shift as an EMT, I’d been looking forward to some good R and R. Ninety-six hours of sleeping, eating, and thinking in peace is just what my overworked body needs at this point in the week.
And precisely what my sister is now denying me of.
“Come on, Shane,” she begs, her normally bossy tone turning desperate. “It’s just a couple of days. Think of it as a vacation. It’s been a while since you took one of those, right?”
I put my phone on speaker mode as I drag myself to a sitting position. My bare feet hit the carpet as I run a hand down my face. The clock on my bedside table says eight-twenty in the morning, which is at least three hours before I had planned on waking up. “A couple of days is half of my time off. And I wouldn’t call Solvang a prime vacation spot. It’s a tourist trap in the middle of nowhere. And now I have to play chauffeur and tour guide for one of your friends?”
“Yikes, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today! I hope you don’t look as horrible as you sound. You know what you need? A strong dose of caffeine!”
I roll my eyes. Leave it to my sister to give it to me straight. Not that I ever expect Amelia to keep her thoughts to herself. According to my parents, she started talking to me from the moment they told her she was going to be a big sister. I seriously haven’t had a moment of peace since I was in the womb. “There’s only so much adrenaline and caffeine that I can run on, sis. I’ve barely slept in two days. I’ve been kinda busy.”
“Saving lives, I know, I know,” her tone softens. As a nurse, she understands firsthand how much mental and physical energy it takes to work in the medical field. We both make it a point to never wake the other person up if we don’t have to. “I’m sorry for interrupting your sleep and messing up your plans. If I could go today, I totally would. I just don’t think it’d be safe for me to be on the road where I don’t have access to a bathroom.”
I release a heavy breath. “I get it. It’s not like you want to be sick. Are you drinking enough fluids to replace the ones you’re losing?”
“Yes, dear brother, I am.” Her reply has a smile in it. “Thanks for caring about my state of hydration, Shane.”
“Whatever. It’s the EMT in me.”
“I know it’s because I’m your favorite sister.”
“You’re my only sister.”
“But I’m still your favorite.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
“I really appreciate you doing this.” A gagging sound comes over the line. “I’ll text you the details in a bit! Thank you! You’re the best!”
My phone screen goes dark as the call ends, leaving me to get dressed and packed, so I can tackle yet another task that Amelia has assigned to me.
That’s my wonderful big sister for you.
Our mom jokes that because Amelia doesn’t have a boyfriend or a husband to do her so-called honey-do-list, those duties fall to me. Whether it’s unclogging her sink, changing her car’s oil, or capturing a wayward spider, I’m the first one she calls. I don’t mind, most of the time. I don’t have a significant other either, and since we’re the only two Morgans still living in the San Francisco Bay Area—our parents moved to Florida—we watch out for one another. Fortunately for me, Amelia’s an awesome cook, and I stay well fed because of her. I also kind of owe my existence to her; she prayed for a sibling and God gave her me. And despite her occasional bossiness, we get along well. I don’t usually feel grumpy about the favors she asks of me.
Except this time, I do.
My annoyance isn’t all my sister’s fault. Lately, I’ve been feeling trapped by my job. An EMT’s schedule is not the most conducive for a successful social life. And by successful, I mean having opportunities to meet people who’re interested in more than my ability to bandage wounds or splint broken bones. I’ve had several well-meaning patients want to introduce me to their daughter, granddaughter, or niece, but they never stick around long enough to give me any contact information.
Don’t worry, it’s not as tragic as it sounds. It’s just that as soon as I get them stabilized, they’re whisked away by the hospital staff.
Where does that leave me, a twenty-seven-year-old guy whose longest relationship has been with my childhood orthodontist? Other than a set of straight teeth, of course. I’m left spending my days off wandering the aisles of the grocery store or jogging at a park in hopes that I’ll miraculously run into the woman of my dreams who won’t mind foregoing small talk in exchange for meaningful conversation.
Call me old-fashioned, but I’d rather meet someone like how my parents did—in person instead of through a phone screen. I’d been hoping to do that tomorrow—my days off finally coincided with the singles hangout at my church—but now I’ll be spending it babysitting my sister’s friend instead.
Yeah, I’m just a little annoyed by this change in plans.
But I already said yes, so there’s no use in grumbling. I grab a duffel bag and start throwing in some random shirts and shorts that, judging from their smell, should be clean. In my sleep-deprived state, I can’t recall the last time I did laundry. In fact, I can’t recall much more than my own name. It typically takes me a whole day to recover physically and mentally from a shift. Let’s hope whoever Amelia’s friend is will be okay with my current zombie-like state.
As I lock up my apartment and hustle to my sedan, I realize that I don’t even know who I’m picking up from the airport. Other than the fact that she’s one of my sister’s book club friends, I have no identifying information. Not a name or age or even the color of her hair. I suppose I’ll have to wait for Amelia’s text to find out more.
It’s not until two cups of coffee and a hundred and fifty miles later, when I’m parked at a rest stop, that my phone dings. A screenshot of a flight number and arrival time pops up on my screen.
A phone call from my sister soon follows. “Did you get my text? How’s the drive going? Where are you at?”
“I did. It’s going okay. I’m near Cambria, and I got caffeine like you suggested.”
“That’s why you sound a tiny bit more chipper.”
“Ha ha,” I drawl as a yawn escapes my mouth. “How’re you feeling?”
“Tired, but a little less green.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital and get some meds to help with the nausea?”
“That’s exactly what Hope said when I told her I couldn’t make our trip. I’m fine, really. I’m just going to keep downing clear liquids and sleep this off.”
My ears perk up at the mention of a name. “Did you say Hope? Is that who I’m meeting?”
“Yeah, I thought I told you. Sorry, I’m so out of it.”
“No biggie. I figured you just told your friend to keep an eye out for the tall, dark, and handsome man who’d be picking her up.”
A loud cackle comes over the line. “Oh, please. I would never be able to say that with a straight face. Anyway, Hope knows what you look like. It’s been a while since she’s seen you in person, but you haven’t changed that much.”
“Say what?” I feel like I should know who she’s talking about, but the gears in my brain are moving in slow motion. “I’ve met this friend of yours before?”
“Of course! She was over at our house practically every day when we were growing up. She slept over sometimes on the weekends, too. Don’t tell me you don’t remember my best friend in the entire world?”
I shoot up in my seat, and my head nearly hits the roof of the car. The pieces of the puzzle are falling into place, creating the last picture I was expecting. My sister’s best friend? The only person she could be referring to is?—
“Hope O’Connor!” Amelia exclaimed. “I can’t believe you forgot about her!”
“I didn’t forget about Hope.” My calm tone hides the shock that’s swirling inside my gut. That one name conjures up memories of flaming red hair and bright blue eyes that used to glare at me whenever I tormented her—Hope’s words, not mine. In my defense, I was a goofy prepubescent kid with the maturity of a gnat. I thought girls liked it when boys played jokes on them. I had no game at all when it came to the opposite sex then.
Maybe I still don’t.
I look down at my holey sweatpants and faded T-shirt, then glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror. In my rush, I’d forgotten to comb my hair and hadn’t bothered to shave. My dark hair sticks up like an untrimmed hedge and the stubble along my jawline resembles a porcupine’s back. Yikes. Maybe zombie-like wasn’t an exaggeration.
“Would you do me a favor, Shane,” my sister’s voice resounds in my ear again, “and pick up some cookies for Hope? Tell her they’re my ‘I’m sorry I ditched you with my brother’ apology cookies—no offense to you, of course.”
I shake my head and grumble, “Offense completely taken. But yes, I’ll get the cookies.”
“Great, thank you! I’ll pay you back. See if you can find Hope’s favorite. They’re?—”
“Oatmeal raisin.” I’m already doing a search on my phone for a bakery close to the airport. “Either that or chocolate chip with walnuts.”
“Um, yes, but how did you know that? How did you know those are her favorite?”
“You guys used to bake all the time when she came over.”
My answer ends my sister’s interrogation, which is a relief because it’s the only one she’s going to get from me. There’s of course another explanation why I know what Hope’s favorite cookies are, as well as every other detail about her from high school.
The real reason? A guy never forgets his first crush.