16. “The Promise”
Chapter 16
“The Promise”
Sascha - Age 18, 1988
M y sleep was fitful at best. My body was restless after consuming both a belly full of casserole and Michael Tazman’s secrets. I tossed and turned for hours, unable to shake off the images of what he was packing under his hockey uniform. That’s not something I’ll be forgetting anytime soon.
What a damn day.
I give up trying to sleep at the ungodly hour of 7:00 am, which is way too early for a lazy Sunday morning. After begrudgingly throwing on a baggy sweatshirt, I stumble downstairs to hear voices and the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
I’m not surprised by the noise; my parents have always been early risers. But what greets me in the kitchen leaves me stunned. It’s not just my parents sitting around the table, sipping their steaming cups of coffee and discussing their plans for the day.
It’s my parents, perched on stools at the counter, leaning in eagerly and giggling like school kids as Michael regales them with tales of epic hockey games from his past and expertly flips scrambled eggs in a pan.
I stand frozen in the entryway, my jaw practically touching the floor as I take in this unexpected scene. Finally, Michael turns and acknowledges me with a warm smile. “Good morning, Sascha,” he says sweetly. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Okay, what is this? What’s happening here?” I demand, my eyebrows raised in disbelief. Michael can’t possibly be cooking.
He shrugs, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Just making breakfast.”
“You cook?” I blurt out.
“I do,” he confirms with a proud smile as he scoops scrambled eggs onto two plates for my parents. Meanwhile, the toaster dings, signaling that the toast is ready. “My grandmother taught me everything I know,” he adds fondly, his eyes glimmering with memories.
I can’t help but smile as I watch him from across the room, his eyes shining with adoration as he talks about her. It’s clear that she holds a special place in his heart, and the fact that she taught him to cook adds to the significance of their relationship. He’s even sharing his skill with my parents, and I can’t help but feel touched by his gesture.
Despite all of this, I know I can’t let him see how much it means to me. He may be acting differently now, but we both know he still runs with the beautiful, popular people, most of whom don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves. I can’t forget how they’ve treated people like myself and my friends in the past.
There are exceptions, like Landry, who has always been cool, and Corey, who isn’t so bad. But for the most part, the rest of them are just plain assholes. And don’t get me started on the girls they associate themselves with—some of the worst people on the planet.
They haven’t made life easy on Ivy. And with that one simple thought, my frosty exterior returns instantly like a protective shield against Michael’s presence. Good. This feels much more comfortable.
I casually brush past him and pour the last cup of coffee from the pot, adding a splash of milk before retreating to my spot at the edge of the kitchen. I might need a quick getaway from this crazy situation.
My mother’s voice breaks the silence. “So, what are your plans for today, Bug?”
“Yeah, Bug,” Michael says, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully and attempting to stifle a laugh. “What are you doing today?”
I narrow my eyes at him and hold my stare while I answer my mom’s question. “Not much. I slept poorly last night, so I thought I’d chill out today.”
“That sounds nice,” she replies. “What about you, Michael?”
“I thought I’d go visit my grandmother,” he says. Good. He’ll be gone today and I can relax in peace.
“I don’t want you driving that far by yourself yet,” Dad says. “Just the short drive here yesterday made me nervous. You took a fairly substantial hit to the head, kid.”
“I’ll be fine,” he says reassuringly.
“Still, I’d feel better if you didn’t drive.”
Damn. There goes my peace. And it’s about to get worse.
“I have an idea,” Dad says. “Sash, since you’re not doing anything. Why don’t you drive Michael to see his grandma.”
Traitor!
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Dad,” I say. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt their family time.”
“I’d sure feel better about the whole thing,” Dad says.
Keep talking, old man. You’re going to be in the room next to Gram.
I sigh, looking to Michael to get me out of this. But there he sits, with a shit-eating grin etched across his stupid, handsome face.
“I think it’s a great idea,” he says. “We can play games, and maybe you can knit something with Gram.” Apparently, this man thinks I’m one of the Golden Girls .
But I do like old people. They don’t have time for bullshit, so they tend to be straight shooters. I respect it. And Michael’s grandmother was always so sweet, from what I can remember. So, I choose to focus on that part of the equation, not the part where I’m stuck with Michael all day.
“Fine. I’ll get dressed,” I say, which earns me two appreciative smiles from my parents. Now I feel bad about inwardly threatening to put them in an old folks home. “What time should I be ready?”
“We don’t have to go over until around ten,” he replies. “That’s usually when she’s expecting me.”
“I’ll see you then,” I say, grabbing my coffee and heading to my room. If I’m spending another day with Michael, I’m going to need more sleep.
“Hurry up!” I yell, leaning half out of my car. Michael comes strolling out of the house, holding his t-shirt rather than wearing it and pops into my car like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Getting in the car before you become unglued.”
“Do you ever bother to wear clothes?” I ask, looking him up and down and trying not to stop to count his abs. There are at least six. Maybe eight. How is that possible?
“Why? You like what you see?” he says with a smirk.
“Not really,” I say as I reverse out of my driveway.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he replies snarkily before carefully pulling on his shirt and snapping his seat belt.
“What are you blathering on about?”
“You’re the one who stole my towel last night and then ogled me like a piece of meat,” he says. “I feel objectified.”
“First of all, you’re delusional. Secondly, I’ve never seen anyone appreciate the attention of women more than you do.”
“Not all women,” he says with a smile.
“Whatever,” I scoff. “Where is this place again?”
“It’s Rose Meadows,” he replies, his tone suddenly laced with sadness. “On the south end of town. But can we make a stop first?”
“Where?” I ask, unable to keep the exacerbation out of my voice.
“Carlisle’s Bakery. It’s Gram’s favorite, and I like to pick up fresh donuts and muffins on Sundays.”
I can’t help the sideways smile that breaks across my face.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I say with a shake of my head.
I nod, and we don’t speak again until we pull into the parking lot at Rose Meadows. I turn off the engine but Michael doesn’t make a move to exit the car. He turns to me—his tone unusually serious. “Listen,” he says. “Please don’t say anything about what happened with my brother. I don’t want her to worry.”
“Of course,” I reply. “What about your injuries?”
“Perks of being a hockey player,” he responds.
“Do you want me to stay in the car?”
“No. I want you to come in and meet the coolest woman in the world.”
Everyone in the building lights up when we walk in. All of the women, young and old, residents and employees, stop what they’re doing to greet him. And, of course, he eats it up. The man flirts with everyone, but it’s harmless and makes everyone’s day.
Everyone is particularly interested in me. Evidently, he’s never brought anyone in here before and it’s the most exciting news to hit the hallways in years.
As we go to his grandmother’s room, I can understand why he wants her moved. The place isn’t bad—it’s just… sad. Residents are sleeping in wheelchairs in the hallways, and people are calling out for help.
It’s easy to accept why he’s been working so hard to save money to move her, but what his brother did hurts me again.
We enter the room where Michael’s grandmother spends her golden years. It’s a nice space, small but inviting. In one corner of the room sits a hospital bed with comfortable-looking blankets. In the other, a lazy boy chair and a small television set.
The television is off, but there’s a small radio on. Michael’s grandmother is listening to a baseball game and knitting what looks like a throw blanket.
She’s an adorably small woman with thinning gray hair. Her hands shake as she moves the needles. As soon as she sees Michael, her entire face lights up. She struggles to stand when he approaches.
“Gram, don’t get up.”
“Nonsense, darling,” she says as she works to stand. He hugs her sweetly, and she disappears inside his large frame. It's adorable and possibly the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.
He releases her. “Sit, Gram,” he says, showing her the pink bakery box. “I brought your favorite.”
“That’s lovely,” she says before peeking around him and spotting me. “Well, now, who is your beautiful friend?”
“Gram, this is Sascha. We actually went to kindergarten together.”
“I think I remember. You two were like two peas in a pod,” she says.
“It’s so nice to see you again, Mrs. Tazman.”
“Oh, call me Ida,” she says sweetly.
Michael places some pastries on paper plates, and we eat while chatting about our week. I mostly listen.
“Did you get into a fight on the ice?” she asks, looking over his bruised face.
“Something like that,” he says with a sly smile. She tisks and shakes her head slightly. I like Grandma Ida. She is kind of a hard ass.
“How long have you been dating?” she asks, gesturing between Michael and myself. I nearly choke on a chunk of blueberry muffin.
“We aren’t dating,” I say before he can answer. “We’re friends.” Not even that, but I’m not going to trouble this poor woman with the ridiculous retelling of my relationship with her grandson.
“Hhm,” she says as if she doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t push it.
She proceeds to beat him at two games of cribbage as I sit quietly and sketch in the corner. My left-hand moves freely as I sketch, and although I didn’t have a plan going into it, I ended up sketching the cribbage board and Michael and his grandmother’s hands.
I’m momentarily jumbled and confused. On the one hand, we have Micheal Tazman, or Taz, if you will. He’s a cocky hockey player not known for being aware of anyone’s feelings.
But then there’s this man. He’s a doting grandson, and he’s so kind and sweet with her. It’s a different side of him that I never even knew existed. It turns out he doesn’t fit as neatly into the dickhead box as I originally thought. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
When we leave, she hugs Michael and then embraces me. “He’s been through a lot in his young life, Sascha. Don’t give up on him.”
“It’s not like that,” I reply with a quick shake of my head.
She tilts her head and offers me a look that says she doesn’t believe me. “Isn’t it?”
I try to look away from her all-knowing gaze but can’t. Instead, I attempt to blink away the truth. Ida pats the back of my hand.
“Ready to go, Sascha?” Taz looks at me with the same earnest gaze Gram did.
“Yup,” I swallow roughly and lightly squeeze Gram’s hand goodbye.