No Family of Mine: Part Two

A short-story about a woman who is invited on her boyfriend's family trip. He is ready to take their relationship to the next level, but she is not.

I stare at my sister’s contact information for six minutes before I work up the courage to call her. Part of me was hoping Chase would call back. Or the receptionist would run in and tell me there was an additional room on the property, but I’ve been waiting for nearly 40 minutes, and no one has come to my rescue.

I press call and place the phone to my ear. I can hardly differentiate the ringtone from my heartbeat.

Just be chill.

“Hello,” my sister answers after two rings.

“Hel-, he-, hiiii, baby girl!” I say as I palm my forehead—I am repulsed.

“This is Francesca…” She says uncomfortably after a short pause.

“No, I know. It’s just- you startled me.”

“You called me,” Francesca says perplexed.

“What are you up to?” I blurt out.

“I’m catching up on Vanderpump Rules while I help Lily make a fruit salad for her culinary arts class tomorrow. How are you?”

“Lily is in culinary arts class? She’s five…”

“Her school is very progressive. And she’s the only five-year-old in a class of seven-year-olds—she’s very progressive. Plus, we binged The Bear over summer break, and she wants to be just like Chef Sydney.”

“Um, okay… Tell her auntie misses her! Anyway, I’m great. We just made it to Lake Tahoe. It’s… great.”

“Great. What’s so great about it?” Francesca asks, clearly more interested in her show.

“Well, I will have to find a new place to stay because the hotel is fully booked, so not that part. Ha. But I did have a great blue spirulina smoothie for lun-”

“Wait, you and Chase have to find a new hotel? I thought this trip was planned months ago.” She says as the audio of the show pauses.

At this moment, I debated telling her that Chase essentially left me to coddle his cousins.

“Um, well, Chase is going to stay here with his cousins for the night, and I haven’t gotten a chance to tell him that I’m hotel-less yet because they’re all catching up.” As soon as the words leave my mouth I know Francesca is about to clock me.

“Where are you?” She says trying to remain calm.

“I’m in the hotel lobby bathroom, but I would’ve told him I just don’t have a key to get upst-”

“Your man deserted you… Is that what you’re saying?” She asks less calmly.

“When you say it like that, it negates that it was an honest mistake. No one here is at fau-”

“Are you effing joshing me?” She says with more attitude.

“Ha. Well, no, but it isn’t as bad as it sou—”

“He surprised you with Chris Ruth’s Steakhouse for your birthday. You’ve been vegan since you were 13. He showed up 30 minutes late to Grandma’s funeral because he “forgot” to charge his Tesla the night before. Now, he’s abandoned you in a city you’ve never been to. He has the worst manners I have ever seen in a suitor. He would literally forget you at a gas station while you’re in the bathroom in the middle of a road trip!” She lectures.

“First of all, he would never do that—I would never go on a road trip. Secondly, I know how bad this sounds. I don’t even want to speak to him right now. I feel achy, I’m tired, I have jetlag, and I just want to be comfortable!” I yell back.

“I just booked you a stay at the Ritz for the rest of your time in Lake Tahoe. I’ll let 17% of my anger go because this stay got us enough points to cover our Turks and Caicos trip. Scilla, I know he’s a kind person, but I also know he kind of sucks, and I don’t like his vibe.”

Maybe Fran is right. Maybe he does suck. Why am I even defending someone who didn’t make sure I was safely tucked in bed after a long day of aches and travel? Maybe he does have bad manners. Is this a bad omen? My brain is running a mile a minute, and I feel so many feelings, but the most prominent one is embarrassment.

---

Twenty minutes later, I am in a robe at the Ritz, feeling at peace. I catch myself romanticizing the next four days here, all by myself, drinking green juice by the pool after sunrise yoga.

This could be good for me. I’m supposed to send the first draft of my poetry book to my editor in two weeks, but I’ve been dealing with writer’s block for four.

Honestly, there’s no harm in making my daydream a reality. I change into a flowy dress, grab my room key, pen, notebook, and blue light glasses (solely for fashion), and head to the dining area.

The dining area is a two-story room made of high ceilings, large windows, and oak wood walls with one large brick pillar in the center of the space and three large chandeliers hanging down. I sit in a small wooden booth on the second floor, directly in front of a window where the sun is setting.

I stare at the mountains for a few minutes. Nature has been a source of tranquility for me. The longer I stare, the more I see the mountains breathing, the trees waving at me, and hear the birds singing. It’s almost like they’re saying “Welcome, Priscilla.” I’m also starting to hear light background music—528 hertz if I had to guess.

I feel like I’m in a trance. I might even be astro-projecting. Maybe I was supposed to end up in this exact spot at this exact time. I haven’t felt this type of alignment in at least a year or two. Maybe all of my answers lie at this very table.

“Ma’am,” says a strange voice.

I squint my eyes at the bird flying in the same spot directly in front of me for the past two minutes.

“Ma’am,” I hear again.

I pull my glasses onto my forehead, “Hello?” I say puzzled at the bird.

“Ma’am, this was sent to you.” The voice says again.

I look to my right and see a waiter holding a green drink that appears to be for me. I pause for a good eight seconds.

“You said it was sent to me?” I ask.

“Yes, by that gentleman right over there.” The waiter says and points to the left.

I see a man, possibly in his early to mid-thirties, wearing a white t-shirt that lightly grips his biceps and a Knicks hat on backward. I smile and wave at him, he winks and tips his drink in my direction.

“This is our Green Levine. It’s a fresh-pressed juice made from kale, kiwi, green apple, and blueberries. It’s one of our most refreshing drinks.” The waiter says.

“Thank you so much,” I say surprised.

I look back at the man to mouth ‘thank you’, but he’s gone. I take a sip of the juice.

Gahdammit, that’s good.

I open my notebook hoping some words will flow out of me until I hear

“Hi.”

I look up and it’s the man who sent me the drink.

“Oh, hi. Thank you for the Green Levine, this is so good.” I say trying to hide the fact that I’m shocked he’s approached me.

“I saw you walk in with a notebook. I assumed you might have some work to do and blueberries always help me.” He says with a very smooth, deep voice.

“I love blueberries.” The only words I can muster up because I am at a loss. It’s rare for people to be generally kind, let alone to strangers.

He chuckles, “I’m Jaxon.”

“I’m Priscilla.”

We analyze each other for a sound 10 seconds before I say “Would you like to have a seat?”

“Sure, I won’t take up too much of your time. You just seem like someone with a lot of depth and I had to say hello.” Jaxon says sincerely.

I can’t help but smile.

“I’m writing a book of poems, but it seems I’ve got a mild case of writer’s block.” I volunteer.

“And you never can tell just how close you are,

it may be near when it seems so far.” He says.

“So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit,

It’s when things seem worse that you must not quit.” I respond.

We stare at each other without saying anything for a lengthy moment. It feels like my connection to nature has extended to this random, charming being.

“You know Whittier?” I ask stunned.

“As a fellow poet, I kind of have to,” he responds.

“What? You write too?” I ask even more astonished.

“I do. Unfortunately, I haven’t really felt connected to my work until recently.”

I am clasping my lips so my jaw doesn't hit the ground. “That’s amazing…… Not that you felt disconnected from your work.” I chuckle to shield my embarrassment. Why do I feel like I’m drooling all over again?

“Yeah, being here, in nature, has helped a lot with that.”

“I haven’t met many poets… ever. What’s your favorite piece you’ve written?”

“At a certain point, it was probably a piece I wrote named The Triad of a Modern Woman.” He responds.

Why does that sound so familiar? I look back at the mountains searching for the answer as to why I’ve heard this title before. Until I find it.

“Wait, are you Jay Walsh?” I am re-stunned.

“Wait, you’ve read The Triad of the Modern Woman? That piece is deep, deep, deep in the archive.”

“What?” I blurt out.

“What?” He chuckles.

“It’s very rare for a man to encapsulate what it’s like to be a woman in the modern age. You’re one of the very few who’ve successfully done it. Of course, I’ve read that piece,” I’m shook.

“How have I never seen you before?” My jaw has officially [slightly] dropped.

He chuckles, “I don’t believe in being a public figure—as a writer—for myself. I don’t do photoshoots or interviews. I love writing and I want to maintain a connection to it as best as I can.”

I am too stunned to speak.

“Is this your first one?” He asks.

“No, it’ll be my third.”

“Really? I would love to read your work if you don’t mind.” He says supportively.

“Yeah, of course. Echoes of the Family Tree and More Surface are available in bookstores or Amazon.”

“Wait, you’re Priscilla Blank?” He asks shocked.

His surprise surprises me, but I am flattered, nonetheless.

“Yes...”

“I was a guest speaker for Columbia’s Advanced Literature Master’s Program and I used your poem Matters of the Family as my main reference for the lecture. I think that is the best piece of literature I’ve read in years.” He boasts.

“Whoa. Thank you so much, that means a lot. I’ve never really met anyone in the wild who reads my work.” I somehow manage to say even though my state of speechlessness has returned.

“I take it you don’t care to be a public figure either.” He says, but his eyes are saying something else.

“I’m open, just new to the game,” I respond, but my eyes are speaking a different language too.

For the next few moments we are communicating strictly through eye contact, it’s not awkward nor is it silent. It is pure stillness, a second dose of tranquility. I feel seen—for the first time in a long time.

BEEEEEEEEEEEP.

We both get jolted back into the present and Jaxon quickly grabs his phone from his pocket.

“That’s my alarm. I have to start heading to the airport. I have a red eye back to New York. It was great to meet you. I’d love to talk again if you’re cool with that.” He says warmly.

“Yeah, I would be happy to. I live in New York, too. Maybe we could grab a Green Levine, but the East Coast version sometime.” I joke.

He chuckles and uses my pen and paper to write his phone number down.

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be around.” He says with a smirk.

There’s a long, silent pause. The only truly awkward moment we’ve experienced. I reach to shake his hand, and he reciprocates.

“I’ll hit you when I’m back on the East Coast. It was really great to meet you.” I say with a grin.

“My pleasure. I’ll see you soon, Priscilla.” He says still shaking my hand. He holds on for another moment before he leaves.

Whoa.

I look back out the window and the sun has completely set. I don’t know how much time has passed, but I am inspired. I down my Green Levine and knock out three new poems in what feels like 30 minutes. I go to check my phone and realize I don’t have it.

Must be in my room.

I float back to my room on cloud nine. I feel accomplished, stimulated, and validated. I call room service and order a vegan Caesar salad with a rice and black bean burrito. I take a warm shower before my room service arrives, change back into my robe, and turn on LaLa Land. Habitually, I grab my phone to go on TikTok, and then I see it.

Three missed calls and four text messages from Chase, one phone call from each of his family members, one phone call from my parents, and a text from Francesca. The latest text is from Chase:

PLEASE let me know that you’re safe. I’M SORRY.😣