Page 69 of A Love Letter to Whiske
“Yeah. Isn’t the bride doing some big trip?”
I nodded as the elevator hit the bottom floor, and we stepped out into the lobby of our office building, both of us tugging our coats on as we walked into the crisp spring air. “She and her girls are flying to New Orleans for a bachelorette bash. We’ll see if she shows up to the wedding with beads still around her neck.”
River smirked, tucking his hands into his pockets. For a few moments we just walked in silence, enjoying the sounds of the city as the sun set behind the buildings. It was mid-March and chilly, but I loved it. Thinking back to the sweltering months in Florida and how we hardly had a winter, I didn’t really mind that the cold liked to hang around Pittsburgh for a good portion of the year. I liked the dry, fresh feel of the air. It was promising.
“Just try not to think too much about work this weekend, okay?” River said as we reached my apartment building. “Relax, have some fun, and if it gets to be too much, you can call me.”
“Okay.” I hugged him quickly, planting a kiss on his cheek before ducking into my building. “Have a good weekend, Riv.”
“I mean it, you can call me,” he said again as I let the door swing closed behind me. I turned with a smile and waved one last time. River’s blonde hair was mussed in the cool wind, and in his light gray pea coat, he looked straight out of a men’s fashion magazine. I chewed my lip as I stepped into my elevator, wondering if spending the night with him would be such a bad thing after all. But I really did need to pack, and more than that, I needed to face my thoughts.
I’d been spending so much time avoiding, thinking that would make it all go away, but the truth was I would be on a plane the next day and then I’d be there — in South Florida — with Jamie. With his fiancé.
It was time to really think about how I felt about that.
I packed slowly, blasting the latest album from a local indie band River had introduced me to. I contemplated pouring up a glass of wine, but decided I’d rather have a clear head that night. So, I made a root beer float, instead. It reminded me of my dad a little, because it used to be his favorite dessert, but it was one of the comforting memories I had of my dad. Sometimes when I thought of him I felt pain, sometimes I felt a warm sort of sadness — and a root beer float brought me that second kind of feeling.
Once my bag was packed for the weekend and my outfit for the next day laid out, I stripped off my clothes, tied my hair up on my head, and sank down into the scalding water of a bubble bath.
I was on my second float now, and I scooped out a bite of vanilla ice cream as the bubbles piled higher around me, counting the freckles on my thighs as they disappeared under the foam. I hummed along to the lyrics of the music still pouring in from my bedroom speaker, and once the tub was full and my float was gone, I sat my glass on the ground beside the tub and slid down farther.
My toes played with the faucet, letting in little drops of water as my thoughts finally started to soak in along with the hot water.
Jamie was getting married.
I took a deep, cleansing breath, closing my eyes for a moment before blinking them open again.
It hurt. That was the first thing I realized — the first thing I admitted. Knowing Jamie was marrying another woman hurt. It was a regretful sort of pain, a twisting knot ofwhat ifmixed with the notion that it didn’t matter. It wasn’t just that he was marrying another woman, it was that he loved her. I’d never loved another man in my life, not even Ethan. It was only Jamie.
So it hurt.
I was going to miss him. That was the second thought that had sunk in. I knew his fiancé had put up with me this past year and a half, but I also could tell by the tone of her voice that she wasn’t my biggest fan. Once they were married, I knew she’d pressure him more and more to distance himself from me. Hell, she was more understanding than I think I would be in her position. I wanted to hate her for being suspicious of me, but the truth was she should have been — and I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t want Jamie being as close with me as he was.
The last thing that sank in was the most surprising, and I sat up a little straighter in the tub as it hit me.
I was happy for him.
It hurt, I was going to miss him, but he was happy — really, really happy — and that made me happy, too. I had always been selfish when it came to Jamie. I wanted him even when I couldn’t have him, when Icouldhave him but wasn’t ready to. But now, because I still loved him, I was going to put his happiness before mine. I was going to deal with the pain, if only for just that weekend, because he needed me to.
He was my best friend.
I wasn’t sure if that would ever change. I was scared it would, I felt that gnawing possibility deep in my core.
Without even thinking, I reached for my phone, toweling off my hands before finding Jamie’s name and tapping out a message.
— I’m scared, Jamie… —
I stared at the screen with the blinking curser, waiting for me to finish the text. My chest felt thick, my breath hard to find, and before I did something stupid, I hit the backspace until the screen was blank again and dropped my phone back to the floor.
“It’ll be okay,” I whispered to myself, closing my eyes and resting my head against the back of the tub.
That night, I didn’t sleep. I tossed and turned, mind racing with strange, fleeting dreams of Jamie and me. Finally, around four in the morning, I gave up trying to rest and turned on The Piano Guys, letting myself drown in everything Jamie. I let the memories wash in, forgot to breathe for a while, and reveled in the crushing weight of it all.
Thinking back on it now, I loved the way it felt that night. My heart was broken — completely, utterly shattered — and I liked the way that pain felt. It reminded me I was alive, filled me with hope that what we had was real — even if it had technically never truly existed. Jamie was never officially mine, but I had always been his — ever since the first taste.
Losing him hurt like hell, but in the end I still smiled, because at least I’d got to have him.
One more weekend with Whiskey, and then I’d have to let him go.
