Page 114 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
I looked away, toward the window, where the city was cast in an orange glow with the setting sun. I couldn’t answer that question without lying to him, so I changed the subject.
“Why are you here?”
Jamie followed my gaze, and we both looked out the window together. It felt like an eternity passed, like we watched the sun set and rise again before he spoke.
“It’s been a long year.”
His voice echoed in my empty apartment, gravelly and low.
I simply nodded.
“I had a lot of time to think about everything you said, and it killed me that I left the way I did without saying everything I wanted to say to you.”
I closed my eyes, sucking my lips between my teeth and bracing myself. I wasn’t ready to hear more from him, I wasn’t prepared emotionally to do whatever it was he was about to ask me. But he wasn’t there to ask for anything, he was there to end it. And in a way, that was worse.
“I want to stop hurting you,” he started, and I opened my eyes then, catching his. “I never meant to, and I guess I can’t really prove that, but I never meant to play all the games. I never wanted to hurt…” He swallowed, clearing the thickness from his throat with a small shake of his head. His eyes were on his feet then. “I want you to know that I love you, in every sense of the word.” My heart fell to my feet and my hand clutched at the fabric of my sweater, twisting, holding on, bracing for the storm. “Things are and always have been very real between us.”
My breaths came harder then, because I knew he was right. No matter how fucked up it all had been, it was also real. It was all so, so real.
“You’re my best friend,” he choked. I was so numb, like my head was submerged in an ice bath, and I couldn’t even look at him any longer, so I fixed my gaze on the window again. Jamie stood straighter then. “And I’ll always be somewhere for you, no matter the time, place, or circumstance.”
A tear rolled swiftly and silently down the side of my face that Jamie couldn’t see. I didn’t wipe at it for fear I’d give it away.
He crossed the room, stepping into me, and I smelled the honey and oak I’d always loved. I closed my eyes and inhaled a breath I didn’t let go of. Not when he kissed my forehead, not when he pressed a small box into my hand, not when he whispered, “Happy birthday,” and not when he pushed back again, scent leaving me in a whoosh.
He walked slowly to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “I feel like goodbye isn’t the right term, so I’ll just say until the timing is right…”
I kept my eyes on the window, and only when he closed the door behind him did I breathe again.
I looked down at the small package in my hand, wrapped in brown paper and twine, and I cried.
• • •
I was officially twenty-eight.
It was such a strange birthday. I felt like I should have my shit together, and I clearly didn’t. My career was about the only thing I had a handle on, and even that was questionable. I’d lost the man I loved my whole life, fucked up with Mr. Right and the guy who wanted to spend his life with me, and I lived in a small one-bedroom apartment alone.
Luckily, Jenna had showed up less than an hour after Jamie left.
“I don’t care what you say, we’re going to this stupid, cheesy eighties bar crawl. And you’re going to wear this absurd dress with me and we’re going to get totally wasted and bring in your twenty-eighth year in style.”
Jenna was holding out a fluffy, lavender dress on a hanger to me, puffy shoulders and all. She sat heavy on one hip, typing away on her phone in her other hand, probably to her boyfriend, Dylan. They’d been dating almost since the exact day I started dating Brad. Their relationship proved to be stronger than ours, though, and I had a feeling he would be asking her a big question soon enough. It was sweet that she was here to celebrate my birthday, but celebrating was the last thing I felt like doing.
“I’d much rather opt for ice cream and wine in my pajamas.”
Jenna scoffed. “Nope. Not happening. This is going to be your year, B. We have to kick it off the right way so the rest of the year follows suit.”
“And an eighties bar crawl is the ‘right way?’”
“Duh.”
I chuckled, snatching the hideous dress from her hand as she smirked and waved me into my bedroom to change.
