Page 80 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
“Stop,” I choked, pushing myself off the wall and walking as quickly as my heels would allow me toward my car. “Stop, Jamie.”
He followed me. “What, too much for you to handle?”
“I hate you!” I spat, spinning in place and charging back toward him a few steps. “Go back inside, I’m sure Angel is waiting.”
“Oh, she is.” He grinned, walking with me a few steps more when I started back toward the car. “And I intend to make her wait. All night long. Remember how fun that always was? Making you wait until you couldn’t stand it anymore?” His breath was hot on my neck even as we walked, and though my fists clenched in anger, my thighs clenched in memory. “Making you squirm under my hands, my mouth…”
“Fuck you, Jamie.”
He laughed. “Goddamnit, you drive me crazy. You literally make me insane.”
“Well good thing I’m leaving,” I threw behind me, climbing into my car and hitting the lock button. Jamie was right outside my window as I sparked it to life.
“Yeah. Good thing. That does seem to be your specialty, doesn’t it?”
I whipped toward him, found his eyes through the glass as he stared me down. His jaw was set, eyes covered by the shadows from the overhead lights in the parking lot. He was daring me to make the next move, but I was tired of playing the game. I flipped him off with a sweet smile, and then I peeled off, not chancing another look in my rearview.
Tears found me before I even realized they were threatening to fall. I swiped at them harshly, my hands shaking before a scream ripped through my throat. I hated him, I loved him, I hated myself for loving him. I hated myself for letting him go, for letting him find someone else. I was furious, but the truth was nearly everything he’d said about me was true. I was the one who didn’t want us to be official, I was the one always leaving, and I was selfish.
I was so fucking selfish.
In that moment, for no longer than a split second, I realized I was more like my father than I thought.
I couldn’t stay in that town another night, not knowing he was lying with Angel in his bed not even ten minutes away from me. Not knowing he was happy with another woman, and I was still selfish enough to wish he wasn’t.
I packed my duffle bag as soon as I got back to Mom’s house and caught a cab to the airport. With nothing more than a few texts to Mom and Jenna, I left South Florida with a new hole burned into my heart.
If I’d known back then about the Angel’s tax, I would have laughed. They say every year a batch of whiskey goes without being bottled, each year it’s aged, four percent of alcohol evaporates — and that’s the Angel’s share. It really was funny, then, that I’d neglected to bottle Jamie up for myself and so he’d been stolen by a woman named Angel. I maybe could have laughed if I’d known that story back then, but then again, maybe not. Because the truth was it wasn’t funny.
It wasn’t funny at all.
AFTER THAT, THINGS HAPPENED in threes.
Three days, I let myself mourn. In my head, I checked into an in-and-out version of rehab, housed at Casa a la B. As soon as my plane landed, I turned off my phone, stocked the house with wine, beer, vodka, everything but whiskey, along with copious amounts of junk food, and got down to business. I changed into my favorite pair of sweats and a loose sweater that hung off my shoulder and I didn’t change into any other clothing until the seventy-two hours was up.
In those hours, I thought long and hard about a lot of things. I thought about work, about my current situation, about my family, about what point I was at in my life. At the forefront of my mind was Jamie and I — what we were, what we weren’t. I listened to classical music mostly, took a lot of baths, gave myself room to think and cry and do whatever was necessary in the withdrawal process. I drank too much, ate very little even though I had plenty there, and at the end of it all, I came out with three very solid conclusions.
One, I was where I needed to be. I wasn’t going to regret staying in Pittsburgh or taking the full-time job with Rye Publishing. I loved what I did, who I worked with, and how my future looked. I worked damn hard to make it to where I was. I knew going into my internship that the likelihood of me getting a full-time position was slim to none, and yet I’d impressed the shit out of them and landed a permanent spot. There were no regrets there. And, though I missed the surf, I really did love the city. I loved who I was becoming. Sure, I was lonely, but I had offers to go out — to make friends — I just had to start taking them. I could do that. It took me so long to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Once I found it, I’d held tight to it, and now it was the only thing one hundred percent certain in my life.
