Page 85 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
River laughed as the elevator door slid open. He held his arm out as I stepped in and followed behind me. “That’s true. Still kind of weird to me that you’re throwing him his bachelor party.”
“It’s casual, just a night out at his favorite local bar. He didn’t want anything big.” I shrugged. “It’s actually my first time being in a wedding, so this is all kind of new to me. I’m glad he made it easy.”
“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 of what if mixed 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.
