Page 9 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
Jamie laughed. “You are. You’re unique, B. I like that about you.”
My breath got stuck somewhere beneath my chest bone and I inhaled deeply, tucking my hands under my thighs and pulling my knee from where it touched his. It was suddenly too much, and I focused instead on where the cool metal of the bleachers touched my skin.
“What about you? You have it all planned out, don’t you?”
“Kind of. I mean, for me, it’s always been sort of easy. I want what my dad has, you know?” His eyes were bright, animated. “I’m not sure if I told you or not, but he’s an accountant, owns his own firm in Fort Lauderdale.”
“You don’t say?” I acted surprised.
Jamie sat a little straighter, talking with his hands. “He started that firm when he was twenty-six, B. Twenty-six. Can you imagine?” He shook his head. “It almost went under twice, but he fought for it, and now he’s one of the best firms in town. I want to continue that, work for him until he hands it over to me, work even harder once it’s mine to keep the reputation he worked so hard to build. I want to meet the love of my life, marry her, fill our house with kids and do what I need to do to give them everything they need.”
“You want those things? Or does he want them for you?” The other team scored a touchdown and the crowd around us booed, halting the conversation for a moment. When the noise died down, Jamie continued.
“I want them,” he said with absolution. “I love what my dad has built with my mom, what they’ve both done for me and my two sisters — Sylvia and Santana.” He shrugged, and I watched a single strand of his hair fall out of place and onto his forehead. “I’ve worked at the firm for three summers now and I love it. I’m good at it. I don’t know, it just makes sense for me, I guess.”
“It must be so comforting, to know what you want the way you do.”
He swallowed, his eyes focusing on the game and not on me anymore. “Sometimes it’s harder than you think. There’s always this fear that even though I may know what I want, I may never actually make it a reality.” Jamie glanced at me then. “Sometimes it’s more complicated than just wanting something and making it happen.”
I nodded, at least I think I did. He was looking at me in that way he did, and when that happened, I couldn’t be sure I was actually moving the way I told my body to.
“I think you’ll find a way.”
He smiled, an easy smile, one that erased the tension of that moment. “Thanks, B. I think you will, too.”
We ended up winning the game, twenty-four to fourteen, and Jenna sprinted off the field and into Jamie’s arms at the sound of the final whistle. He picked her up easily, swinging her around before kissing her to a collective “aww” from those in the stands who witnessed the movie-like moment. It was that kiss that stunned me back to reality, the reality where Jamie was my best friend’s boyfriend. Jenna turned to me next and I slapped on a smile as quick as I could before she wrapped her arms around me.
“I’m so glad you came! I know this isn’t exactly your scene.”
I shrugged. “It wasn’t all that bad.” My eyes flitted to Jamie’s and he smirked, but I looked away quickly, back to Jenna, my best friend, who I loved, who trusted me. “Still want to stay the night tonight?”
“Duh! We need a bestie night. Please tell me you have gummy bears and Mountain Dew ready for consumption.”
I scoffed. “Come on now, is that even a question?”
She smiled radiantly, her blue eyes shining under the stadium lights. “I just have to finish up here and I’ll be over. See you in an hour or so?”
“Perfect.”
She leaned up on her toes to kiss Jamie once more before trotting off, and Jamie took longer than necessary before turning back to me. Our eyes met, saying more than words could, and I turned before he did, making my way to the parking lot with him not far behind.
• • •
It was silent in Jamie’s Jeep on the way to my house — completely silent — both of us caught up in our own thoughts. That was, until my phone rang.
“Hey Dad.”
“Hey, baby girl. How was the game?”
“Fine,” I clipped. To say that my relationship with my dad was strained after Mom’s confession would be an understatement. I probably drove him insane with my whiplash, because one moment I would forget for a while, let everything be how it used to be, and other times it was all I could do to talk to him without vomiting. I didn’t know how to just snap my fingers and suddenly hate my dad, though I tried more often than not to do so. I guess there was no “right way” to handle it, at least not that I’d found.
