A Love Letter to Whiskey
Page 27
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
And so, I did what I needed to do.
I poured that last glass down the drain, twisted the cap on the bottle, and put it back on the shelf, locking the doors to the liquor cabinet up tight.
When I peeked back up at Ethan, he moved my hair aside before kissing me, soft and sweet, like coconut and strawberry. He was my Miami Vice, and he had my full attention.
For now.
JAMIE DIDN’T REALLY SEEM to notice me pulling away — at least, not at first. We just hung out a lot less and my texts were few and far between. But it worked out because I was busy with Ethan, and Jamie was busy with his flavors of the week.
What I started to discover as I spent more time with Ethan was that he really was serious about his political life plan. He was in full-on campaign mode, running for SGA Vice President since he was about to go into his junior year. And even though most of our newfound time together was spent designing and printing posters, running over speeches, and building a website complete with a booming social media campaign, I was enjoying it. I even helped run a few of his pizza stops on campus. He would hand out free pizza to hungry college students passing us between classes and I would talk to them about their vote, promising he was the best candidate and knowing in my heart it was true.
That’s what I loved most about Ethan — he was solid in his decisions. He had already made so many changes on campus in the year he’d been a class senator, and I knew if he did get the vice presidency, he would bring even more to the table. The girl he was running under as the presidential candidate was amazing, too. Her name was Shayla Hart and together they were the first black president and vice president nominee team. I wanted this win for them, and I could feel it — our campus did, too.
I was handing out the last of our HART|HAMILTON stickers on a Thursday afternoon when I got a text from Jamie that made my stomach drop.
— Where are you? I’m coming to pick you up. —
It was the first time since I’d pulled back that he didn’t ask me to hang out — he told me. And I knew before my fingers even moved over the keys on my phone that something was wrong.
— I’m with Ethan doing campaign stuff. Rain check? —
I shook my head, shoving my phone in my back pocket and slapping on my smile to hand out more stickers. The last one left my fingers just as my phone buzzed again. I tried to ignore it, asking Ethan if there was anything else he needed me to do, but he was deep in discussion with Amelia and simply kissed my forehead, saying I’d worked hard enough for the day and I should go home and get some rest. We were going to a bonfire that weekend, and I was definitely looking forward to a long night of sleep to recover from the campaign craziness.
Giving in, I grabbed my backpack from behind our booth and started the trek across campus to my dorm. I made it all of ten steps before my phone practically burned a hole in my pocket.
— Aren’t you almost done for the day? I can wait. Just take a drive with me. —
I thumbed out three different responses — all of them excuses, none of them strong enough to send — before I tucked my phone away again without responding at all. Maybe I could just ignore him. Maybe if I didn’t answer, he’d just let it go and find someone else to ride around with.
Even as I thought the words, I didn’t believe them.
I dropped my bag on my bed as soon as I got home and stripped my clothes off, aching for a shower. It was late February and I’d been told we were almost out of the “cold season”, but after standing outside in the mid-fifties with a pretty stiff windchill, I was ready for a hot shower.
I took my time, letting the water rush over my skin while trying not to think of how much I’d rather be soaking in a bath. When I made my way back to my room, towel wrapped around my body and my hair still tied in a shower wrap, my phone buzzed from inside my bag.
I had six missed calls, all from Jamie, and one lone text that changed my plans for the evening.
— I need you, B. Please. —
My gut wrenched so violently I bent at the waist, bracing myself with my hand before taking a seat on my bed, not really caring that my damp towel was surely leaving a mark.
I told myself not to respond, fake that I fell asleep, but I knew Jamie, and he’d never say he needed me when he truly didn’t. Something was wrong, and it was that feeling alone that let me not even think twice before sending a text back.
— See you in twenty. Lot G. —
DID YOU KNOW WHISKEY in Gaelic means Water of Life?
I didn’t learn that little fact until later in life, but I remember thinking how magical whiskey must have been the first time those monks tasted it that they coined it with that terminology. It must have been life-altering. It must have made them pause, gasp, and declare that they could no longer live without it. After all, we can’t live without water, right?
I wish I would have known that before that night. Before I dressed in simple sweat pants and an oversized sweater, foregoing makeup and sneaking across campus to where I knew Jamie would be waiting. If I would have known, if someone had warned me, I might have been able to save myself from the precise moment my true addiction started.
Maybe.
I watched my breath in little puffs of white as I made my way toward Lot G. The lot was full, yet still I spotted Jamie immediately. He was leaned up against his Jeep, hood up and hands stuffed in the pocket of his navy blue Alder hoodie. He had gray sweat pants on, too, and I couldn’t deny the surge of comfort I felt when I saw him.
He waited until I’d nearly reached him to lift his head, and the pain behind his eyes made me stop in place. Something was wrong, really wrong. I opened my mouth to say the first word, but was at a loss, so I closed it again. I stood there, waiting for his cue.
Jamie’s brows bent together as his eyes scanned me slowly. Then, he pushed off his Jeep in one swift move and his arms were around me. He dropped his head to mine, grip crushing, like he was gripping onto me as his last lifeline. My arms snaked around him hesitantly and I squeezed him in return, letting him feel that I was here. Jamie held me like that for what felt like hours. He didn’t speak, didn’t cry, just kept readjusting his grip around me, pulling me as close as he possibly could. I breathed in the scent of his cologne against his chest, smelling fall in Florida with a spicy mix of cedar.
“Jamie,” I breathed after a while, trying to pull back.
He sighed, the force of his breath moving my hair around it. “Not yet, okay?”
I poured that last glass down the drain, twisted the cap on the bottle, and put it back on the shelf, locking the doors to the liquor cabinet up tight.
When I peeked back up at Ethan, he moved my hair aside before kissing me, soft and sweet, like coconut and strawberry. He was my Miami Vice, and he had my full attention.
For now.
JAMIE DIDN’T REALLY SEEM to notice me pulling away — at least, not at first. We just hung out a lot less and my texts were few and far between. But it worked out because I was busy with Ethan, and Jamie was busy with his flavors of the week.
What I started to discover as I spent more time with Ethan was that he really was serious about his political life plan. He was in full-on campaign mode, running for SGA Vice President since he was about to go into his junior year. And even though most of our newfound time together was spent designing and printing posters, running over speeches, and building a website complete with a booming social media campaign, I was enjoying it. I even helped run a few of his pizza stops on campus. He would hand out free pizza to hungry college students passing us between classes and I would talk to them about their vote, promising he was the best candidate and knowing in my heart it was true.
That’s what I loved most about Ethan — he was solid in his decisions. He had already made so many changes on campus in the year he’d been a class senator, and I knew if he did get the vice presidency, he would bring even more to the table. The girl he was running under as the presidential candidate was amazing, too. Her name was Shayla Hart and together they were the first black president and vice president nominee team. I wanted this win for them, and I could feel it — our campus did, too.
I was handing out the last of our HART|HAMILTON stickers on a Thursday afternoon when I got a text from Jamie that made my stomach drop.
— Where are you? I’m coming to pick you up. —
It was the first time since I’d pulled back that he didn’t ask me to hang out — he told me. And I knew before my fingers even moved over the keys on my phone that something was wrong.
— I’m with Ethan doing campaign stuff. Rain check? —
I shook my head, shoving my phone in my back pocket and slapping on my smile to hand out more stickers. The last one left my fingers just as my phone buzzed again. I tried to ignore it, asking Ethan if there was anything else he needed me to do, but he was deep in discussion with Amelia and simply kissed my forehead, saying I’d worked hard enough for the day and I should go home and get some rest. We were going to a bonfire that weekend, and I was definitely looking forward to a long night of sleep to recover from the campaign craziness.
Giving in, I grabbed my backpack from behind our booth and started the trek across campus to my dorm. I made it all of ten steps before my phone practically burned a hole in my pocket.
— Aren’t you almost done for the day? I can wait. Just take a drive with me. —
I thumbed out three different responses — all of them excuses, none of them strong enough to send — before I tucked my phone away again without responding at all. Maybe I could just ignore him. Maybe if I didn’t answer, he’d just let it go and find someone else to ride around with.
Even as I thought the words, I didn’t believe them.
I dropped my bag on my bed as soon as I got home and stripped my clothes off, aching for a shower. It was late February and I’d been told we were almost out of the “cold season”, but after standing outside in the mid-fifties with a pretty stiff windchill, I was ready for a hot shower.
I took my time, letting the water rush over my skin while trying not to think of how much I’d rather be soaking in a bath. When I made my way back to my room, towel wrapped around my body and my hair still tied in a shower wrap, my phone buzzed from inside my bag.
I had six missed calls, all from Jamie, and one lone text that changed my plans for the evening.
— I need you, B. Please. —
My gut wrenched so violently I bent at the waist, bracing myself with my hand before taking a seat on my bed, not really caring that my damp towel was surely leaving a mark.
I told myself not to respond, fake that I fell asleep, but I knew Jamie, and he’d never say he needed me when he truly didn’t. Something was wrong, and it was that feeling alone that let me not even think twice before sending a text back.
— See you in twenty. Lot G. —
DID YOU KNOW WHISKEY in Gaelic means Water of Life?
I didn’t learn that little fact until later in life, but I remember thinking how magical whiskey must have been the first time those monks tasted it that they coined it with that terminology. It must have been life-altering. It must have made them pause, gasp, and declare that they could no longer live without it. After all, we can’t live without water, right?
I wish I would have known that before that night. Before I dressed in simple sweat pants and an oversized sweater, foregoing makeup and sneaking across campus to where I knew Jamie would be waiting. If I would have known, if someone had warned me, I might have been able to save myself from the precise moment my true addiction started.
Maybe.
I watched my breath in little puffs of white as I made my way toward Lot G. The lot was full, yet still I spotted Jamie immediately. He was leaned up against his Jeep, hood up and hands stuffed in the pocket of his navy blue Alder hoodie. He had gray sweat pants on, too, and I couldn’t deny the surge of comfort I felt when I saw him.
He waited until I’d nearly reached him to lift his head, and the pain behind his eyes made me stop in place. Something was wrong, really wrong. I opened my mouth to say the first word, but was at a loss, so I closed it again. I stood there, waiting for his cue.
Jamie’s brows bent together as his eyes scanned me slowly. Then, he pushed off his Jeep in one swift move and his arms were around me. He dropped his head to mine, grip crushing, like he was gripping onto me as his last lifeline. My arms snaked around him hesitantly and I squeezed him in return, letting him feel that I was here. Jamie held me like that for what felt like hours. He didn’t speak, didn’t cry, just kept readjusting his grip around me, pulling me as close as he possibly could. I breathed in the scent of his cologne against his chest, smelling fall in Florida with a spicy mix of cedar.
“Jamie,” I breathed after a while, trying to pull back.
He sighed, the force of his breath moving my hair around it. “Not yet, okay?”
