A Love Letter to Whiskey
Page 48
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I exhaled slowly, softly, thinking back to the first time he’d told me what he wanted in life. I’d always been unsure, up until this point in my life, but he’d always known. He wanted to work at his dad’s firm, make partner, take over, and have the same family life that his dad did. He thought he’d marry his high school sweetheart, and here he was a college graduate and single. I knew what he wanted, what he needed in life — but I also knew I couldn’t be that for him. Not yet, at least.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I assured him, and I sealed that promise with a sincere smile. “But I can’t give you my all right now. I’m here to work, to get my graduate degree, and to find the rest of myself that’s still floating just out of reach. I want you, I do,” I said again. “Just give me some time to figure out my new surroundings, okay?”
Jamie still looked disappointed, but he nodded. “Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you.”
I believed him when he said that, but sometimes we say things we don’t mean. We may mean them in the moment the words leave our lips, but as time goes on, good intentions get rubbed raw by failed expectations. Those on the promising end forget why they promised at all, hearts jaded — for good reason.
The Scottish are the only ones who can technically spell whiskey as “whisky.” They claim more vowels wastes good drinking time, and I wish I could have realized that then, because that’s exactly what I was doing — wasting time. Letting days and weeks and months of incredible, soul-shattering love pass me by because I thought I knew the right way to spell out the path of my life.
Turned out I was wrong.
Turned out I had a rare, deliciously aged bottle of whiskey in my grip, but I let it slip through my slick fingers and crash to the floor.
And I wasn’t the one allowed to pick up the pieces.
JAMIE PULLED AWAY after that.
Not all at once, but slowly and surely.
Sometimes he seemed normal, sometimes we’d talk for hours and fall into that same easy friendship that’d always existed between us. He never did make it out to see me in Pittsburgh, but I did fly home one weekend, and we spent the entire time tangled in his sheets, save for the one lunch with Mom and Wayne and the dinner with Jenna. And when I got back home, we made tentative plans for him to come see me next, when things slowed down at work. One night, we sat up a movie on each of our screens and hit play at the same time, being as together as we could be through video chat while it played.
And those were the good times.
But mostly, Jamie was absent — thinking to himself even if he was on the phone with me. I knew it was killing him to not have me the way he wanted. It felt like rejection to him, I can see that clearly now, but I was selfish back then and I didn’t see a damn thing — maybe I didn’t want to see it.
Eventually, the calls and texts became fewer and fewer, and I guess I kind of knew that would happen. It was my fault, really — I was the one who asked for the distance, the one who kept it in place, and even though I missed him the more he pulled away, I filled the space he left with more work instead of working to keep him as the occupant.
The summer flew by in a heated streak, blinding me like the lights from a camera flash. Between the internship and my online courses for my grad degree, free time was practically nonexistent. Before I knew it, it was August, and I was in the last two weeks of my internship with a huge open agent event to host before I rounded out my time with Rye Publishing.
I was right in the middle of a particularly stressful Thursday afternoon when Jamie texted me that he needed to talk. I was already busy, stretched thin and on the verge of proving that I could be a permanent employee at Rye, and the last thing I needed was the stomach somersault that came with that text from him. The attention I’d garnered as an intern was unprecedented, and I could feel success nipping at the tips of my fingers, waiting for me to latch on. Still, that could all be gone if I let my emotions get the best of me.
I debated type-screaming at Jamie, telling him I didn’t have time for his shit, but the truth was I was scared of what he had to say. In a way, I knew what was coming, at least I could guess — and I guess that’s why I wanted to be angry. Being mad would be easier than being breakable.
In the end, I just responded with an “okay” and a promise to call him as soon as I got home that evening. I had just thrown my phone on my desk screen-side down with a long sigh when River propped his forearm on my cube.
“You need a break.”
“No,” I corrected him as I logged back into my computer. “I need more hours in the day, actually.”
He chuckled. “Come on. Food. Now.”
“I’m fine.”
“Did you forget who your boss is?” I finally looked up at him and he cocked one beautiful blonde eyebrow with a stupid smirk on his face.
“Way to pull the I pay you card.”
“Well, I’ll pay for your lunch. How’s that?” He snagged my umbrella from where I’d propped it at the corner of my desk and handed it to me. “You’ve been here for over two months and you still haven’t eaten a Primanti Brothers’ sandwich. We’re fixing that today.”
I let myself smile, realizing at the mention of food just how hungry I actually was. Maybe I did need a break, even if it was only for an hour. I took the umbrella from his hand and grabbed my purse off the cube hook. “Well how can I say no to sandwiches piled high with french fries and coleslaw?”
“You can’t. Another trump card.”
He smiled, motioning with his hand for me to take the lead. I looked back at my phone on the desk but decided to leave it behind. If I was taking a break, I was taking it from everything — and everyone.
The walk through Market Square to Primati Brothers was wet, and surprisingly chilly for the time of year. I was used to sweltering Augusts, but it was in the sixties and drizzling all day that day. River and I walked side by side with our umbrellas popped open, talking about the event coming up and other small conversation bits. I loved walking through downtown. In fact, I loved everything about Pittsburgh. I was surprised by how much it had evolved to feel like home.
“Okay, now once you walk through this door, you’re on a break. I’m serious. No work talk,” River said when we reached the entrance. He held his hand on the door until I agreed, and then he opened it and the smell of heaven invaded.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I assured him, and I sealed that promise with a sincere smile. “But I can’t give you my all right now. I’m here to work, to get my graduate degree, and to find the rest of myself that’s still floating just out of reach. I want you, I do,” I said again. “Just give me some time to figure out my new surroundings, okay?”
Jamie still looked disappointed, but he nodded. “Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you.”
I believed him when he said that, but sometimes we say things we don’t mean. We may mean them in the moment the words leave our lips, but as time goes on, good intentions get rubbed raw by failed expectations. Those on the promising end forget why they promised at all, hearts jaded — for good reason.
The Scottish are the only ones who can technically spell whiskey as “whisky.” They claim more vowels wastes good drinking time, and I wish I could have realized that then, because that’s exactly what I was doing — wasting time. Letting days and weeks and months of incredible, soul-shattering love pass me by because I thought I knew the right way to spell out the path of my life.
Turned out I was wrong.
Turned out I had a rare, deliciously aged bottle of whiskey in my grip, but I let it slip through my slick fingers and crash to the floor.
And I wasn’t the one allowed to pick up the pieces.
JAMIE PULLED AWAY after that.
Not all at once, but slowly and surely.
Sometimes he seemed normal, sometimes we’d talk for hours and fall into that same easy friendship that’d always existed between us. He never did make it out to see me in Pittsburgh, but I did fly home one weekend, and we spent the entire time tangled in his sheets, save for the one lunch with Mom and Wayne and the dinner with Jenna. And when I got back home, we made tentative plans for him to come see me next, when things slowed down at work. One night, we sat up a movie on each of our screens and hit play at the same time, being as together as we could be through video chat while it played.
And those were the good times.
But mostly, Jamie was absent — thinking to himself even if he was on the phone with me. I knew it was killing him to not have me the way he wanted. It felt like rejection to him, I can see that clearly now, but I was selfish back then and I didn’t see a damn thing — maybe I didn’t want to see it.
Eventually, the calls and texts became fewer and fewer, and I guess I kind of knew that would happen. It was my fault, really — I was the one who asked for the distance, the one who kept it in place, and even though I missed him the more he pulled away, I filled the space he left with more work instead of working to keep him as the occupant.
The summer flew by in a heated streak, blinding me like the lights from a camera flash. Between the internship and my online courses for my grad degree, free time was practically nonexistent. Before I knew it, it was August, and I was in the last two weeks of my internship with a huge open agent event to host before I rounded out my time with Rye Publishing.
I was right in the middle of a particularly stressful Thursday afternoon when Jamie texted me that he needed to talk. I was already busy, stretched thin and on the verge of proving that I could be a permanent employee at Rye, and the last thing I needed was the stomach somersault that came with that text from him. The attention I’d garnered as an intern was unprecedented, and I could feel success nipping at the tips of my fingers, waiting for me to latch on. Still, that could all be gone if I let my emotions get the best of me.
I debated type-screaming at Jamie, telling him I didn’t have time for his shit, but the truth was I was scared of what he had to say. In a way, I knew what was coming, at least I could guess — and I guess that’s why I wanted to be angry. Being mad would be easier than being breakable.
In the end, I just responded with an “okay” and a promise to call him as soon as I got home that evening. I had just thrown my phone on my desk screen-side down with a long sigh when River propped his forearm on my cube.
“You need a break.”
“No,” I corrected him as I logged back into my computer. “I need more hours in the day, actually.”
He chuckled. “Come on. Food. Now.”
“I’m fine.”
“Did you forget who your boss is?” I finally looked up at him and he cocked one beautiful blonde eyebrow with a stupid smirk on his face.
“Way to pull the I pay you card.”
“Well, I’ll pay for your lunch. How’s that?” He snagged my umbrella from where I’d propped it at the corner of my desk and handed it to me. “You’ve been here for over two months and you still haven’t eaten a Primanti Brothers’ sandwich. We’re fixing that today.”
I let myself smile, realizing at the mention of food just how hungry I actually was. Maybe I did need a break, even if it was only for an hour. I took the umbrella from his hand and grabbed my purse off the cube hook. “Well how can I say no to sandwiches piled high with french fries and coleslaw?”
“You can’t. Another trump card.”
He smiled, motioning with his hand for me to take the lead. I looked back at my phone on the desk but decided to leave it behind. If I was taking a break, I was taking it from everything — and everyone.
The walk through Market Square to Primati Brothers was wet, and surprisingly chilly for the time of year. I was used to sweltering Augusts, but it was in the sixties and drizzling all day that day. River and I walked side by side with our umbrellas popped open, talking about the event coming up and other small conversation bits. I loved walking through downtown. In fact, I loved everything about Pittsburgh. I was surprised by how much it had evolved to feel like home.
“Okay, now once you walk through this door, you’re on a break. I’m serious. No work talk,” River said when we reached the entrance. He held his hand on the door until I agreed, and then he opened it and the smell of heaven invaded.
