A Love Letter to Whiskey
Page 7

“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.
“That’s good, I’m glad you got out of the house.” His tone had changed, probably because he’d picked up on mine. He knew what kind of day it was for me. “Listen, I have some news on your car.”
“And?”
“And… we can’t figure out what’s wrong. Not yet, anyway. We checked the battery, the alternator, the timing belt — Nick thinks it might be something electrical.”
I sighed, pulling my legs up into Jamie’s passenger side seat and setting my chin on my knees. “So what does this mean?”
“It means we’ll need more time with it to figure out what’s going on. Nick is about to leave town for a couple of weeks but when he gets back, he’s going to make it his number-one priority.”
“Two weeks?!” I yelled a little louder than I intended and Jamie’s brows furrowed, asking if I was okay. I just shook my head. “Well this sucks.”
“I know. But in the meantime, you and I can start saving.”
I swallowed. “How much do you think it’s going to cost?”
Dad was quiet for a long moment, and I pictured him running a hand over his red beard. He always did when he had bad news. “I can’t be sure, but I’d bet on at least a grand.”
“Fuck my life.”
“Language, Brecks.”
My cheeks heated with anger. “Don’t call me Brecks.”
He sighed. “It’s your name, baby girl.”
“No. My name is B. And you know that by now, so stop acting like you don’t.”
“I’m just trying to help here.”
He sounded defeated and I gritted my teeth, clenching my fist around the phone before letting out a long exhale. “I know, Dad. I have to go, but thank you. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay. I love you.”
I paused. “You too.”
The silence was too much when that phone call ended and Jamie seemed to pick up on it, because he hooked up his phone and started playing The Piano Guys without saying a single word. I was thankful as their version of “With or Without You” slowly faded in over the speakers, but didn’t say so. Instead, I racked my brain for ways to come up with the money I’d need to get my car fixed. I’d worked at a grocery store chain over the summer, but was hoping to take the school year off to focus on school work and maybe having a little fun.
So much for that.
I shot out a text to my old manager and she responded back almost immediately, telling me I could come back on Monday after school.
Jamie pulled into my driveway this time, turning his Jeep completely off and staring at me until I conceded and returned his gaze.
“Why do you hate your name, B?”
A heavy weight dropped in my throat and I shifted, debating on what to tell him. Did I tell him the truth? Did I tell him it was none of his business?
I was too exhausted to lie, so I inhaled a shaky breath and let my head fall back against the head rest like I had the evening before. “My dad forced himself on my mom the night she became pregnant with me.”
“Jesus,” Jamie whispered under his breath, but I kept going.
“I only found out about it a little over a year ago. Up until that point, I loved my name. It was short, cute, fun. But one night, my mom got sloshed and decided to tell me that everything I thought I knew about my life was a lie.” I laughed, a manic sort of laugh. I had no idea why I was spilling this to Jamie, but for the first time since the night my mom had told me, I was starting to feel something. It started as a pressure in my chest, but with every word I spoke it bloomed, filling the space meant for air with an uncomfortable sting, instead. “You know he wasn’t there when she had me? No one was. Not my grandma, not any of my mom’s friends — it was just her and me. The nurse placed me in her arms and Mom said she cried.”
Jamie didn’t say anything, just reached his hand out to rest it on my thigh.
“My dad is Irish, and he has all these freckles all over his face. So when Mom saw the freckles on my cheeks, she thought about him, about that night, about the freckles she counted to get her through the eight minutes of him violating her.” My eyes flooded with tears and I batted at them hastily. I couldn’t believe I was crying, that I was finally feeling something after I’d been almost numb to it for so long. “She named me Brecks because it’s Irish for ‘freckled.’”
He squeezed my leg tighter and I fought the urge to grab his hand with my own.
“Once I found out, I couldn’t stand my name anymore. I hated it. I hated the meaning of it. I hated what my father did to my mom and I hated what she did to me by naming me after something so monstrous.” I laughed again, shaking my head and swiping at the tears that wouldn’t stop. Jamie Shaw had spotted a wound not even I knew I had, and it was like telling him about it gave me permission to bleed. “God, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”