Jamie was true to his word. He didn’t try to kiss me again. In fact, he’d pulled back completely. It felt like I was more inclined to be the one caught staring or standing too close. Jamie, on the other hand, would keep his distance. He kept conversation at safe levels and every touch between us was nothing but friendly.
As if to prove he was serious, Jamie even dated — well, I say dated lightly. He never put a title on his escapades with the parade of blondes he had coming in and out of his and Ethan’s apartment, but I received the message loud and clear. I think, looking back, he thought it would solidify his promise he’d made to just be my friend. And it did. But, it also made me question why he’d ever kissed me at all. I looked nothing like those girls. They were all light skinned, curvy, blonde. Clearly it had been a mistake for him, which is why he had apologized so quickly.
It was just a kiss, a harmless mistake.
We were fine as friends.
It was easy, being with him — just like it always had been. And so, almost exactly like we had in high school, Jamie and I fell into an easy routine. Surfing, exploring new places in San Diego, studying — we even flew home for holiday break together. I was the most thankful for that, especially after my mom and I spent our first Christmas alone together. Even after I found out about what my dad did, we’d still all been together at Christmas. But this time I’d told him not to come, and even though I was solid in that decision, it still killed me. Jamie picked me up that night and we drove around our old hometown, just like we had that Christmas Eve his senior year.
We really had fallen into a friendship, or at least, we’d convinced ourselves we had.
But see, what you likely already know about liquor that I had yet to realize at that time in my life is this: each type of alcohol affects you in a different way.
Jamie was whiskey, that much I was sure of. I couldn’t deny the way he burned, the way his taste lingered. Still, no one warned me that once a whiskey girl, always a whiskey girl. But I was figuring it out.
Ethan was like rum. He was sweet and fun, like a fruity cocktail on the beach. He said all the right things, took me to the right places, gave me the right gifts on holidays we celebrated together. For all intents and purposes, he was a perfectly fine libation.
But I didn’t get drunk off rum the same way I did off Whiskey.
One particularly late night in February, Ethan showed up unannounced at my dorm. Marie and I had actually formed a friendship by that point, and we were making spiked apple ciders in the kitchen when he knocked.
I opened the door, a little buzzed, and smiled wide when I saw him standing there.
“Hi, baby!” I threw my arms around his neck and giggled, but he just barely hugged me in return. When I pulled back, there was a thin line forming between his brows and his eyes wouldn’t fully meet mine.
“Can you take a walk with me?”
“Right now?” I asked, turning back to Marie in the kitchen. She was stirring her cider with a cinnamon stick and singing Katy Perry. “Why don’t you come inside? I’ll make you a drink.”
“B,” he said, and the way my nickname left his lips sent a shiver up my spine. I crossed my arms, trying to find warmth in the oversized sweater I was wearing. “Please. I just… I need to talk to you.”
I stared up at his frown, missing the smile that usually held its place. “Okay. Let me put on my boots.”
Marie just grabbed my cider, now holding one in each hand, and raised both eyebrows at me as she passed into her room. I laughed, tugging on my boots quickly and meeting Ethan outside. My stomach was in knots as we started walking, the campus dark save for the streetlights and dorm windows. When Ethan reached for my hand and gripped it tightly in his, I breathed easier, but only marginally.
“I need to ask you something, and I need you to be one-hundred percent honest with me.”
I squeezed his hand in return, trying to swallow down the thick ball of cotton stuck in my throat. It was cold, especially for San Diego. I learned that, just like Florida, Southern California earned about a month and a half of moderately low temperatures. At the present moment, it was just over fifty degrees, but it wasn’t just the cool night air giving me a chill.
“You and Jamie spend a lot of time together. And I get it, I understand that you guys were close in high school. I get it that you both like to surf, and I don’t want you to stop hanging out with him or anything. But…” Ethan stopped, pulling us over to a bench and sitting down first. I stayed standing, and Ethan continued to look anywhere but at me. “B, I can’t compete with Jamie.” His eyes finally found mine, and what I saw behind them nearly broke me. “I just can’t. So if I’m not enough for you, just tell me now.”
“Ethan,” I sat then, both of my hands reaching out for his. He held them tight, his teeth hard on his bottom lip as he stared at where our fingers met. “You are more than enough for me. Hell, I’m the lucky one trying to figure out what the hell it is you see in me.” I laughed and Ethan forced a smile, but it fell quickly. “I’m serious. Ethan, Jamie and I, we’re just friends.”
He nodded, sniffing, and I watched the cloud of air escape his lips with his next question. “Promise?”
A knife twisted in my heart, and I fought against it to smile. “I promise. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Ethan traced the skin of my palm with his thumb before pulling me closer. He wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on my head as he exhaled slowly. “Can you… I know you guys have a lot in common. But, I need you to just put me first a little more, okay? I need to feel more important than him. I know it sounds juvenile and needy but I don’t care. I can’t keep comparing myself to him in my head. I just want to look at you and see more in your eyes than I see when you look at him.”
I physically cringed then, shaking my head against his chest and tangling my hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “God, Ethan, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, you’re not doing anything wrong.” He pulled back then, his dark eyes finding mine. It was complete silence around us, a late Tuesday night on campus, a cold night that called for snuggling on couches, not on benches. “I just need a little reassurance sometimes. I—” he paused, as if he caught himself about to say something he’d regret. “You just mean a lot to me, okay? And I want to know if you feel the same.”
I smiled, framing his face with my hands and pulling his lips to mine. “I do.”
It occurred to me then that it didn’t matter that Jamie and I had made a promise to stay friends or that we’d kept it, not if our friendship was still strong enough to make my boyfriend feel like our relationship wasn’t.
When Ethan pulled me against his chest again, his fingers lazily running through my hair, I stared across campus toward the apartment where I knew Jamie was lying in bed. I didn’t know if he was alone. I didn’t know what he was thinking. I didn’t know if he was waxing his board or breathing seductive words against the neck of a girl he’d just met. I had no idea if he still thought about our kiss or if he’d hate the new lines I was about to draw in our friendship.
All I knew was that I couldn’t enjoy the spicy sweetness of rum if I was drinking it while still staring at a neat glass of Whiskey.
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 camp
aign 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 nodded, face still against his chest, and he quickly pressed a kiss to my forehead before letting me go and motioning to the Jeep. He climbed in first, but my skin was burning from where his lips had touched it. My fingers rubbed the spot as I circled the Jeep before sliding into the passenger seat and buckling my seatbelt.
Jamie turned on his playlist and shot the volume up to seventeen before even putting us in drive. Andre Gagnon started off the soundtrack for the night, Like the First Day serving as a beautiful backdrop to a not-so-beautiful feeling building in my stomach.
It was different being in Jamie’s Jeep without the top down. All the windows were up and the heat was on low, making the music sound even louder than usual. But there were some things that never changed, like the way Jamie’s thumb just barely slid up and down the steering wheel, giving him away. Or how he cracked his neck quickly and quietly, just like he had in high school.
At first I sat rigid, waiting for Jamie to tell me what had happened, but after twenty minutes had passed without a word, I knew he needed time. So, I kicked off my boots and propped my sock-covered feet up on his dash. Jamie didn’t smile or turn down the music to talk, but he let out a long, slow exhale, and I knew in that moment that just me being beside him was setting him at ease.
That knowledge made my chest tingle.
It wouldn’t be much longer until the weather would even out again. Southern California was mild practically year-round, but I actually kind of enjoyed the cold front we were having. It was nice to cozy up, even if just for a few weeks.
We drove in that same pleasant silence we always found when we were together, enjoying his playlist and avoiding real life for a while. After an hour, I thought about reaching for the volume knob, but I didn’t have a cat joke this time. I didn’t have the right words to tackle what Jamie had on his mind. This time, I’d have to wait for him, and I was okay with waiting all night if he needed me to. I guess I should have been thinking about Ethan, wondering if he would find out, if he would be mad — and in a way I did worry about those things. But it wasn’t enough to keep me from Jamie when I knew he needed me.
Two hours passed faster than I thought they could. It was easy with great music and new sights. Jamie didn’t seem to have any destination in mind as he cruised the streets of San Diego. We
drove slowly through Mission Valley and Pacific Beach before winding up through Bird Rock toward La Jolla. Eventually we both rolled our windows down, me hanging my hand out the window and surfing the air waves as the heat still blasted high enough to keep me from freezing.
I was in a daze, lulled by the music and the steady hum of the engine when I realized we were slowing down. Jamie pulled into a parking space on the side of a street and I could smell the salt of the ocean. He didn’t speak, just cut the engine before hopping out and grabbing a large bag from the back. I rolled out after him, following his steps without a word.
He wound us through a few small houses and a grove before walking onto a secluded little beach. It couldn’t have been more than two-hundred feet in length, half that in width between the grove and the water. There were a few lights on in the houses off in the distance, but nothing on the beach itself. It was just us, the sand, the water, and the moon.
Jamie dropped the bag he had in the sand and pulled out a thick woven blanket, spreading it out on the beach. He sat down without hesitating and looked up at me, pulling a second blanket out and patting the spot next to him. I tugged my boots off again, falling down next to him, and he covered us both with the spare blanket. It had to be in the low fifties now, maybe high forties, but with the layers of clothes we were wearing and the blankets, it wasn’t so bad.
I leaned back on my palms, watching as the gentle waves rolled in and waiting for Jamie to speak. He seemed to be waiting for something, too — a sign, maybe — but eventually, he sighed, long and slow, and broke the silence.
“What would you do if everything you had planned for your future went up in flames and there was nothing you could do about it?”
I shifted on my hands, uneasy at the loaded question. “Find a new future, I suppose.”
“What if there wasn’t one?”
Leaning up, I hugged my thighs to my chest and leaned my cheek on my knees. “What’s going on, Jamie?”
A Love Letter to Whiskey Page 10