A Love Letter to Whiskey (28 page)

“That doesn’t mean we can’t have a life together, too.”

I paused a beat, heart breaking a little at how wrong he was. “But it kind of does, Jamie. It all sounds so easy when you say it over the phone, but a long-distance relationship is hard. It’s complicated and messy and neither of us needs that right now, not when we’re both just getting started in our careers. It’s just not the right time for us…” I shook my head. “It’s never the right time.”

There was a sigh on the other end, and I felt the time stretch between us before Jamie spoke again. When he did, his voice was lower, defeated, and the sound of it nearly made me drop my glass.

“That’s not fair. You don’t understand this, B — any of it. When you left Alder, you got to leave it all behind — the places we went, the memories we made. But I lived there. Without you. For three
years
.” He paused. “And then, when I found you again, everything seemed right. The timing, the way we both felt. I finally got an answer from you, why you stayed away all those years, and I got it, B — I really did. I understood. You were broken from your father’s death and you needed time and space. I gave that to you. Happily. I didn’t know if I’d ever have you again but I didn’t care because I knew what you needed from me.”

My eyes welled as I thought of that time in my life. I remembered feeling so torn, wanting to stay at Alder and knowing that I couldn’t. Jamie loved me enough back then to let me bring him down with me, and I’d never understand how he could still love me after.

“But now, you’re telling me it’s still not there — it’s still not the right time. You couldn’t be with me when you were broken, and now that you’re standing on your own, you
still
can’t be with me. So if I can’t have you at your worst, and I can’t have you at your best, then when do I get you, B? When does the timing line up for you to stop fighting what we have between us and just let me in?”

A sob cracked in my throat and I cleared it, sniffling as I took another drink. I didn’t know what to say. In a way, he was right — it wasn’t fair. But it also wasn’t as easy as just pointing a finger to a time and place in my life and saying, “There! That’s the time I’ll be ready.” His nonchalance over it all rubbed me wrong, and I took another long pull of whiskey, realizing Jamie hadn’t really ever seemed like he believed I’d make it and end up staying in Pittsburgh. He thought it was temporary, like me being in the city was inconveniencing him and
his
plans.

I loved Jamie, I always had, but we couldn’t do long distance. I couldn’t be the woman he needed me to be from thousands of miles away, when I had a job of my own and goals to fight for. I knew what he wanted, what he’d always wanted — a wife, a house full of kids. Maybe one day I’d want those things, too. But that day wasn’t today.

And that’s when I remembered what he asked me for that night we found each other again.

“What happened to one day?” I asked in a whisper.

It took a moment for him to answer. “Well, I need one day right now.”

“And I can’t give it to you, so where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know.”

I finished what was left in my glass and poured up another, the Whipper Snapper smoother than before just like I knew it’d be. It was sinking into my system while another, older Whiskey bled itself out.

I know you’re probably furious with me in this moment. Hell, I’m furious with myself looking back on that night. But at that particular moment in my life, I thought I knew what was best. I thought I knew what would work and what wouldn’t, what mattered and what didn’t. I thought protecting myself from a potentially broken heart would be easier than trying to fight for love with distance in the mix. I’d walked away from Jamie before and it’d nearly killed me, but this time, I was stubborn — and I felt like it was him giving me the ultimatum. It was him ready to walk away from me, and I was just proud enough to let him if it meant standing my ground.

“Listen, I have a really big event coming up and tomorrow is going to be a long day…”

It was a sorry excuse, and Jamie knew it. The bigger part of me expected him to fight me on it, to demand I talk to him and figure this out, and I guess it should have been my sign that he was giving up on me. He was done waiting, done fighting someone who wasn’t even blocking the punches anymore.

“Yeah, okay.” He exhaled, and I felt that breath through the phone. I could almost smell him there with me, the oaky honey, similar to the whiskey I was drinking that night. “I just…” I waited for him to finish that sentence, but he never did, and it haunted me for nights to come after. “Goodnight, B.”

“Night.”

After we hung up, I sat there with my phone in my hands for a solid ten minutes, my eyes on the glass in my hand as I replayed our conversation. And that’s when I realized it.

Jamie never congratulated me on my promotion.

I drank half the bottle before I finally turned in that night, and not even the expensive whiskey could silence my racing thoughts. I was stuck in the strangest place I’d ever been. I felt both solid in my decision and terrified I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life, proud of my accomplishments yet ashamed of my stubbornness. But the truth was that summer, that year in my life — it was about me. I felt like I had all the time in the world, room for mistakes, room to grow. How could I have known how wrong I was?

I didn’t call Jamie the next day, and he didn’t call me. And so it went, for days, weeks, and months. It took too long for me to realize I’d dropped that beautiful bottle of whiskey. Too long to realize I’d broken it. By the time I figured it out, too long turned to too late, and I remembered all-too-well the other way Whiskey can burn.

I WAS ON FIRE.

I nailed the event at the end of my internship, which just seemed to propel me straight into my new full-time position. As much as I enjoyed my internship working under River, I was finally exactly where I wanted to be — finding new talent, building a client list, making connections in the publishing world. I was on my way to Literary Agent, and after that — I knew I’d be unstoppable.

There was something both freeing and absolutely suffocating about working hard and being rewarded. On the one hand, I was proud of myself. I’d figured out what I wanted in life, what I was good at, and I was making the right moves to set up a solid foundation for my career. Nothing made me happier than staying late at the office or coming in on a weekend if I saw the payout on the other end. Everyone at Rye Publishing knew who I was. To some, I was an inspiration. To others, a threat. And I loved being both.

But, on the other hand, work was literally everything in my life — which meant even if I tried to deny it, I was lonely. It wasn’t that I was sad in that loneliness, but I felt it — like a ghost or a shadow in the corner of my apartment. It was always there, lurking, and when it got to be too much I found myself back in the office to avoid it. And so the cycle went.

Because work was my life, I ended up spending most of my time with River — which was dangerous in more ways than one. It was clear to me that he was curious, and not about my work ethic. But even though I’d let Jamie go, my heart still held onto him tight, and I did my best to make that clear to River. He hadn’t made a move per se, but I saw the twitch of his fingers — he was ready, waiting, and I wondered when he’d strike.

I wondered what I’d do.

It was after eight o’clock one Friday night in November when the loneliness finally got to me. I was pouring over a new manuscript I’d curated from an up-and-coming fantasy author who was Indie up until that point but was now seeking representation. The book was amazing, I was completely immersed, at least until River tapped hard on the top of my cube.

“You know, that book will still be readable on Monday. Or even tomorrow — when you can read it on your couch and not hunched over in that shitty chair.” I smiled, tossing the manuscript down on my desk and kicking back in my chair. I scrubbed two hands over my face before running them back over my curls. “You should call it a night.”

“You’re not my boss anymore, Riv. Haven’t been for months.” I winked, knowing he hated when I pointed that out. He always wanted me to work less, and that always made me work more. “You’re just scared I’m going to make it to VP before you.”

He laughed. “Honestly? At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” Without warning, he stepped into my cube and jabbed his finger into the power button of my Mac, powering it down.

“Hey!”

“Seriously, come on. It’s Friday night. Let’s go get a drink.” He held out his hand and I looked up at him, feeling the sparkle in his eye a little too close to a sensitive space still partly occupied.

I sighed. “You know, I am really tired actually. Maybe I should just go get some sleep.”

He swallowed, and though I knew it wasn’t the answer he wanted, he grabbed my hand and hoisted me up. “That works too. Just get the hell out of here.”

“So bossy,” I teased. His eyes lit up again, and this time I
definitely
felt the space spark around us. I cleared my throat, tossing the manuscript in my oversized purse and throwing it over my shoulder. “Walk me out?”

River didn’t just walk me downstairs, but all the way to the entrance of my apartment building before he gave me a stiff hug goodbye and went to meet up with some of our coworkers at a little bar in Market Square. I rode the elevator up to my floor and moved through the motions that had become my new routine — drop shit at the door, kick shoes off, pour a glass of wine, hold the bottle in the other hand until I made it to my bedroom, where I changed into leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, then it was ass on the couch — my favorite place to be.

I sighed with relief as I tucked my legs beneath me and took a long sip of the red wine. It was dry, slightly sweet, and perfect. As I tossed my hair into a loose bun on top of my head, I laughed out loud. How pathetic. I’d been invited out to drinks with friends and I’d turned it down to sit by myself. I didn’t even have a pet to cuddle with.

Flipping through the contacts on my phone, I dropped my finger on Mom’s name and a picture of us at my graduation filled the screen. It’d been a while since we’d talked other than text, so I sat back, ready for a long conversation of catching up.

“Hi sweetie!” She yelled over the background noise.

“Mom?”

“Huh?”

“You there?”

A loud burst of laughter rang out and I heard Mom yell something before the noise disappeared. “Sorry, honey. Wayne and I are out at a new bar that opened downtown. What’s up?”

Even my mom is cooler than I am.

“Oh, sorry. I was just calling to catch up.”

“Aw, I miss you, honey! How’s work?”

It was always the first question she asked me, and really it was the only thing she
knew
to ask about — work.

I sighed. “It’s great. Kicking ass and taking names like always.”

“That’s my girl.”

“I’ll let you get back to Wayne. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Is everything okay?”

Mom knew. She always knew. But tonight wasn’t the night to unload on her. “Everything’s okay, Mom. Give me a call tomorrow okay?”

“Okay honey. Talk then!” She ended the call quickly, and I chuckled, thinking how different she was from the mom who’d brought me up in high school. That woman never left the house except for work, and she rarely smiled. Wayne had sparked life back into my mom, and I loved him for it.

I poured up another glass of wine, realizing I’d finished my first one probably a little too quickly. Then, I dialed Jenna.

“Sup, betch.”

“Please tell me I’m not interrupting your super fun Friday night out.”

She scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Good. My mom is already drunk and living it up and I’m wallowing in self-pity on the couch and looking for someone to whine to.”

“Well,” Jenna said on a breath, like she was adjusting her position. “Lucky for you, I just finished eating my weight in egg rolls and Ben & Jerry’s and I’m only forty minutes into
Cruel Intentions
. The night is young.”

“You’re so beautiful.”

“I know,” she said around a mouthful of something — my bet was on the ice cream. “So, my pity party hat is strapped on. What are we celebrating?”