Chapter 17
BEFORE
August, Twelve Years Ago
The summer before our junior year, Julie got into Stanford and moved to California.
She left a week after we celebrated Jackson’s seventeenth birthday.
The weeks building up to her departure, I was filled with an uncomfortable sense of dread.
It reminded me of when Mom left—like I didn’t know for sure if Julie would come back.
An underlying patch of anxiety sat beneath my chest for weeks until the day she left.
Julie and I both cried as I helped her pack her bags.
She was closer than a friend; she was like my sister now.
I couldn’t imagine being at the restaurant without her.
Would Jackson and I still sing happily without her?
It didn’t seem possible. We were a trio.
Jackson and I hardly spent any time alone together outside the restaurant or school these days, and he’d stopped looking at me like he wanted to touch me, too.
When it was time for Marie and Phil to take Julie to the airport, Jackson and I sat in the backseat of the car with her, Julie in the middle seat between us.
After we said our goodbyes, the three of us stayed connected in a group hug for a good ten minutes.
Other cars started honking at Marie’s SUV to get a move on, but it did nothing to break us apart.
Julie promised she’d be back for Christmas, and I tried to believe her.
She wasn’t my mom. She would come back for us.
I noticed a drastic shift in Jackson after she left.
The typical rap songs we used to listen to while closing the restaurant transitioned into heavy, sad songs.
We started listening to things like “I’m Not Okay” by My Chemical Romance, and the glasses of wine we used to drink behind the bar turned into stolen bottles.
A few weeks later, we were sitting against the wall in the dining room, a new routine we had started after Julie left. Jackson and I would close by ourselves, clock out, then drink.
“It’s so weird that Julie’s gone,” I said with a sigh.
Jackson took a long pull from the bottle. “I’m like an only child now. It’s so weird. Is this what it feels like for you at home?”
I shrugged. “I guess so. Peter’s left me alone since last summer. I think even he knows he was acting insane. At least you have your parents.”
He let out a groan. “They’ve been so far up my ass. My grades have been shit these past two years. If I don’t raise them, there’s no way I’ll be able to get into a good college. The last thing I want to do is get stuck with this restaurant.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m not smart like Sam or Julie. I could never get into law school.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “My family would never sell this place to anyone that’s not family, either. It’s not fair that my siblings left and I can’t.”
I didn’t know what to say. I loved this place. Being stuck with the restaurant and the Delvecchio family sounded like a dream to me. And Jackson wasn’t stupid, so I hated that he constantly compared himself to his siblings.
“Just because you might not become a lawyer doesn’t mean you can’t do something just as successful,” I encouraged.
Jackson shook his head. “Didn’t you hear me? My grades are trash.”
I itched the tip of my nose, trying to think of a way to make him feel better. “Well, junior year is important. Just study hard for the ACTs.”
Jackson rolled his eyes. “I’m stupid. I fucking failed kindergarten. I doubt attempting to study will help.”
“We could study together,” I offered.
“No thanks,” he added quickly. “I’ve already accepted my fate.” I hated how much he had started talking down on himself. He used to be so confident—the life of the party wherever we went. Even though he wore a near-permanent scowl now, he was still popular at school.
We sat for a little longer until my stomach started to hurt. I rubbed my hand against it, figuring it was probably just the wine. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom before we go, my stomach is acting up.”
When I got into the bathroom another wave of pain hit my stomach, almost doubling me over. Maybe the fettuccine we had earlier was bad.
I pulled down my pants and screamed. My underwear was drenched in blood.
I took off my pants to check if any had transferred to the back of them.
They were ruined. Shit, shit, shit! Of course this was when my body would decide to give me my period for the first time; at the restaurant, with just Jackson here. I needed Julie.
I heard a knock at the door. “Did you fall in? What was that scream about?”
I couldn’t even laugh. I didn’t know what to do.
“It’s a warzone!” I yelled out. I wasn’t even trying to be funny—I was freaking out. My underwear and pants were literally drenched in blood. I couldn’t even put my clothes back on.
I heard Jackson laughing from the other side of the door. Tears prickled at my eyes. Why did my mom have to abandon me and Peter? This was the worst possible time for Julie to move to California, too. Jackson’s laughter quieted, and I tried to brainstorm what to do.
“Are you crying in there? Addie, are you sick?” Jackson said softly through the door.
“Sick of my stupid life,” I mumbled to myself. “Jackson, I um . . . This is really embarrassing, but something happened.”
He was silent for a second, then said, “Oh god, did you shit your pants?”
A laugh escaped me. “No, you idiot, I didn’t shit myself. I started my period. And it’s like, everywhere. I can’t put my clothes back on. I don’t know what to do.”
Jackson was quiet for another moment, then started trying to open the door. I screamed at the top of my lungs and threw my arms over my body to block myself, even though I knew the door was locked.
“Relax! I just wanted to open it a crack so we could hear each other better,” Jackson said. Hesitantly, I reached up and flipped the lock. Jackson, true to his word, cracked it open only slightly before saying, “Do you have like, feminine supplies in your backpack?”
I groaned. I hated that he said “feminine supplies” like he was a health teacher. “No Jackson, this is my first period. This fucking sucks.”
I stared at my work pants on the floor. I could live with one less pair of underwear, but having to get new work pants irritated me.
“Listen, I’ll run down the street to the store and get you some pads,” Jackson offered.
“Okay, but my pants are gross, I can’t put them back on. Jesus, what if it got on the carpet out there?” The tears that had been blurring my vision finally started to fall.
“If it’s on the carpet, we can get it out.
I’m sure it’s the same as red wine. I’ll be back in five minutes.
” The door clicked shut, and I rested my elbows on my knees.
Blood was still dripping into the toilet, and I managed to stretch my arms far enough to throw away my underwear without getting up.
I started wiping at the blood on my pants with toilet paper; I would have no choice but to put them back on.
Shit, I had just thrown my underwear away. What was I going to put the pad on?
Jackson came back five minutes later, as promised. He knocked on the door before opening it a sliver again. “I got a box of pads. I also took off my boxers so you can wear them. They’re in the bag. Can I hand this to you? I’ll keep my eyes closed.”
I guffawed. “Your boxers! That your sweaty nuts have touched?”
He shoved his arm through the crack, holding the bag up. “What other choice do we have? You just have to wear them home.”
He was right. It would be easier to put the pad on his boxers rather than try to stick it to my ruined pants.
The drive home was hardly ten minutes, and I could change into something else immediately.
I was kind of impressed that he’d even thought of it.
“Okay, bring in the bag, but don’t you dare open your eyes. ”
“No offense Addie, but I really don’t want to open them.”
I let myself laugh as he pushed his way through the door. He stayed facing the door as he backed his way to me, eyes closed as promised. I grabbed the bag from him, and he ran out the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
I looked inside the bag. There was a bottle of ibuprofen, his navy-blue boxer briefs, a box of pads, and a bag of sour gummy worms. I wanted to cry—Jackson was the best.
I took the boxers out of the bag, placing a pad inside them before cleaning myself up as best I could and pulling them up. I folded up the pants and put them in the bag, then I took three ibuprofen, washing them down with water from the sink.
When I left the bathroom, Jackson already had my backpack on his arm, ready to take me home.
We stood staring at each other for a second. His eyes dropped to look at me standing in his boxers, while I was looking at him like he was my entire world. He held my backpack out for me.
“Can you see if there’s a jacket in the back I can tie around my waist?” I asked. “I will die of mortification if you see how bulky this pad is in the back.”
Jackson laughed and ran back toward the kitchen. I followed him through the swinging doors and he got me an old jacket of Julie’s from the coat hook. I tied it around my waist and we headed outside for the truck.
“Are you going commando right now?” I asked Jackson as we got in the truck.
He shook his head with a smile. “Obviously. Do you think I just go around wearing two pairs of underwear in case of an emergency?”
We broke out into laughter, and Jackson turned on the radio for our drive to my house. I ate the gummy worms as the cramps started to fade away. When he pulled into my driveway, I grabbed the door handle, not turning to look at Jackson while I spoke.
“Thanks, Jackson. For uh . . . everything. I’ll wash these and give them back.”
He didn’t respond, and I turned my head to face him.
He was watching me with an expression I couldn’t decipher.
His brown eyes looked so beautiful in the darkness; I wished I could reach over and touch him.
Finally, he gave me a small smile. “That’s what friends do for each other. ” They protect each other.
“You’re the best,” I said quickly. I hopped out of the truck and walked up the path to the front porch, making sure not to turn around to see if he was still watching me.