Chapter 18
NOW
July
Jackson helped me for the next two days with the kitchen.
We boxed up old dishes and silverware, and threw out stained and burnt pans, and cutting boards that were unusable.
We ended up taking the kitchen table out to the curb to throw away.
We scrubbed the fridge out, and wiped the walls and counters from top to bottom.
We even ripped out all the wallpaper that was inside the cabinets.
On the Fourth of July, Jackson invited me to come to the restaurant to sit inside and watch the parade that went down Main Street every year.
He picked me up in that clunker of a truck that we drove around in high school.
The only difference I could spot was a new front bumper.
I hopped up into the passenger seat, the sweet feeling of nostalgia covering me.
We drove with the windows down, listening to one of Julie’s old Taylor Swift CDs.
I love that he never got rid of them; her music was the soundtrack to our youth.
“You Belong With Me” was playing, and I ran my hand across the worn seat, reliving a million little memories of squeezing in here with Julie and Jackson.
“How is this truck even still running? It’s like, a million years old,” I said when we pulled into the alley behind the restaurant.
“This truck is like a damn heirloom in this family. It can’t die.”
“How often do you drive it?” I asked.
“Hardly ever, honestly. I usually drive my SUV. But this was a special occasion.”
I refused to meet the smile I knew he was wearing.
We walked through the back door into the kitchen, then through the swinging doors and into the dining room as we switched on the lights. He motioned for me to sit at one of the barstools as he slid behind the bar.
“What would you like to drink?” he asked as he settled his forearms on the counter in front of me.
“Just water is fine,” I said as I swiveled on the seat.
“You don’t want a glass of wine?”
I shook my head, crossing my hands on the counter. My finger grazed against his forearm and I inched my hand away. “If you can’t drink, I’m not drinking.”
He smiled at me before grabbing a glass and filling it with water. “Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean you can’t.”
“I don’t want to. Seriously,” I added. Unlike your future wife, apparently. He slid the glass across the bar to me while he poured his own.
“So, what’s your family doing? Didn’t you guys always get together for the Fourth?”
He walked around the bar to sit next to me, his knee bumping against mine in the process. “Everyone usually flies in for the holiday, but they were just out here for the engagement party, so we decided to skip a family party this year. We’re all going to FaceTime later.”
I only got that one quick hug from Julie, and never even got to see Marie when she was here since they flew back the same day I ran into Jackson and Julie at the restaurant. I was so close to being with all of them again.
“You guys seem closer now?” I questioned.
He nodded. “Yeah, Julie and I are best buddies, even with her living farther away. Sam and I are the same as always—I’m really close with his kids, though.” He took a sip of his water, then wiped his mouth. “Marie and I are better, too, now that I’m sober.”
I traced my finger up and down the condensation on his glass, remembering the one and only time I heard Marie yell at Jackson.
“What about your mom?” Jackson asked.
I let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Denise? The only time she managed to get a hold of me was to tell me the house had been left to me. She never gave a shit about me.”
Jackson’s fists were clenching and unclenching.
He was staring straight ahead at the bottles of wine, and I wondered if he was thinking about a drink.
About how good it would feel to taste a drop, let the fuzziness overcome his body, and forget about everything.
If he could fight the feeling, then so could I.
We changed the subject, and he gave me his phone to choose music to play softly over the speakers. He left to go to the ice cream shop to get something to hold us over through the parade.
We were drinking peanut butter banana smoothies and sitting on the floor in the lobby, cross-legged against the front windows like little kids.
Every time someone threw candy into the street, Jackson sprinted out to grab some and hand it to the kids who were sitting on the curb.
It was adorable, and I wanted to hate it.
When the parade ended, we moved to the dining room, still seated on the floor with our backs up against the wall like we did in high school. Except this time, we weren’t passing a bottle back and forth.
“So, are you seeing anyone?” Jackson asked.
I pulled my knees up to rest under my chin. “Nah. I haven’t dated in a while. I haven’t had the best of luck.”
“No?” he questioned.
I ran my hands up and down my legs. “I mean, I’ve been a live-in nanny for ten years.
It’s kinda hard to meet people unless I use a dating app.
Every time I try dating, the guy has some underlying issue.
Apparently, I can only attract addicts. You’d think I’d know how to stay away from them after being surrounded by them growing up.
” I said it jokingly, but as soon as it came out, I wished I could take it back.
I didn’t mean to make a jab at him specifically. My eyes met his apologetically.
“I’m sorry,” Jackson said.
I raised an eyebrow. Was he sorry I had a bad experience with dating? Or was he sorry he had been one of the previous addicts in my life?
I knocked my elbow into his. “I’m proud of you, ya know,” I told him sincerely.
He looked away, staring at the bottles of wine on the wall. So many nights we had stolen from that bar and gotten drunk together.
“Thanks, Addie.” He didn’t sound like he believed me, and it tugged something in my heart.
“I’m serious, Jackson. I know how hard it is to get sober, and it’s even harder to stay sober. I mean, look at Peter. He always claimed he wouldn’t be like his dad. Then ended up exactly like him.”
Jackson rubbed a hand over his mouth, letting out a deep, shaky breath. This was probably the nicest I had been to him in the time we’d spent together so far. And it felt . . . good. Jackson wasn’t a bad guy. He never really was, he just hadn’t known how to handle his problems.
“What did Peter do to you that night?” Jackson whispered the question, like he was scared to know the answer. I looked down at my arms. I couldn’t believe he’d brought it up—that we were going to talk about that night. I wasn’t ready.
When I didn’t answer, he grabbed my right arm, extending it so he could see the inside of my right bicep.
“Is this from him?” he managed to ask.
It wasn’t a huge scar; maybe two inches long, and it was the only mark Peter had ever left on me. I pulled my arm back, tucking it between my thighs. “It really wasn’t that bad.”
Jackson flared his nostrils, looking away and shaking his head. His fists were clenching and unclenching again, and I felt uncomfortable. I would do anything to change the subject, because it all just led back to me needing Jackson and him not being there for me.
“Hey, why don’t we go make a pizza?” I offered.
He looked over at me, and I could tell he wanted to say more, wanted to ask more questions. He must’ve decided against it, because he stood up then, reaching down to help me stand. We headed for the kitchen and dropped the subject, but I didn’t let go of his hand until we passed the kitchen doors.
***
At one o’clock, Jackson joined a family FaceTime, and I stayed out of view on the other side of him. We were sitting at the bar now, and had each finished our third piece of pizza.
I could hear Julie and Marie’s voices in the background, a male voice that I assumed was Sam, and little kids giggling.
“I have a surprise visitor here with me,” Jackson said. He swiveled in his chair to face me. “Hold up your middle fingers so I can turn the camera to you.”
I laughed, covering my face. “I’m not going to do that, it’s disrespectful.”
I heard Julie’s scream. “I already know who it is by the voice! Britt, get over here!” I assumed Britt was her wife.
Then I heard Marie ask, “Surprise visitor?”
“I’m not turning the camera around until you double-flip the bird,” Jackson encouraged.
“There’s children,” I argued.
“And Julie is their aunt. They’ve seen a middle finger,” Jackson said with an eye roll. “Come on, it’s funny!”
I let out a groan before holding up two middle fingers. Screams erupted from the phone, and I heard Julie tell Britt that I’m like a little sister to her. She didn’t say “used to be”—she spoke in the present tense. My heart ached, because I missed her just as much as I had missed Jackson.
“Oh, is that Addison? Let me see you,” Marie said.
Jackson let me take the phone from him, and when I did, I couldn’t help the tear that fell from my eye.
Marie’s hair was almost fully gray now—I knew she’d had Jackson later in life, so she must be almost seventy now.
I had missed out on her aging, and something about that fact hurt so deeply.
I had been so close to her for years, and lost so much time I could’ve had with her.
At the same time, it felt like I had just seen her yesterday; like I was still a fourteen-year-old girl, standing in this lobby, asking for a job.
She was crying, covering her mouth with her hand. “You’re radiant, honey,” Marie said, trying to get control of her tears.
“It’s so good to see you,” I said quietly.
I waved to Julie’s wife, and Sam gave an awkward wave.
I hadn’t ever really talked to him, so this was anticlimactic for him.
His two sons were sitting on either side of him, and they looked like carbon copies of Jackson and Sam.
They were watching me with confused looks on their faces, and suddenly I got the feeling this was a bad idea.
It was like the kids read my thoughts. “Where’s Aunt Sophie?” one of them asked.
I shoved the phone back into Jackson’s hands and heard him say, “She’s visiting her sister.” I swung through the kitchen doors before I could hear anything else.
I put my hand over my chest to calm my heart. I was sure I was having a heart attack. What was I doing? What the actual fuck was I doing?
I turned around and came face-to-face with the bulletin board.
The picture of me and Jackson from graduation stared back at me.
I stormed toward it, ripping it from the corkboard and sending the tac flying across the room.
I ripped it in half perfectly, so that I was disconnected from Jackson.
My smiling face with the diplomas on one half, him with my legs around his hips on the other.
I threw both halves in the trash and walked out the back door.
***
I had walked for thirty minutes by the time Jackson pulled the truck up beside me.
He rolled down the window and called out to me, “Jesus Addie, don’t just leave like that. I couldn’t find you anywhere.”
A part of me felt bad for worrying him, but another part didn’t care. Because I shouldn’t care. Because what I do shouldn’t matter to him.
I didn’t say a word as I opened the passenger door and got in. It was humid as fuck today, and I was drenched in sweat. It was soaked through my shirt already, and the truck’s A/C felt heavenly.
“Can you take me home, please? I’m not feeling well,” I mumbled.
“Yeah, you probably gave yourself heatstroke,” Jackson said.
He wasn’t fighting me on it, because he probably also knew that me joining the FaceTime was a bad idea.
It made him look like a cheater, and that made me look bad.
I was brought into this world as a product of my own mother’s infidelity, so why was I playing with fire?
“Don’t act like you care,” I muttered.
“Stop acting like I don’t,” he shot back.
Don’t let him affect you.
He handed me a cold bottle of water, and I ripped it out of his hands to chug shamelessly. “Big Blind” by The Story So Far was playing, but neither of us sang along. I was irritated by how well the lyrics fit with our situation.
When we pulled into the driveway, Jackson covered his mouth while balancing his elbow on the window ledge like he was thinking.
“Hey, Addie?” His voice was laced with emotion. I turned away, staring through the windshield at my house. When I didn’t respond, he talked anyways. “Please don’t just leave me like that again.”
His sentence rocked me. I was falling down a cliff, rolling and tumbling and getting scratched from every side.
He sounded like he was talking to eighteen-year-old Addison—the Addison who got in her car without telling him where she was going, and without saying goodbye.
Not the Addison now, who left the restaurant without telling him first half an hour ago.
“You can’t disappear again,” he whispered. I couldn’t respond even if I wanted to, because my throat was on fire from how hard I was fighting back the tears.
I grabbed the door handle to leave, and Jackson said, “I’ll text you.”
I nodded my head, but didn’t promise I’d answer.