I’ve never dreaded a birthday party so damn much.
And that makes me feel like a complete asshole since it’s Easton’s daughter, Jasmine’s, party. Easton is the only parent in our circle of friends—unsurprisingly. It seems our group has failed to become the fall in love with your high school sweetheart and live together forever trend that’s the norm in most small towns.
Easton became a teen dad and then a single father since he doesn’t know where his baby mama is half the time. He doesn’t let that bother him though. Hell, sometimes, I think he finds it easier to do it without her because she’s a shit person.
I got here at the ass crack of dawn to help Easton set up for the party and held in the urge to ask if Amelia was coming.
I get my answer when Amelia walks in, looking every bit of gorgeous I wish she didn’t. And I’m using all my strength to not stare at her the entire time.
When I shut my eyes, I relive what happened with us in the office. It’s consumed my every thought. Her soft lips against mine. The way she whimpered into my mouth, as if I was exactly what she needed. How her body melted into mine. She tasted like butterscotch, like the candies my grandma used to give me.
It was wrong. So wrong.
But I can’t stop thinking about it.
We haven’t seen or talked to each other since.
For the last few days, she told Toby to tell me that she was meeting with clients, like we were playing telephone on the damn playground. Toby warned that it was the only time he’d do that for her, and going forward, he wouldn’t be our proxy for when things got awkward.
“Dude, could you make it any more obvious?”
My attention breaks away from Amelia as I turn and look at my cousin River, sitting next to me. “What?”
River sends me a pointed look. “You’re watching Amelia like you’ll never see her again.”
“Whatever, man.” I frown. My not-so-genius plan to keep my Ray-Bans on today just in case I glance in her direction isn’t working. “I was zoning out.”
“Dude,” River scoffs. “Don’t act like it’s the first time.”
I massage my temples and grumble, “Don’t talk shit.”
My nonstop thoughts of Amelia are causing me lack of sleep.
When I do fall asleep, I dream of her.
So, either way, Amelia Malone is keeping me up all night.
“Seriously.” River’s smile widens, flashing his white teeth. “I had a 4.0 GPA. Don’t act like you can outsmart me.”
Other than Chris, River and Easton are my closest friends. River liked Chris, but they weren’t buddy-buddy. They didn’t hang out by themselves without Amelia or me. Chris didn’t click with many people because he was standoffish. I was shocked with how close he’d allowed Amelia to get with him.
River runs his hand through his brown hair and throws his head back. “Do you ever regret letting Chris have her?” When he looks back at me, there’s nothing but seriousness on his face.
“I didn’t let anyone have her,” I say harshly. “She’s not Park Place on a damn Monopoly board.” Even though I can’t stand Amelia, she’s no one’s property.
“Screw you, dude.” He grabs the cap from his water bottle and pings it at my head. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“You out of all people should know Amelia and I have hated each other for years.” I scowl but am also thankful he waited to bring this up until it was only the two of us at the table.
Just ten minutes ago, Essie, River’s twin, and Mia were sitting with us. I was shocked neither of them had muttered a word about Amelia or the brewery, but my guess is, they’ve already had their chats with Amelia. I’d also bet my last dollar that Amelia never told them about our little office mistake. Otherwise, knowing Essie, no way would she have been able to stop grinning at me, suggesting Amelia and I get married or some shit.
I clear my throat, looking at each side of the yard, and then lower my voice. “Did you forget she was in love with Chris?”
“Yes.” River clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth before pointing at me and saying, “But she loved you before him.”
Why has everyone been up my ass about this lately?
It’s as if Chris giving Amelia his half of the brewery meant Amelia and I would become more than business partners.
I rub my forehead and move my neck from side to side. “Why don’t we pay attention to the Aladdin birthday party happening here? Not my goddamn love life.” Or lack thereof.
“Yes, because you’re very interested in princess ponies or tiaras painted on your face.” His voice is thick with sarcasm. “Speaking of which, how did Easton get a pony here? My mom is about to have a bad day when I ask why I had to not only share birthday parties with Essie, but why I also only had a bounce house. I would’ve at least settled for some goats.”
I shake my head. “Sometimes, I want to punch you in the face.”
He gestures to his face. “And fuck up this prettiness?”
I swing my scowl from him to Amelia, watching her paint a poor girl’s face. The little one has no idea what she got herself into. I had better art skills in the womb than Amelia does. Give that girl a paintbrush, and you’ll be guessing what the picture is until the day you die.
“Uncle Jax and Uncle River!”
I hear Jasmine’s voice before seeing her come barreling in our direction. Her brown pigtails swing in the air, and as she comes closer, I make out the tiara on her cheek. She was smart enough to choose Ava as her face artist. She comes to a stop, nearly falling into the table, while grinning at us with her gap-toothed smile.
“Grandma said you’re hard of hearing because I’ve been yelling at you about what cake flavor you want.” She bounces on her toes. “I told them I’d come over and ask and tell you thank you again for my gifts.”
You’ve got to give it to Easton.
His daughter has better manners than River.
I hunch forward in my chair, so I’m eye-level with her. “I’m okay on cake, sweetie.”
My stomach has been uneasy as I contemplate my emotions toward Amelia.
And I don’t want to waste the poor kid’s cake,
Jasmine plays with her Birthday Girl sash and frowns.
Oh hell. I’ve never felt like such a jerk.
“I’ll take chocolate—”
“He’s on a diet,” River says at the same time. “You can give me his slice. Strawberry.” He playfully shoos her away. “And make sure it’s a super-duper big piece.”
Jasmine’s frown turns upside down, and she squeals, “I’ll get you the biggest piece ever!” Turning around, she dashes back across the lawn, where Willow is cutting slices of the three-tiered purple cake.
“It’s decided,” River says. “All your ass is getting on your birthday is a bounce house and a heart. No ponies for you, asshole.”
I flip him off.
An hour later, the crowd of children start clearing out, and River ditches me to talk to one of Essie’s friends.
Groaning, I bring myself to my feet and stroll through the grass toward my mother, who’s deep in conversation with the women at her table. Their conversation ceases, and everyone’s eyes turn to me as I pull out the chair between my mother and Amelia.
I shift my back toward Amelia, refusing to look at her. “Willow, as always, you threw an amazing party.”
Willow nods. “Thank you, and we appreciate your help this morning.” Her attention swings from me when Jasmine calls her name and asks for help opening a jewelry kit. She tells us good night, blows Amelia a kiss, and jogs over to her granddaughter.
“How’s the brewery—” Lola starts to ask before she stops herself, her eyes flashing to Amelia’s in apology.
There’s never been a silence so loud between four people.
Amelia and me.
Both our mothers.
All at the same table and lost for words.
I tap my fingers along the table before plastering a smile and looking at Amelia. “Can we talk for a minute?”
The color draining from her face confirms she wants to tell me no, but knowing Amelia, I know she won’t refuse me in front of my mother. She might be rude to me, but she’s never been disrespectful to my parents.
“Yeah.” She straightens her shoulders. “Of course.”
“We’ll leave you to it,” my mother says.
Lola glances to her daughter in reassurance. Lola gives her a single nod, and she brushes her hand along Amelia’s back before she and my mom walk into Easton’s home.
“I see you’re still a terrible artist,” is what I say to lessen the tension.
I didn’t plan on talking to her today. I was prepared to do the opposite.
She dips her hand into her drink, grabs an ice cube, and flicks it at me. “Shut up. I don’t think knowing how to paint Bambi on the side of a face will hold me back from living my best life.”
“Are you sleeping in your laundry room tonight?”
It’s a question I shouldn’t care at all about the answer.
But it’s one of those questions you feel like you need to know—like who decided Earth’s name, or who smoked the first cigarette, or why your best friend died. Alongside that list now is where Amelia will lay her head down tonight.
She looks from side to side, as if she’s worried someone overheard me. “No.”
“Liar.”
“I don’t care if you believe me. Just like you shouldn’t care where I’m sleeping. It could be another man’s bed for all you know.” She smiles, proud of her taunt.
My heart lurches in my chest at the thought of her doing that.
It’s for my friend’s memory, of course.
I don’t want her doing that to him so early. It’s too soon.
But can I say that? I’d be a hypocrite because she already crossed that line with me.
I change topics. “Why did you kiss me?”
Yet another question I should have kept to myself.
She holds her hand up in front of my face. “Don’t.”
“Why did you kiss me, Amelia?” My voice is low and pleading, and it shouldn’t be.
“I’m not doing this with you,” she hisses.
Her face reddens, her cheeks a rosy pink, and I can’t help but fight back a smile.
She pulls her chair out and starts to stand, but I grab her elbow and pull her back down.
“Why?” If I need to sound like a broken record all night, I will.
“I was bored,” she grits out, dodging eye contact.
“Bullshit.” Spit flies out of my mouth with that one word.
“I thought it’d make you leave me alone.”
“Liar.”
She peels my hand off her, finger by finger. “It doesn’t matter because it won’t happen again.” She’s on her feet faster than I can stop her this time, and she dashes into the house, as if I told her a storm was coming through.
I almost repeat, Liar, but stop myself. I shouldn’t challenge her like that because, like she said, it’ll never happen again.
Easton cups my shoulder as he comes up behind me. “Thanks for coming today and for all your help. I couldn’t have done it without you guys.”
Like Amelia, I haven’t spent as much time with our friends as I once did. When they call and invite me to hang out, I decline, blaming it on work. Work is such a convenient scapegoat when you can use it. No one told me it’d be one of the biggest perks of owning your own business.
“Sorry, man. Some equipment broke down at the brewery. I can’t make it.”
“An employee didn’t show up for their shift. I have to cancel.”
No doubt, most were shocked I showed up today. But I couldn’t bail on Jasmine.
Amelia left after our talk, but I stayed and helped Easton clean up. It helped pass the time because I’d already told Toby I’d be gone for the day and there were no shifts for me to pick up at the pub.
So, it was either me, my thoughts, and lying in sheets that smelled like Amelia or cleaning up frosting fingerprints, taking out trash, and helping to load up the pony.
The pony’s name is Tigger.
Tigger is an asshole who bucked at everyone the entire time we tried to load him up. I’ll stick with the bounce house in the future.
Easton collapses onto his leather recliner next to me and hands over a beer—a Down Home brewski, of course. “How have you been holding up?”
“Same shit, different day,” I answer, my mouth dry. I pop open the beer and chug down half of it.
“I hope that’s not the case,” he says, staring straight ahead at the TV playing some ridiculous cartoon. “I hope each day is a better one for you.”
My mother has referred to Easton as the emotional guy of the bunch. He’s not a crier or someone who wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s the guy you go to when you have a problem, when you need advice, or when you just need an ear. The dude gives better advice than half these shrinks on TV.
That’s the great thing about Easton.
But it can also be the pain-in-the-ass thing about him.
He isn’t afraid to dive into the awkward questions.
My dad told me Dallas, Easton’s father, was the same way. He was the responsible one, the one who did marry his high school sweetheart and then who became a widower later. That was before Easton’s mother came along and helped his father heal.
Easton kicks his feet onto the coffee table. “Want to get anything off your chest? It’s been a while since we caught up.”
“I’m good.”
I chug my beer, shutting my eyes and relishing the taste. It’s the first beer flavor Chris and I mastered. We called it the Brother Brew. We swore we’d never stop carrying it even if only we bought it. It became our best seller.
I stand, walk to the kitchen, and snag two more beers. Then, I slide them back into the fridge and stand on my tiptoes to reach the cabinet above the fridge to find something that’ll hit me harder. That will erase my mind faster. That will numb me better.
When I return to the living room, I hold up the bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses I snagged from the cabinet.
Easton shakes his head violently. “The whiskey only comes out on nights I don’t have Jasmine, but you have at it. Out of the two of us, you’re the only one who seems like he needs it.”
I shrug. A dude can’t argue with that.
Put your kids first. It’s what Easton does. What my dad did.
If only Chris’s parents had done that.
My stomach tightens at the thought of him. I twist the cap off the whiskey and weirdly shove the cap into my pocket—as if I plan to drink the half that’s left tonight.
Easton doesn’t say anything as I rudely take a swig straight from the bottle.
I hold the bottle toward him. “I’ll buy you another one of these.”
He nods. “And add a twelve-pack of that new beer you have.”
“I got you, bro. I got you.”
I settle back down on the seat, holding the neck of the bottle between two fingers, and relax my neck. For the first time in a long time, it feels like I’m getting a second without having my mind race. Maybe it’s because I’m so damn tired and I haven’t had more than two hours of sleep, but it’s not like I get much anyway. I average four, and that’s on a good night.
It’s hitting my body harder and harder each day. And I’m not the only one noticing. Just last week, my mom showed up with a sleepy-time tea and asked me to watch some awards show while my father worked.
It knocked my ass out. I woke up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around me, the apartment dark and empty. The next morning, I sluggishly walked into my kitchen to find a box of the tea in my cabinet.
Turns out, her sleepy-time tea was laced with melatonin. I haven’t trusted my mother with a tea since. Hell, I won’t even touch one of her smoothies. That was a lesson learned when she threw some weird-ass vitamins into one because I wasn’t eating healthy enough, according to her.
“I heard you and Amelia are working with each other at the brewery.”
Easton’s comment snaps me out of my zone.
I don’t raise my head when I answer, “I’m trying to figure a way to get out of that.”
He snorts. “I wish you all the luck, trying to change Amelia’s mind on something she’s already decided on.”
“She doesn’t deserve it.” I tilt my head up slightly to take a drink.
“You spill that, and I’m kicking your ass,” Easton says in his best dad voice. “Drink it right, or I’m taking it.”
“Jesus Christ,” I groan, bringing my head upright. “I’m not Jasmine.”
“Then, drink like a grown-up, and I won’t treat you like a kid.” He gestures to the couch. “I just bought this last week because Jasmine spilled fingernail polish all over the last one. I’m not about to replace it because you don’t know how to drink whiskey correctly.”
I set the whiskey down on the coffee table, pour a shot, and then drain it.
Then, I pour another.
And another.
After the fifth, Easton adds, “And don’t puke on it either.”
I cast a glance to him. “I think we both know I handle my alcohol well.”
“Eh, true.” He reaches forward to grab the remote and turns the channel to some health documentary on Netflix.
I stay rooted in my spot, back hunched forward over the coffee table, and drink until my head turns dizzy.
“You’re obviously not driving home,” Easton says when the documentary ends, and he stands. “You can crash on the couch.”
No way in hell would Easton wake his daughter up to give his drunk friend a ride home. Not that I’d ask. It’s either sleep on his couch or phone a friend.
I decide to phone a River.
That’d make a good country song.
Jesus Christ. What is wrong with me?
I need to focus on finding River’s name first, and then when I’m sober, I’ll be changing his Contact name to Phone A River. I laugh at my internal joke.
Easton only stares at me like I’ve lost my mind and snatches the whiskey from my hold.
I hold my phone up. “Nah, River can get me. He stays up all night.”
River answers on the third ring.
“Damn, man. Did you get ahold of Jasmine’s apple juice again?” River asks when I slide into his car. “I told you that organic shit Easton buys gives you a deeper sugar high.”
“Take me to Amelia’s,” is all I say.
He rears back and looks at me from the driver’s side. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Drop me off at Amelia’s.”
“Do you want her to kick your ass?”
I stay quiet.
“Do you want her to kick my ass?”
I don’t say anything.
“Maybe you should wait until you don’t smell like you’ve bathed in liquor.”
“I won’t tell her you were my ride.”
“Damn straight you won’t. I’m dropping you off three houses down, so you’d better be okay to walk in a straight line.”