Page 67 of What If It Was Us
NOW
July
Iwoke up the next morning with a hangover from hell. It took everything in me just to get out of bed to take a shower. I reeked from wearing that dank old Delvecchios’ polo. What the hell possessed me to put that on? The entire bed smelled now.
I slowly showered, cleaning the smell of rotten marinara and the feeling of Jackson’s kisses off my skin.
I dry heaved twice, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the smell, or the thought of Jackson’s mouth on me.
When I got out of the shower, I slipped on a blue ribbed tank top, which I tucked into the waistband of my denim shorts. I braided my blonde hair into two French braids and slapped on a layer of mascara. I put everything from last night into the washing machine, including Jackson’s old boxers. Because let’s face it, I couldn’t throw them out.
In the afternoon, Jackson showed up with a peanut butter banana smoothie and french fries from McDonald’s.
“For your hangover,” he said bashfully when I opened the door.
“Thanks.” I couldn’t meet his eyes.
He followed me into the family room, where we sat on opposite sides of the couch. I sat cross-legged, balancing the fries and smoothie between my thighs.
We didn’t say anything at first, and he let me eat my food in silence. I purposely ate slowly again, thinking of what I would say first when I decided to speak. Do I say sorry? I felt so awkward. I had acted like a drunk, love-sick puppy last night.
I started to say “I—” At the same time, Jackson started to say, “Are—”
We nervously laughed at each other.
“You go,” I said quickly.
“Are you okay?” His brown eyes were filled with sympathy. I wanted to lean across the couch, wrap myself around him, and pretend nothing bad had ever transpired between us. But that wasn’t our reality.
I played with one of my braids, pretending to be interested in my split ends. “Listen, I’m really embarrassed about yesterday.”
“It was a lot all at once. Nothing to be embarrassed about,” Jackson offered.
Itwasa lot. Seeing my room for the first time, and realizing that Peter had left it untouched except for the yearbook. He thought I would come back. The yearbook note where Jackson said he loved me. The old pair of his boxers, the Delvecchios’ polo. The fucking photo he taped back together and gave to me. It was all so much. Too manyfeelings—I didn’t even know it was possible to feel so much at once. I could combust from all the pressure I felt in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Jackson reached over and set his palm on my bare kneecap. He rubbed his thumb back and forth, and I had to close my eyes to convince myself not to slide my hips toward him, to make him touch me higher. I should say, “No touching,” but it was no use. I didn’twantto say it. All of my previous anger for him had dissipated.
“No, I’m sorry,” Jackson said gently.
I opened my eyes to look at him, and god, I loved the way those brown eyes were staring back at me. Like I was the only thing in this entire universe that mattered. Maybe in another life it could’ve been us—we could’ve been happy, and those could have been the eyes I woke up to every morning. Because that’s what it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? That was the plan. That’s whathe’dpromised.
I set my hand on his, letting myself feel the roughness of his knuckles against my palm before sliding his hand off my knee. “Thanks, Jackson.”
He scratched his jaw. “Why don’t we get you out of the house today? Get some fresh air.”
“Yeah, okay,” I agreed.
We got in Jackson’s truck, and I didn’t even ask where we were going. The windows were down, and the wind was whipping the loose strands of my braids around my face. I embraced it, the sharp hit of it against my skin a good distraction, because having my legs up on Jackson’s dash like I was in high school again made me realize that I was falling back in love with him.
“Back To You” by Selena Gomez was playing as I closed my eyes and let myself doze off.
***
When I opened my eyes, we were at a beach. I could just make out a lighthouse off a long pier in the distance.
“Where are we?” I asked as I wiped the sleep from my eyes. Mascara transferred onto my fingers, and I wiped it on my shorts.
