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“You ordered the fish.” Jackson reaches over and takes the glass from me.
My nose scrunches, and I reach up to uncrunch it. “I don’t want fish. I want tacos.” I gasp when I realize I can have both. “Hear me out. Fish. Tacos.”
He gets up and comes around to my side of the table. “It’s time to go. I’ll get you tacos.”
I stand and wrap my arms around him. “Because you’re my hero.”
“No, because my girl wants tacos, so she gets tacos.”
Poking him in the chest, I nod. “That’s hero stuff right there.” We start to walk, but my ankle wobbles under me. “Whiskey is strong, Jackson. Why’d you let me drink that? Especially on an empty stomach.”
“I didn’t let you drink anything. That’s all on you, sweetheart.”
“You could at least humor me.”
Chuckling, he replies, “I have been for the past forty-five minutes.”
Just as we leave the atrium, we see the server carrying the bag of food, and I’ve never felt so relieved. We follow him into the corridor, where he swipes the credit card through the reader. He glances at me like he’s never seen a woman under the influence before.
I’m not doing anything outrageous. I’m tipsy, at the most. This city’s full of people partying at all hours of the night and day. I still need to hold tight to Jackson’s arm to steady myself though. Maybe I am drunk. Approved flashes onto the screen. “Success!” I exclaim too loud for the server’s comfort level.
Jackson chuckles while signing the receipt. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” He takes the bag, and we head for the exit, each step becoming more troublesome.
But when we pass the last door in the row of private party rooms, I catch a glimpse of my mom and her boyfriend. The room is boisterous, and she stands to lead them in a rousing edition of “Happy Birthday.”
Memories of sitting alone on my balcony, wishing on a star for one person to care, come flashing back. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t being greedy. Just one. That’s all I ever dreamed about.
I don’t stare, forcing myself to look ahead instead. Looking back never did me any favors anyway.
The cold air outside is sobering, and I tuck myself under Jackson’s arm until we find a taxi and hop in. “I don’t want tacos. I just want to go home.”
“You need to eat, and you said you didn’t want the fish.”
“I can find something at the apartment.”
I hear the crumpling of the bag, and then he asks, “Do you want my steak? It came with a baked potato on the side. I think that would be filling and help absorb some of the alcohol.”
“I don’t want to think about food, Jackson,” I snap, staring at my reflection in the window. “That’s all I did growing up. I was never enough, or I was too much. I could never just be me.” When he doesn’t respond, I look at him.
Waiting.
I just wish I knew what he was waiting for. “Jackson?”
His eyes find me in the dark cab, and then his hand reaches over, barely touching mine. “I’m not going to fight with you, Marlow. I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. No one should be made to feel less than, and that’s what she does to you. I’m sorry she’s hurt you. I’m sorry she doesn’t see it. I’m really fucking sorry that she doesn’t treat you how you deserve to be.”
I loop my fingers around two of his. “Me too.”
But then he continues, “I don’t know that you’ll ever get the chance to tell your parents how they’ve hurt you. But you can tell me. Yell if you need to. I’ll listen. But I want you to hear me back. And come sunrise, I don’t want you feeling like shit. I want to see the woman I love sleeping soundly next to me with this bullshit in the rearview mirror. It’s not going to be easy, but you’re stronger than they give you credit for. Do we have a deal?”
“That’s a lot of words to process if you ask me.” I start laughing, and then it becomes contagious when he joins in. “I’m drunk, Jackson,” I say, rolling my neck in his direction.
“I’m not surprised.”
“I’m drunk, but even in this state, I know you’re putting yourself on the line to make me feel better.” I take a deep breath and sigh. “Thank you. You’re an amazing man—” And then I vomit.
21
Jackson
It’s been a night.
The fee to have the car cleaned was not an issue. I felt bad for the driver for having to deal with it, though. My shoes and the bottom of my pants have been wiped off as much as they could and are already in the cleaning bag with her shoes outside my door. I managed to get some plain baked potato and a little water in her before she laid down on the couch and passed out.
