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I smile at the ground. “I’m going to walk Bubba tomorrow if you want to come.”
“Sure,” he says. I’m smiling until my phone lights up and I look at it.
“Why don’t you give up?” I ask my phone. I cover my mouth. Oh no, I said it out loud.
“Was that one of the reasons you needed a change?”
I nod. “It’s a long story.”
“I got time. I also got…” Jackson pulls out a little baggie. Is that a chocolate chip cookie? It looks like the good kind from Gold Roast that Tara orders from a fancy bakery in Auburn and gets shipped in. It looks like it’s made with a stick of butter each and the paper wrapper is soaked through with oil, but I don’t care.
He drops the cookie to the table. “Have you ever had one of these?”
I shake my head. “They always look so good, though.”
“It would be rude not to share.” The cookie is massive, with lots of chocolate chunks and a glistening coat. He breaks the cookie in half slowly, like it’s for a commercial. The chocolate is melty and drips onto his fingers. I let out a squeak as he licks them.
I wish he would lick me like that.
He hands me half, so I’ll have to settle for that.
“Cheers,” he says, holding his half up, and I touch my side to his in a salute.
The first bite is crispy on the outside and gooey in the middle. I prefer my chocolate chip cookies a little undercooked, and these are perfect.
“Oh my God.” Covering my mouth, I stifle a tiny groan. This cookie coats my mouth with rich sweetness, and I want to cry. “This is better than sex.”
Jackson coughs violently on a bite. I’m going to be as red as a stop sign.
“Well, I’ll get you more then.”
“Okay,” I say as I take the last bite, closing my eyes to center my experience. I hold up a finger as I chew. This was the best meal break I’ve ever had. Maybe I need to treat myself to a good sandwich once in a while, instead of suffering through the same thing over and over.
“Now, that I’ve shared my cookie with you, I want to hear about who won’t give up.”
“Mark, my ex-boyfriend. Actually, I’m not sure if we were boyfriend-girlfriend.” My cheeks heat. It’s embarrassing I was in a situationship for over two years after two years of pining, falling deeply in love with a man who just saw me as convenient sex. A desperate girl hanging on his every word. He might’ve been dating multiple people besides me; I don’t know.
“How do you not know if you’re boyfriend-girlfriend?” Jackson takes a swig of a bottle of water.
I run my tongue over my teeth looking for leftover crumbs. “We never had the talk. He didn’t treat me like a girlfriend. We didn’t really hang out that much when we dated. Mark liked to go out but said I couldn’t come because I didn’t drink and I’m not fun.”
“I’ve always wondered why you don’t drink.”
“My mom is a recovering alcoholic,” I say. I watch him, waiting for his expression to change, but it doesn’t. His eyes are expressive. Open. So, I continue.
“She drank my entire childhood. There were times she forgot to pick my sister and me up because she was so wasted. When I rode the school bus home, I would find her asleep on the couch, surrounded by cheap wine bottles. Sometimes she forgot to grocery shop. Money was always tight because she was a single mother with no help. One time my sister and I ate pads of butter for dinner. There were months we lived off government assistance and I shopped with an EBT card. I still grab for things I know are covered, even though I’m paying for myself.”
Jackson shudders, and I hold my reaction. I’ve seen his family and how they were raised. They own multiple homes in a tourist destination, and his dad had enough money to fund a business. The resources to find an investor when he needed help.
Mark came from a similar background and said off-handed comments about my history. I know Jackson wouldn’t.
“Alcohol had such a hold on her that she couldn’t see anything else. I know she loved us, and when Summer and I confronted her to get her to stop, it finally worked. She got sober four years ago. I never really liked alcohol, so Summer and I decided to support her and be a sober family. Summer has a handful of drinks, but never around Mom.”
“Where’s your dad?”
My throat closes, but I croak out. “Gone.”
“You’ve never met him?”
