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Mom doesn’t realize how much I need this, just to stay.
I cut it anyway. I pour a healthy amount into a short glass and take a sip. It burns my throat, creating a trail of fire. The caramel and malty flavor calms my nerves.
“You know what, I’ll join you,” Reid says, finding his own glass. He doesn’t pour as much as me. We clink our glasses together. This glass of bourbon will make the evening bearable. Maybe future dinners I can cut back, but I need this tonight.
Holidays are always hard, especially this one.
As I take another sip, I hear the sweet voice that trumps bourbon in things I need.
“Thank you so much for having us, Mrs. Finch,” Shiloh says, hugging my mother tightly. She walks into the foyer more, and we lock eyes.
“Hi, Jackson. I like your hair.”
She looks so beautiful. Her blond hair cascades down her front, in straight ribbons, making her look like a doll. Her blue sweater brings out her eyes and I want to hug her so badly, but I can’t. Too many eyes.
Everyone is already watching Shiloh and wondering why she’s saying hi to me first, the Finch sibling that interacts with employees the least.
My family will pick apart our friendship like vultures.
“Hi. Thank you for coming,” is all I can muster.
What I really want to do is pull her by her hand and leave. Find a spot where we can be us, without all these eyes staring. Her lips turn down, and she nods, understanding where we are. Why I must act like this.
She saves the interaction, by lacing her words with honey. “Thanks for inviting me. This is wonderful!”
Shiloh offers to help, and I sip my whiskey, my glass almost empty. When I look up, I see Earl staring at me. I nod once and hold up my glass.
“Can I get you one?”
“No,” he grumbles. He still stares, and I didn’t expect to feel more uncomfortable, but I do.
I want to tell him that I would never hurt Shiloh. That we’re friends. Good friends. Too many eyes in this room, too much studying. I want to talk to her, but I can’t.
She passes me on the way to the bathroom and grabs my hand. It’s quick, a brush of the hand, but it calms me.
We go around the table, saying what we're thankful for. My brother and Annie say they're thankful for each other, and then it comes to me.
I want to follow their lead.Shiloh. Shiloh is who I’m grateful for,is the truth.
It’s not something I want to say. What I have with her is mine. No one should be able to claim it.
“Pass,” I say.
“You have to say something,” Shiloh whispers across the table. Her blue eyes plead with me. She doesn’t know she’s the reason I’m here.
I grumble. “I’m grateful for my family, I guess. And whiskey.”
The table notices. No matter how much we tried to hide it, Shiloh has a pull on me. She’s my life preserver when I’m drowning and the only thing keeping me afloat.
No matter how much I try to hide it, everyone at that table can sense I would do anything for her.
What they don’t know is how it eats away at me, the guilt so strong, only whiskey can numb it.
18
Shiloh
Jackson warned me he wouldn’t out me as his hairstylist.
