What I hadn’t considered was the thought of him receiving an invitation to the party tonight. I didn’t hand him a flyer, but I was well versed in the way high school invites were handled. My name may not have been on the flyer, but Adam knew The Barrel House was my family’s business.
“Hey,” was his initial greeting. The awkward hello after a breakup was worse than I assumed it would be, and it was the second awkward hello because I broke up with him four days before winter break. I should have waited until the day before winter break, but I thought that was too close to Christmas.
“Hi.” What else could I respond with?
“If you don’t want me here, I can leave. I know I wasn’t technically invited by you, but the flyers were all over the place, and I didn’t have plans tonight.” Adam was sweet, innocent, and when I looked into his sad sky-blue eyes, my heart broke all over again. He was the sensitive type. Most guys in my school were into competitive sports, but Adam was determined to be the best pianist in the country. His passion fit his personality.
“Of course, you can stay,” I told him. “There’s food and—” Adam wasn’t a drinker. Maybe once he reached the legal age, he might become fond of the taste, but at eighteen, he refused.
“Is there any bourbon?” he asked, surprisingly. I figured maybe he was trying to impress me by drinking. Drinking didn’t impress me. I was raised, knowing that one should enjoy the taste of alcohol more than the side-effects. If the taste was not enjoyed, it should not be consumed. I wasn’t taught this per se, but I over overheard the statement many times. I didn’t think Dad would have been fond of me drinking anything at eighteen, never mind bourbon. He did not condone underage drinking. I was sure he naively thought we abided by his rules. Melody had, but I was cut from a different cloth than her. Bourbon must have been in my blood, just like Dad’s.
“What purpose would a party serve without some bourbon?” I took the opportunity to interrupt the uncomfortable conversation and poured Adam a small plastic cup filled with a couple of shots of Quinn Pine. Dad overstocked the bottles that year, and I did not think he would notice a few missing.
I handed the cup to Adam, interested to see if he planned to consume the drink, which he did in one mouthful. It was obvious, by the clenched marks in his cheeks, he did not enjoy the liquid for taste.
Adam waved at someone over my head and walked off without speaking another word. I figured he was trying to retaliate because he was waving at Alisha, the head cheerleader at our school.
“That tension could have been cut with a fork,” I heard from behind.
I turned, finding Brody sipping out of a red Solo cup. “A fork?”
“Isn’t that the saying?” He was dead serious, and it’s the only reason I didn’t laugh.
“I think you mean, a knife,” I corrected him.
He looked up in thought and smiled. “Oh, I guess that makes more sense.” Brody handed me his cup. “Here. I just filled this. I think you need it more than I do right now. I’ll get myself another.”
I took the cup—our fingers brushed together, causing a spark to shoot through the core of my body. “Th—thank you,” I stuttered.
Brody glanced over my head at whatever scene was playing out behind me. I refused to turn around and give Adam the attention he must have wanted. “Why don’t you come with me to get another drink?”
The drinks were in the opposite direction of Adam, so I agreed and followed Brody down a row of stacked barrels that contained aging bourbon. It was where we were hiding the keg. “So, what have you been up to? You haven’t shown up to the last couple of parties here with our families. I figured you moved away.”
“I’ve been thinking about moving away. Right now, I’m working in the warehouse with my dad, smoking the barrels, but I haven’t made any firm decisions on my future yet.” He was a few years older, and I couldn’t imagine not having a plan. I still had five months left of high school, and I was obsessed with making sure my future plan was set.
“What about you? You’re a senior this year, right?” he asked.
I took a sip from the cup and forced a long pause in the conversation. “I’m going to UNH in the fall.”
“Oh nice, only a couple hours away. That’s a good move.”
Unlike California. “Yeah.”
I led the way out of the row of barrels, watching a slew of people wrap around the back end of the basement near the storage closets. I hadn’t drunk enough to be ignorant of what people could be doing, and I had a sudden moment of remorse for taking advantage of Dad’s shop.
“You okay?” Brody asked, following me.
“Yeah, I just want to make sure there’s nothing shady going on over there.” I continued walking, listening to the rumbles of laughter grow. I was thinking the worst, but when I saw a group of ten people playing spin the bottle, I turned to walk away. We were too old for childish games, but some people would use any excuse possible to get a New Year’s kiss, I guess.
I should haveactuallywalked away. It’s my final thought before falling asleep.
Like most nights, I slept for only four hours, ending up wide awake in the darkness of my apartment, but I’ll have some time to get through more edits before I’m scheduled to be at Polly’s Floral Arrangements to pre-shoot for a wedding I’m working next weekend. I love what I do, but I’m hoping to move away from weddings, showers, and baby portraits soon. My passion is with landscape and abstract stills, but most of my clientele in the area don’t have that need.
I hit the light switch and turn my desktop monitor on before tending to my beloved Keurig. My coffee maker has a sticky note hanging from the spout.
The note reads:
I stole your last coffee k-cup. I-O-U.
