You do your thing girl. You do your thing.
27
Jamison
We’ve been here for almost an hour and I’ve gotten to talk to Claire for basically none of it. Besides the five minutes at the bar that ended way better than I could have planned, one of us has been talking to someone else the entire time. Luckily, we were each able to get our hands on another drink, in between introductions with this one and schmoozing with that one, to at least make the small talk tolerable for me.
Watching Claire interact with people from all walks of life is fascinating. For someone who has such a hard time socializing, it’s wild to see it come so effortlessly to her. I was a witness to a few of her conversations and listening to her make small talk is like listening to Mozart play Symphony No. Whatever. It’s fluid and easy and so damn detailed. This girl can ask a different question for every person she talks to and it’s like each was handcrafted specifically for them. On top of it, she seems so genuinely interested in their answers. No other person in this world could sincerely ask Zeke what his favorite Chuck Berry song isandtake an actual interest in his response.
After way too long without her, I finally catch a glimpse of Claire putting both of our bottles on the gift table, and for once, she’s alone. I slip out of a useless conversation the guys from Monroe’s are having about last year’s WWE Wrestlemania and sneak up behind her. Before I make my presence known, I take just a second to once again admire her open back.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I tap her on the shoulder.
She turns,and before she responds, she looks me up and down. “Hmm, you know, I thought you might look like this guy I know, but he usually wears work boots.” She drops her eyes to my shoes. “And,hegoes by the name Jay.” She smiles playfully. “Jamison was it?”
Hearing my full name spoken out loud feels so unfamiliar. Besides the few times that Zeke has said it just to annoy me, it’s been years since I’ve answered to it.
The last time a woman spoke my full name was Mel. Despite aging out of the system, and no longer being a requirement, she and I have kept in touch. Well, more like she has kept in touch with me being that I don’t reach out to anyone really. As sad as it is, she's been a constant in my life for longer than my own mother was, so I was glad when she didn’t just disappear.
About three years ago Mel called me. This was strange in itself being that she mostly kept in contact through Christmas and birthday cards, but I always sent her my number and address if it ever changed.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Jay. It’s me.”
“What’s up Mel? How’ve you been?”
“I’m good,” she paused, “Hey, listen…” The way she took a deep breath, told me right away what was coming next.
“How?” I didn’t need to hear her say it.
“Car accident. Completely sober if you can believe it.”
I couldn’t.
My whole life my mother struggled with either alcohol or men who struggled with alcohol. Decades of abuse both forced and self-inflicted. Thousands of nights hitting the bottle, dozens of nights being hit by men, and the way she goes is one of the most common ways to die.
You would think I’d have a more devastating response to finding out my mother was dead, but the truth was, I had prepared myself for this since I was old enough to know what death was. It’s not something I’m proudof, but it was crucial to my survival. I realize it’s not normal for a kid to grow up expecting to walk into their house and see their mom on the floor. It’s not healthy for a child to put headphones in at night so they don’t hear what could be their parent’s last words, arguing with a man who’s drunk and angry and twice her size. No, what it is, is a defense mechanism that readies you for the inevitable — or at least what you assume.
None of this is to say I didn’t love my mom. I loved her unconditionally, the way a parent loves a child, despite her flaws and mistakes. Despite all of the times she let me down — but that’s the problem. I wasn’t the parent. I was the child. And sometimes I think she forgot that the roles weren’t reversed.
All of this to say, now is not the time to drop this piece of me on Claire. But because I can’t just leave it completely, I offer something different.
“Yes. Jamison is my full name. I obviously had to fill out all of my paperwork for Zeke when he hired me, and he likes to throw it around every once in a while just to piss me off.” I take another step closer to her. “But Jay is just fine.”
Claire tilts her head to one side and puts her finger to her lips. “I don’t know,” she says, moving in one more step. “I kind of like Jamison.”
“Yeah…” I finish closing the gap between us. Thanks to her heels, we now stand face to face and chest to chest. “I really don’t.”
“Well,” she says looking to my lips, “What are you going to do about that…Jamison?”
With that, I press my mouth to hers. This kiss, unlike those at the bar, is deeper, harder, and heated. Fueled by my attraction to her and the sting of my most recent memory. I normally wouldn’t do something like this in public but A. It’s dark as Hell in here and B. At this point, I don’t really give a shit.
I wrap one hand around her hip and the other around the back of her head, claiming all of her as mine. She fists my shirt with both hands, a soft moan escaping from her throat. All of the blood that’s been pumpingthrough my chest rushes south. I lean into her to increase the pressure between us, but she bumps into the table of presents instead.
We both smile beneath our kiss and she breaks away first, hiding her face in the crook of my neck. “So, not Jamison. Got it.”
I practically snort at the shift in climate, and she giggles into me before pulling back, wiping her bottom lip with her thumb.
