There was no way to know how long we stood facing each other, or whether it’d been seconds or minutes since I stupidly asked him why he wouldn’t kiss me. If I had to guess, though, I’d say approximately seventy-seven days had passed. Regardless, it was definitely long enough to make things awkward, so I did my best to act nonchalant as I gently pushed away from him. “I said…” I lifted the plastic cup and made a show of rattling the ice. “I need more soda.”
I’d never seen such a vast array of emotions on one’s face in such a short period of time. I couldn’t be sure of his expression while I admired his chest, but based on the strenuous thumps of his heart, as well as the onset of labored breathing, I’d guess either panic or arousal. However, when I glanced up at him again, I noticed that his brow was wrinkle free and his eyes appeared brighter. As I stepped away, I caught rejection in his narrowing gaze, and after shaking the ice in my cup, the flash of betrayal melted into amused exasperation with the slight curl at the corners of his mouth.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Kenny?”
I might’ve been somewhat intoxicated, but I certainly wasn’t drunk. I knew my limits, and one more drink wouldn’t leave me vomiting in a bush or passed out on the ground. It would, however, allow me to openly talk to Drew about myself without any inhibitions, and since that was what he wanted—to know more about me—then no, I hadn’t had nearly enough.
Digging my free hand into the bag that hung by my side, I held his stare and, with a smile, teasingly said, “You’re right…why dilute a perfectly cheap bottle of rum anyway?”
He took the plastic cup before I could pull the flask out of my bag and then turned on his heel to head back to the restaurant. Luckily, we hadn’t gone far, so there wasn’t much of a walk ahead of us. Although, it was long enough for irrational self-doubt to creep in and then completely consume me.
As soon as we were within twenty feet of The Birdfeeder, he stopped and faced me, speaking the first words since asking me if I’d had enough. “Stay here. I’ll run in and refill this; don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in one minute.” And with that, I was alone on a dirt road.
My mindset in this moment didn’t make a lick of sense. I wouldn’t have ever classified myself as an overly confident person, but I was never insecure. Sometimes shy, but I was sure of myself; I knew who I was and was happy with that. My friends had told me many times throughout the years that they wished they could feel as comfortable in their own skin as I did in mine. Which was why I couldn’t comprehend this overwhelming sense of foreign insecurity.
From the moment Drew had taken the cup from my hand, I felt like a fool, an absolute idiot. A stupid girl. But I didn’t understand what had caused it, because it wasn’t like he’d snatched the cup away or stormed off. Hell, he was even smiling. Which meant it had to be the alcohol. That was the only thing that could explain it, considering I’d never had these feelings any other time in my life. However, this wasn’t my first time drinking either.
Drew practically skipped down the stairs with a full cup in one hand and what appeared to be a bottle of beer in the other. The sight was enough to calm me down, slightly. It didn’t put a lid on my absurd thoughts and emotions, but at least it turned them down to a simmer.
Doing my best to act natural, I quickly busied myself with mixing my drink. To my surprise, there was a little more left in the flask than I thought, which made for a much stronger drink than the previous cocktails I’d enjoyed tonight. I wasn’t entirely sure if that would turn out to be a good or bad thing. It would either loosen me up or wind me tighter.
Only time would tell.
“I have to admit, Kenny, you surprise me. You don’t seem like someone who would own a flask…or drink hard liquor. I guess I expected you to be into the fruity drinks, the ones with the umbrellas.” Not only did his voice sound like a smile, but his steps were also slow and casual, reassuring me that I had no reason to be insecure.
I kept pace next to him as we continued our stroll. “You have to remember that I just graduated high school. Which means high school parties. And where do teenagers get alcohol? Wherever they can—most of the time, their parents’ cabinets. I enjoy wine coolers, some beer in a pinch, and rum and Coke.” The more I talked, the less insecure I felt.
“Okay, I get that, but who even owns a flask these days?” The way his voice lilted at the end nearly had me spewing my drink in laughter.
“Well, I knew I would be here by myself for a week, and I am underage, so I got one for times like tonight—when I want a drink but don’t want to stay cooped up inside to have one. Plus, I got it for dirt cheap off the discount rack.”
Drew’s laughter bellowed out, washing over me like waves of comforting warmth.
“I realize I just made it sound like I party a lot…but I swear, I don’t.”
“Oh, yeah? Could’ve fooled me.” His teasing tone kept the air light around us.
He probably couldn’t see me, but I rolled my eyes anyway. “No, for real, though, I don’t. My grandfather’s a recovering alcoholic—ten years sober—so I know how destructive it is. My mom doesn’t touch the stuff, not even wine.”
“Then why do you?”
I slowed to look at him, needing to see his face to understand the motive behind his question. He didn’t sound judgmental; regardless, my own guilty conscience made me question it anyway. And with his compassionate stare, he told me everything I wanted to know. The lack of crow’s feet proved there was no intent to ridicule me, and his smooth forehead, slack jaw, and easy eyes solidified in my mind that his only motive was simple interest.
It gave me enough reassurance to continue with our walk and conversation. “I’m eighteen, Drew. Surely you can understand why a teenager would sneak a drink from time to time. Or have you been out of high school too long to remember?”
“Trust me, I get it. But I wasn’t asking why someone your age would drink. I wanted to know why someone with your history would. If your grandfather struggled with his addiction to alcohol, why would you start drinking so young, knowing what it could lead to?”
“Probably because I’m somewhat disconnected from the reality of it. I mean, my mom doesn’t drink, but she grew up around the ugly side of it, whereas I never saw that. By the time my grandfather showed up in my life, he was sober. I think that’s one of the reasons I have such a hard time connecting the man my mom has talked about with the man I’ve known for the last five years.”
“So the grandpa you know isn’t anything like your mom described him to be?” Drew was quiet for a second after I shook my head, and then he asked, “Could she have exaggerated some of it? Maybe she was simply trying to spare you whatever hurt he had caused her when she was young.”
“I can’t say for sure, because it’s not like she’s said much about him. My mom is a woman of very few words when it comes to her past. If my suspicions are correct and my grandfather was abusive, then I totally understand why she wouldn’t want to bring it up, which is why I’ve never pushed for more than she’s willing to tell me.”
“Oh, you said that you struggled to picture the man your mom talked about because he’s nothing like the man you know now, so I just assumed that meant she’d told you things.”