Page 37 of What If It Was Us
He was right. It would be easier to put the pad on his boxers rather than try to stick it to my ruined pants. The drive home was hardly ten minutes, and I could change into something else immediately. I was kind of impressed that he’d even thought of it. “Okay, bring in the bag, but don’t you dare open your eyes.”
“No offense Addie, but I really don’t want to open them.”
I let myself laugh as he pushed his way through the door. He stayed facing the door as he backed his way to me, eyes closed as promised. I grabbed the bag from him, and he ran out the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
I looked inside the bag. There was a bottle of ibuprofen, his navy-blue boxer briefs, a box of pads, and a bag of sour gummy worms. I wanted to cry—Jackson was the best.
I took the boxers out of the bag, placing a pad inside them before cleaning myself up as best I could and pulling them up. I folded up the pants and put them in the bag, then I took three ibuprofen, washing them down with water from the sink.
When I left the bathroom, Jackson already had my backpack on his arm, ready to take me home.
We stood staring at each other for a second. His eyes dropped to look at me standing in his boxers, while I was looking at him like he was my entire world. He held my backpack out for me.
“Can you see if there’s a jacket in the back I can tie around my waist?” I asked. “I will die of mortification if you see how bulky this pad is in the back.”
Jackson laughed and ran back toward the kitchen. I followed him through the swinging doors and he got me an old jacket of Julie’s from the coat hook. I tied it around my waist and we headed outside for the truck.
“Are you going commando right now?” I asked Jackson as we got in the truck.
He shook his head with a smile. “Obviously. Do you think I just go around wearing two pairs of underwear in case of an emergency?”
We broke out into laughter, and Jackson turned on the radio for our drive to my house. I ate the gummy worms as the cramps started to fade away. When he pulled into my driveway, I grabbed the door handle, not turning to look at Jackson while I spoke.
“Thanks, Jackson. For uh . . . everything. I’ll wash these and give them back.”
He didn’t respond, and I turned my head to face him. He was watching me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. His brown eyes looked so beautiful in the darkness; I wished I could reach over and touch him. Finally, he gave me a small smile. “That’s what friends do for each other.”They protect each other.
“You’re the best,” I said quickly. I hopped out of the truck and walked up the path to the front porch, making sure not to turn around to see if he was still watching me.
Chapter 18
NOW
July
Jackson helped me for the next two days with the kitchen. We boxed up old dishes and silverware, and threw out stained and burnt pans, and cutting boards that were unusable. We ended up taking the kitchen table out to the curb to throw away. We scrubbed the fridge out, and wiped the walls and counters from top to bottom. We even ripped out all the wallpaper that was inside the cabinets.
On the Fourth of July, Jackson invited me to come to the restaurant to sit inside and watch the parade that went down Main Street every year. He picked me up in that clunker of a truck that we drove around in high school. The only difference I could spot was a new front bumper. I hopped up into the passenger seat, the sweet feeling of nostalgia covering me.
We drove with the windows down, listening to one of Julie’s old Taylor Swift CDs. I love that he never got rid of them; her music was the soundtrack to our youth. “You Belong With Me” was playing, andI ran my hand across the worn seat, reliving a million little memories of squeezing in here with Julie and Jackson.
“How is this truck even still running? It’s like, a million years old,” I said when we pulled into the alley behind the restaurant.
“This truck is like a damn heirloom in this family. It can’t die.”
“How often do you drive it?” I asked.
“Hardly ever, honestly. I usually drive my SUV. But this was a special occasion.”
I refused to meet the smile I knew he was wearing.
We walked through the back door into the kitchen, then through the swinging doors and into the dining room as we switched on the lights. He motioned for me to sit at one of the barstools as he slid behind the bar.
“What would you like to drink?” he asked as he settled his forearms on the counter in front of me.
“Just water is fine,” I said as I swiveled on the seat.
“You don’t want a glass of wine?”
