29 - Jessica

Jessica

I wasn't wrong.

The shoebox didn't have a pair of shoes in them, but a bottle of tequila.

I can tell Matthew is completely amazed by it. Clearly, this is the first time she's seen anyone do something this fun. Which makes me grin even wider.

I opened the bottle and handed him the shot glass before I could think it through. I didn't even know if he was willing to partake in this. "It's okay if you don't want to join me."

"No. I'm exploring," he simply says.

I arched a brow.

"I want to know it this could be something fun for me too."

I smiled broadly. "You had me at fun."

Matthew observed with keen interest as I poured myself a shot of tequila and downed it with ease.

"You've done this a lot," he murmured.

"Trust me. It's not that impressive anymore when you're the staggering kind of drunk."

He chuckled.

I look up to the array of coats behind him. "We need another shot glass."

"It's okay," he says unhesitatingly then added, "that if you don't mind sharing."

I poured another shot and offered it to him. "I don't mind at all. I don't get to share anything with anyone growing up."

He took the shot glass and mimicked me, although he looked like he could've spit it out. "I was expecting that, but I was still surprised." He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, still wincing.

I hold back a laugh. Because he suddenly look like an adorable kid.

"So, what can you tell me about this jerk Alistair?" He sits back in his donut seat, hands tuck like a therapist.

This time, I didn't hold back a laugh. I drank another shot and placed the bottle carefully between us. "Aside from him being a jerk?"

He nods.

"Well, he thinks we're some kind of a childhood sweetheart."

His brows crinkled. "Really? How come?"

"I had to play with him because my mom wanted me to. Our parents were close and they figured we should be too. Which is unfair because I never got to play with the ones I really want. Because Alistair is a jerk ever since and all my to-be friends didn't like him." I snorted. "The little jerk hid it so well though. In our parents eyes he was this angel sent from heaven. Oh, and he's a snitch."

Matthew poured himself a shot of tequila, not breaking his concentration from me.

"He would snitch on me. Like all the damn time. Our parents think I'm always in some sort of mischief. Which I was, but not all the time."

He smiled. "What kinds of mischief?"

I narrowed my eyes at him playfully. "The typical ones."

Matthew played along. "I'm gonna need a little spoon-feeding. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Okay. Sticking bubblegum to almost any surface like a teacher's chair, a bully's hair, Alistair's desk, inside the gym teacher's annoying whistle. You know, that sort of thing. Some mischief earns me a trip to detention and then Principal. Eventually, got kicked out of prep school, another prep school, got kicked out, shipped off to boarding school, kicked out again, and then finally, a public school. The latter I enjoyed the most." I grinned. "Did you know that you don't have to wear a uniform at public schools? Anyways, one of the best years of my life."

"Why did they keep kicking you out?" He asks innocently.

I drank another shot. "They said I was too much to handle."

"Vibrant?"

I smiled at his use of my description of my grandmother. "Yeah, vibrant."

A couple more tequila shots later, we were sniggering over something he said. Or was it something I said, I think? Neither of us knew anymore. But it was about Christmas in the Parkinson estate. Six children sneaking to the living room because Andrei said he heard Santa. Although they were puzzled that Santa used the door and didn't just come down the chimney, they hid behind the sofa, the littlest ones behind the Christmas tree.

The shadow of an old man loomed over them and just when the other siblings were patiently waiting to confirm it was Santa, Christian leaped out from behind the Christmas tree, arms stretched to either sides and shrieked, "SANTA!"

The old man wasn't Santa but grandpa Steve in his nightgown who was given quite a fright, stumbled back, landed on his butt and released a giant frightened fart.

I clutch my belly, my tears running down my cheeks from too much laughing. "Oh, God. Poor grandpa Steve. Did he get upset though?"

"No. He laughed with us. Our parents woke up from all the noise and we told them and then they were laughing their heads off."

We laughed some more. Then Matthew stared at me. "How about you? Did you have a grandpa Steve?"

"I wish." I dab the corners of my eyes with Matthew's handkerchief and placed it safely in my purse.

"No grandfather?"

"My dad's parents died when he was little. I did have a grandfather – my mom's dad. He passed away when I was nine, but I didn't really get to know him. He never smiled. And he scared the shit out of me. I think my mother always wanted to follow in his footsteps. She took over his firm when he passed away."

There was a question in his eyes.

"Heart attack," I answered. "He was a big man. Almost like Santa Claus, but not quite like him. Santa brings gifts, right? Him on the other hand," I purse my lips in thought, "he will take them away."

"He never gave you a Christmas present?" He questioned, disbelief in his voice.

I rolled my shoulders. "Better than having my presents taken away if he ever was the Grinch," I quipped.

"Still. It would've been nice if he gave you a present."

I snorted. "Believe me, in the briefest years that we existed together, in this house, he never knew that I did. Which is great because I don't want to be anywhere near him either."

"How did you celebrate the holidays?"

"Grandma always made it happen. It was awesome. She loves decorating." I smiled broadly.

He smiles back. "How's the celebration?"

"Well, it's just me and her. And the staff that voluntarily didn't take the night off. I get all these amazing presents all from my grandma." I sighed and downed another shot.

"Sometimes I think she'll write 'from mommy' and 'from daddy' on two of her gifts to make me think my parents remembered that it was Christmas Day. But I knew my mom's handwriting. And my dad's. It was nice of her though." I look down at the shot glass, frowning to myself why I shared that particular information. It's just that this house makes me sad. When I look back up, Matthew was staring, something flitted past his eyes before he gave me a dimpled smile.

"And here I thought an only child is the happiest kid." He drank another shot, this time just half full.

"Believe me. The kid is if only he's not born into a sixteen-year old mother whose dad has this perfectly blueprint of her future." The words kept coming out, those I was only thinking are being spoken aloud. "I think my grandfather hated me for ruining my mom's future."

"Don't say that. Your mom is lucky to have you."

I tried to believe that all those years ago. Tried really hard. But when I went out of bed that one night, thinking mommy was finally home, I heard her and my grandfather fought. Something about her future. Someone who messed it all up. I didn't hear enough because my grandmother found me sitting on the top of the stairs and tuck me back into bed. She said people say something mean when they're mad and that they don't mean it.

I shrugged off my grandmother's fur coat I didn't know I still have on until I started feeling the room just got a warmer. It's the tequila. "You know, you kind of remind me of someone."

Matthew arched his brows. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Samuel Hayes. We called him Sammy. He was the smartest one in class. He wears these thick, black-rimmed glasses and I thought it was kind of cute."

A ghost of amusement passes through his face. "Am I sensing an admiration here?"

I giggled. "You definitely are. He's the first boy I ever kissed. We were eight at the time."

"Wow. Smart and cute. And he kissed a girl at eight." He says and looked like he was celebrating for Samuel.

I shake my head smilingly. "No. I initiated the kiss. He was too shy."

"Oh? Now, that makes sense."

"Uh-huh." I leaned back, laughing. As I stare at him, I noticed his cheeks has turned a little pink. The outer shells of his ears too. "Are you feeling all right?"

He looked like he was already drunk.

"I'm fine."

"So, how about you? Who was your first kiss? And when?" I wagged my brows at him, surprised that we were comfortable enough with each other to talk about our childhood explorations of attraction.

He tugged at his tie. "I was twelve. Pretty much had the advantage of Sammy."

I let out a delighted giggle. "Really? Who kissed you?"

"Please, don't laugh." He turned red.

"I'm not. Trust me, it's not embarrassing. It's adorable. Tell me who it was." I nudge his knee with my bare foot.

"It was Kierra."

My smile almost slipped. "Kierra? The Kierra that—"

"Yes. The one that's engaged to Jason Boyd." He tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"She must really like you," I commented, hoping it will cheer him up.

He shakes his head. "I don't think so. Maybe she just got carried away."

"I think she liked you. I think she will not kiss a boy she doesn't like no matter the situation. What happened?"

He shrugged. "I guess, we never talked about it."

I sighed.

He never told her he had feelings for her.

We were both silent.

Matthew ended it quickly by clearing his throat. "What happened to Sammy?"

I blink. "Oh. He never talked to me again."

"Why? He's a fool if he didn't like you."

My lips curve into a half-smile. "It's not what you think. I think he liked me too. But, you know, Alistair assumed his ownership of me when he heard that I kissed Samuel Hayes. We were at his birthday party," I paused, a bile in my throat growing. "He cornered me in his room and tried to kiss me. After that, he told everyone that we kissed. Sammy misunderstood. And knowing him, he would've stepped back."

"Alistair did that? That's vicious." He frowned.

I sighed. "Tell me about it."

"Did you tell your parents? That's not okay." He's still wearing the disapproving wrinkles between his brows.

"No. I asked his mom to call mine to pick me up from that awful party."

"Did you tell your mom then?" He asks, fiddling with his tie. For a second I thought he was going to break free.

The corners of my eyes burned, recalling that day. It was a Sunday afternoon. It was a sunny day. And I really wanted to cry. "She didn't pick up. My grandma had to take me home instead."

His eyes softened. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. At least I have her." I shrugged, forcing a smile. "At least I got kicked out and never had to see his face at school."

There's this really long silence that settled between us. It drowned me to death so I blurted, "are you hungry? I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat."

I bolted up from my seat and started walking toward the door. When I didn't hear footsteps behind me, I turn back around. "Matthew?"

He hadn't moved an inch. He squeezes his eyes. "Just a second."

Oh.

"Is the world spinning?"

With eyes still closed, he nods. "Mm-hmm."

"You're drunk," I stated more than asked.

"I think so." He opened his eyes, his tie now untangled.

"Can you walk?" I made my back toward him in case the answer is no.

He nods. "Yeah."

"Oh, okay." I hold my breath as he slowly lifted himself off the donut seat.

Matthew stands. He gambled a step forward and to my horror, staggered forward.

I leaped in front of him, fortunately, fast enough to stop him from landing headfirst on the floor. I clutched both his arms to keep him steady, his weight on me and face drooping over my shoulder.

"Jessica?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't think I can walk."

I chuckled. "I can see that."

His hand crawled to my waist, regaining balance. He slightly pulled himself back, enough just so he was looking at my face. He's completely flushed. There was a strand of his hair that started brushing his forehead.

Matthew's eyes met mine and held my gaze as if to remind me once again that they were baby blue. Then his lips – slow and mirthful – twisted into a crooked smile that made my knees buckle.

I gulped. "What is it?"

"I just realized something," he whispered, his breath hot against mine.

"That you're really drunk? It's too late for that," I quipped.

He shakes his head. "I'm a staggering kind of drunk."

I tried to hold it back. But then I laughed.

Thank you for your patience. Thank you so much for staying with me. Sometimes, I wonder what it'll be like if I ever stop writing. And during days that I don't write, even just a sentence, I feel sadder than I already am. Sometimes I'm so sad that it hurts. I guess it's safe to say that I won't stop writing. The updates may be sporadic but there will be updates. I still can't click on my notifications though. I think I'm still mentally and emotionally unprepared for when I encounter mean comments. I'm afraid they might make me lose perspective more easily than I already am. Anyways, I hope you're all doing well. I'm sending you all my warmest hugs.