Taste of Commitment (Whisky and Risky #2)

3. Taylor

Taylor

A heavy booming thumps in my head, pulling me from my coma-like sleep. I should get up and crush some ginger to get the pounding to subside.

“Taylor!” Boom. Boom. Boom. I groan, opening one eye, and the banging persists. “Taylor!”

I swallow the dry lump in my throat when I realize that voice isn’t in my head, and I curse my morning person of a best friend. With a labored groan, I slowly push myself off the couch and hobble over to the door. Camila’s fresh face greets me on the other side, holding out two homemade coffees.

“Woah, what happened to you?”

“Jo—” My throat is so dry the word scratches and doesn’t even make it out. I swallow once more and try again. “Jonas,” I manage to get out. She hands me one of the cups, and I flick the door shut behind her. I follow her to the couch, where she’s still grinning behind her cup. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Mila,” I coax her.

“Was he so sad?” she asks, unable to keep the grin off her face. “Did he finally profess his love for you and cry and beg you to stay?”

“Yes. Actually, that’s exactly what happened, and then we went home and had filthy orgasmic sex, and we’re getting married next week, too.” I deadpan while blowing into my cup, but she doesn’t think I’m funny. Both Miles and Camila refused to believe Jonas and I could have any kind of platonic friendship. They were fully convinced something was going on between us. But all these months later, we’ve remained strictly friends.

“Okay, moving on.” She takes a sip of her drink while looking around the room. Her cup slowly falls from her lips as her breathing gets visibly shallow. I look around the once-homey space and see it through fresh eyes alongside her. The couch that we spent so many nights on, which used to be covered in patchwork quilts, is bare. The dollhouse-sized kitchen that was always littered with different-sized mason jars, holding numerous baking ingredients—and the occasional joint—is now empty. A collection of vases holding wildflowers could always be found decorating the second-hand wood dining table, but the only things sitting up there now are moving boxes. It was never a lot, but at the same time, it was everything to me.

“Taylor.” Her voice shakes. “You’re like, leaving leaving.”

I pull my lips between my teeth, not trusting my voice, and nod my head.

“When?” She doesn’t shy away from my eyes like I so badly wish she would.

“Friday.”

A deep breath rushes out of her and her eyes squeeze shut. The way the color drains from her face is the exact reason why I’ve been dreading this conversation. Camila and I have been together since middle school. Her family is my family. Until a few months ago when she met, married, and moved in with her husband all within the span of three days—we had never really been apart.

“Why?” Her voice cracks as if she’s pleading with me, and as quickly as the liquid fills her eyes, the tears begin to fall.

I steady the heaviness in my chest with a deep inhale as I pull her closer to me, rubbing her shoulders. My deep feeler girl.

I shouldn’t be embarrassed or afraid to tell my best friend of sixteen years that I’m looking for something, but I am, because honestly, I have no clue what it is I’m looking for.

“Honestly, Mila, it was just kind of impulsive. I was watching a movie set in Ireland one minute and booking a reservation at Emerald Browning Cottage the next. I—” My lungs deflate as I search for the words. “I don’t know. I have nothing going on.” I pause at how raw that sounds, but not wanting to overthink it I keep going. “There’s nothing I’m excited about here. I think the real question is, why not?” I hate lying to her, but she worries enough for the both of us. And it somehow feels selfish to say I’ve stayed around because of her. I love her with every piece of my soul and would do anything for her, but she doesn’t need me anymore.

Her tears continue to fall, hitting my forearm. I knew it would be hard to tell her and even more difficult for her to understand, and if this were a few months ago, I never would have considered leaving her. But things are different now. She’s happy, and there once was a time I wasn’t sure she would let herself find this kind of joy in life. It still crushes me to see her upset, though, and as much as I’ll miss her, I need her to know it will all be okay. Even if I’ve never been more unsure of anything in my life .

“Hey.” I squeeze her shoulder before pulling back to search her eyes. I mask my fear with a smile and tell her the one lie I’ve been telling myself the last two weeks. “This is a good thing, okay? I’m just looking for a little bit of an adventure. First stop, Ireland. Next, the rest of the world.”

She studies my face, and I hold the excited expression until she sniffs, wipes her tears, and nods her head. I slowly exhale a shaky breath as she sits back further on the couch.

“Obviously, you’ve packed the apartment. Have you packed your suitcase?”

Fuck. It’s my turn to slump into the couch. My chin presses to my chest as I close my eyes and groan. “In my defense, I did try. Twice actually.” I hold up my two fingers and she smiles at me, taking one more sip of her coffee before setting it down and pulling her long dark hair up into a bun on the top of her head.

“Then let’s do this.” She slaps my thigh before standing, and my heart pumps a little fuller because getting anything done is so much easier when she’s around.

A long, low car horn wakes me from my sleep. I blink, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. My laptop sits between Mila and I, where we fell asleep. I close the ‘Are you still watching?’ screen and she begins to stir next to me. Without the laptop, the room is coated in midnight black.

“I’m having deja vu.” Her voice floats across to me in a whisper.

“It’s from the packing.” I pat her arm next to me. It wasn’t long ago that we packed up this same room when she moved out.

“Yeah, must be.”

“And you remember what I said then? ”

“It will all be okay.”

“That’s right. It was true then and it’s true now.” I don’t need any light on to feel her head nod in agreement. “It’s only a month,” I remind us both.

We continue to lay in the dark, the lull of cars driving by in the distance and murmurs of conversations from people walking home filter through the window. I finally close my eyes again, trying not to get hung up on my thoughts but rather let them drift.

“It just feels so final.” My eyes fly open at her words, and I ignore the twinge in my chest, allowing one lone tear to slide down my cheek.