I have a ton of pictures of her and the two of us together. Jenny, being a photographer, had made us her focal point on numerous occasions. I try to avoid looking at the prints as I take the frames off the surfaces they cover, and down from the walls, leaving random nails sticking out along the now bare space. I open the bottom drawer of my nightstand then begin peeling the frames open and dropping the pictures in the drawer and the frames in the trash can, watching with satisfaction as they shatter against one another.
I drop a final lingering photo in the drawer and notice a ticket stub that’s stuck to the side of the drawer. This drawer was hers. She’d filled it with pamphlets and ticket stubs from everywhere we’d gone. It also contains every note she ever left me. I used to love waking up and finding them beside me. Sometimes she would just cover the sheet in x’s and o’s, other times she’d leave me something more suggestive, like: You. Me. Shower. 4:30. Don’t be late! Once in a while she’d leave a message that I was sure she knew drove me wild like: Last night was amazing! You are my sex God! Your tongue is ridiculously talented! Tonight it’s your turn :) She always signed them the same: Love, your Ace. How had I ever believed her? Had she ever really been mine?
I grab the letter I’d received from David after the will had been read. I’ve read it so many times I don’t need to look at it to know what it says. It didn’t make sense to me then, and it sure as hell doesn’t make any sense to me now. My eyes fall to the image below the letter, and I see a picture of Ace in a maroon dress from Billy and Molly’s wedding last November. Slamming the drawer shut, I go back in search of more gin.
You would have thought I was telling my mom I had been elected president with her reaction to learning that I’d asked you to Billy’s wedding. She tried to hide her excitement initially by trying to act surprised, but I swear it didn’t last more than a minute. Then she was hugging me and clapping—a similar reaction to the one that I’d received after she’d casually confronted me about you earlier that summer. I could tell from her leading questions that she already knew but wanted to see if I’d confirm that I liked you as much as I did. When I did, she simply gave me a knowing look and then threw her arms around me in a tight hug.
Later, after the shock had worn off, she approached me again. I could have sworn I was talking to Kyle rather than my mom—the one that was supposed to be telling me I’d do great with this whole commitment gig that I’d never really attempted, that I wouldn’t screw things up, because my drive for achieving things and seeing them through will outweigh all of my flaws. Maybe she knew then that I’d fuck things up, because she warned me to take my time and reminded me that you needed support as well as fun.
Remember the girl that was already seated in our aisle when we boarded? She couldn’t have been much older than twelve, she was tiny. I was so grateful you offered to take the middle seat because even though the flight to Phoenix was pretty quick, she was continuously alternating between flipping through a book on her lap and shuffling through the bag at her feet. Her nerves had me on edge before we even took off.
I always knew you were smart, but I’ll never forget when you pointed at the shark book the girl had closed for the hundredth time and asked her if she liked sharks. God, there’s something about you, Ace, because that girl looked at you and I could sense her relief. I couldn’t see you, you were turned to face her still, but I’m sure you were smiling because she was smiling a grin that only you can evoke from people. She told us she was a self-proclaimed Shark Week addict.
“A lot of people are really afraid of sharks. I’m sure you know this, but the chances of getting killed by a shark are really rare. One in 3.7 million or something crazy. That’s more than three times the population of the entire state of Montana.” The girl giggled, but my eyebrows were in my hairline. I had no idea how you knew the statistic on shark attacks, let alone the population of Montana. The girl joined in, talking about how ridiculous it was for people to fear sharks while I still tried to wrap my head around facts you were sharing with her.
“That’s good. If you like your chances with sharks, you’ll feel really good to know that your chances of dying in a plane crash are one in 11 million.” You knew about regulations and statistics that I doubt the flight attendants would have known. I don’t know who was more impressed, the twelve-year-old that stared at you like you were Wonder Woman, or me.
We’d been dating for four months at that point and it still would take me by surprise to learn how much I still didn’t know. What shocked me more was how much I wanted to know it all. I found myself always wanting to be around you. Sometimes I tried to distract myself and make plans with friends. I didn’t want to come off as controlling, or as obsessed as I was. It never worked out all that well, and the times I did follow through with plans, I always found myself texting you to see how you were doing and making plans to see you at the end of the night.
Phoenix was our first vacation together, if you can consider attending a family wedding a vacation, especially when it seemed destined to be dramatic based upon my mom’s reaction to the news. I hadn’t met my future sister-in-law, Molly. She and Billy had only been dating a month. My mom met her on her last trip out there and described her as “a phase.” I knew she wasn’t very excited about her, but she didn’t really seem opposed either. However, when Billy called to announce their engagement, she went a little bat-shit crazy.
You were calm the entire drive there, revealing to me how much you watched my brothers and me when we were younger, and the nicknames you’d given my two older brothers. Your recollections spurred me to telling you about what jack holes my brothers could be at times, and transgressed into stories about some of the cool things we’d done together, like when they taught me to drive at fourteen.
I parked our rental car in front of the restaurant and reluctantly pulled my key from the ignition. For the first time in my life, I felt afraid to do something: introduce you as my girlfriend to my entire family.
I think I felt a little more nervous at seeing how calm you were as you released your seatbelt and reached for the door, prompting me to place a hand on your knee. “Hang on. Let me get it.”
You looked reluctant, but complied.
“You look so beautiful.” The words fell from my mouth before I fully intended for them to. I was planning to say something slightly more original, but my head was in so many places it was difficult for me to focus.
You smiled and ran a hand across your midsection as if to press out an invisible crease, revealing your own nerves. “Thanks, it’s sort of a Jackie. Proper and feminine with a bit of flair.”
“Jackie?”
“Kennedy.”
I laughed and placed a hand to the small of your back as we traveled across the parking lot. “Is flair a synonym for sexy?” I was rewarded with a smile that was as genuine as your lack of knowing how incredibly beautiful you are.
“So what color of underwear does Jackie wear?” I asked, opening the door of the restaurant.
You stopped and looked at me for a second, then leaned forward. I still remember the feeling of your lips grazing the bottom of my ear as you whispered, “Jackie doesn’t wear underwear,” and then sauntered through the door.
My thoughts that seemed to be in so many places all zeroed in. I could barely keep my eyes away from your ass to see if I could find the faint traces of underwear lines as we were shown to a door where my family had already gathered.
As the hostess left, I pulled you closer to me. My nerves were going crazy and I was distracted as all hell by your comment. You looked up at me and smirked knowingly, then leaned up and kissed me. It was intended to be a short kiss, one to convey comfort rather than sensuality, but I placed a hand to your lower back and brought you so close I could feel the curve of your hip. It broke the thin thread of self control I had. I pressed you even tighter against me and slanted my mouth to fit fully over yours, trying to resist pulling the pins that I couldn’t see but was willing to find from your hair. Instead, my hand ran along your neck, stopping at your shoulder, and I regrettably pulled away.