Chapter 6: That’s a Green Vegetable

Taylor

I take the barstool across from Kennedy as she prepares the salad.

“What can I do to help?” I ask.

She slides three more saltines my way. Rolling my eyes, I push them aside.

“No. Thank you. Five crackers was enough.” I see the concern in her eyes. “Ken, I’m okay. I was so excited to fly here when you called; food was the last thing on my mind.” I rise from my perch, pacing to the refrigerator and back to the island. I feel anxious, caged. I need to move. I pace while Kennedy rinses the lettuce. Her soft, natural blonde hair is swept into a messy ponytail. She’s still slender, just not emaciated as she once was. Her eye makeup accentuates her blue eyes. Her white blouse loosely conceals everything from neck to wrist. Her gray capris are at least one size too large for her frame. Cherry red polish draws my eyes toward her fingers and toes. She’s come so far, but some habits remain visible. I mentally add, ”Chat with Jackson about her eating disorder,” to my to-do list.

On my way back to the fridge, I pause. “I drank too much today.” I meet her eyes. “I was distracted,” I say with a shrug.

“Distracted?” Jackson’s voice startles me as he emerges from the patio door behind me.

Kennedy laughs, and Jackson smirks. “Distracted by what?” he prods.

“I, uh...” I slowly slide back onto the barstool at the kitchen island. “I, uh, was so excited to get here, I arrived at the airport too early.” I shove a carrot from the salad bowl into my mouth. As I crunch, I hope they will move on to another topic. I risk looking up for an instant and am greeted by four concerned and prying eyes.

“Okay!” I scream. “He’s a bartender. I just popped in for a quick drink. One thing led to another...”

Jackson slinks out the back door, shaking his head.

“My stomach was empty. I had three or four drinks.” I snag another carrot. “I’m not sick. I just drank too much.”

“A bartender?” Kennedy asks, perfectly-shaped eyebrows raising.

“I thought you were worried about my fainting.”

“We are,” Kennedy assures. “But you mentioned a bartender.” She raises her hands, making air quotes around “bartender.” “Did you, uh, you know?”

“Oh, my god! No!” I screech.

Jackson darts into the kitchen, ready to fix whatever he can find making me yell. He looks between the two of us in question.

I meet Kennedy’s stare. “We just talked and drank. I did not sleep with the bartender I just met at the airport.” I mimic her air quotes. “I just kicked my deadbeat fiance of four years to the curb. I’m not ready to bed the first hot hunk I lay eyes on.”

“Hot?” Jackson teases. “How hot?”

“A hot hunk...” Kennedy turns her back to her husband and fans herself with a plastic lid. “Details. Now!”

Jackson kisses her neck. “Details can wait. The steaks are ready.” He pats her behind. “You still prefer yours mooing, right?” he directs my way.

“Just north of mooing,” I correct. I search the cabinets until I find plates. I grab three, placing them on the island. Next, I plunder the drawers for utensils.

Jackson strides in, proudly displaying the grilled steaks. Kennedy places the salad near the plates. Jackson snags another platter, disappears, then returns with grilled asparagus.

“Um,” I pause. “That’s a green vegetable.”

Kennedy giggles. “It won’t kill you. You'll give it a try.” Her tone suddenly reminds me of my grandmother’s.

Jackson senses my apprehension. “I coat it in olive oil and lemon juice.” He places two sprigs upon a plate and hands it to me. “Just a bite. That's all I ask.”

Plates full, the three of us walk to the family room. Jackson turns on the local news. We eat as we casually discuss the current events. Hoping they were distracted by the weather forecast, I nibble on the asparagus. I nibble a bit more. Before I know it, my plate is empty.

“Song of the Day time,” Jackson announces during a commercial.

I forgot all about this game we started back in high school. It was Jackson’s and my thing. We would try to sum up our day by using lyrics to a song. We would also try to stump each other on naming the artists and titles. My love of music has never left me. I just quit playing the game.

“Taylor...” Kennedy prompts.

“Let’s see...” I already know my song. I tap my finger on my cheek, pretending to think. “I’m unsure...” I take a long pull from my ice cold Bud Light bottle. “Where my path leads.” I stand up and pretend to pace. “I remember all the places before this.”

Kennedy giggles. “I’m lost.” She never was good at lyrics. Even when she likes a song, she can’t think without the music to accompany it.

Jackson stands, takes my right hand in his, singing the first five lines of the song before he answers, proudly beaming. “‘Here I Go Again’ by Whitesnake.”

Together, we sing the song through the end of the first chorus.

I clap mockingly at Jackson then excuse myself to the kitchen. I grab two more sprigs of asparagus as I place my plate into the sink.

“I saw that,” Jackson whispers from the island behind me. “I knew you’d like it,” he teases.

I spin, steak knife in hand. “Don’t get any ideas. This is the only vegetable you’ll trick me into trying.”

“Easy now,” Jackson calms. “Let’s put down the weapon and discuss this.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. I eat lettuce, carrots, green beans, corn, pickles, and potatoes. Those are my only vegetables. So, don’t.” I swing the steak knife in his direction. “Don’t try to force any other veggies on me.” I swing the knife in a Zorro-like Z-pattern then drop it into the sink.

“You forgot asparagus on your list,” he corrects as I place his plate into the sink.

Kennedy joins us. “You’re pushing it, Jackson.”

“Yeah, Jack,” I tease. His eyes grow hard, and his smile retreats. He hates being called Jack. I love this tidbit of knowledge. I use it to signal he’s teased me enough. He always gets the message.

“My turn,” Jackson states. “You are unsure of yourself, and I don’t know why.”

This one is too easy. I quickly state, “One Direction, and the song is ‘What Makes You Beautiful.’”

Kennedy suggests we grab beers and head to the deck. Conversation flows easily as do the first and second beers. Kennedy places a bucket of beers and ice between Jackson and me. She stopped after consuming one Lime-A-Rita.

They fill me in on Jackson’s work at the grocery store, Kennedy’s job at the YMCA, the forecast, and their plans for the Fourth of July.

As Jackson opens our last beer, he suggests we move inside before mosquitos eat us alive. We quickly gather all our beverages and empty bottles before ducking indoors.

Kennedy grabs four more beers from the refrigerator in the garage. She leaves one in front of me then places the rest in the kitchen refrigerator.

Jackson smiles and slides my new beer to the side, replacing it with a shot glass. He places one in front of him before asking me to pick my poison.

“I’m an American girl.” I state.

“Jim or Jack?” Jackson nods, approving.

Kennedy looks confused by our conversation.

“Ken,” I prompt, “join us in a shot?” I laugh knowingly as she shakes her head. “Not the hard stuff. Another Lime-A-Rita?”

Kennedy is a lightweight. Always has been; always will be. She sips a beverage now and then, but there are too many calories in alcohol for her. “One more,” she agrees. “I need to be lucid for the two of you tonight.” She nods to the bottles of Jim Beam and Jack Daniels in front of me. “Seems it’ll be a long night.”

“ABC order,” I announce. “Jack first with beer chasers,” I challenge Jackson.

“Two shots then we move to the living room,” Kennedy demands.

Jackson and I fill the shot glasses as Kennedy and her Lime-A-Rita move to the sofa.

“Ready?” I tease. Jackson isn’t much of a drinker either.

“Go!”

Two shots and half a beer later, I grab two more cold ones as we join Kennedy. I snuggle close to her on the sofa as Jackson chooses the floor in front of us.

I commandeer the remote from Kennedy. I scroll through too many channels before I give up. On my phone, I scroll to 80’s rock on Spotify and press enter. I turn the volume up loud enough to hear but low enough we can talk over it. I place my cell on the table in front of the sofa.

With Guns-N-Roses playing in the background, Kennedy begins, “We will talk about John tonight and tonight only.”

My eyes quickly dart to Jackson to save me. On his face, I do not find my rescue. “We’ll talk about it tonight. Tomorrow, we will return to life before and without John.” A small smile climbs to his lips. “I’ll make it painless.” He passes me the bottle of Jack, prompting me to take a swig.

I sigh deeply. Three gulps of the warm, amber liquid soothes me from the inside out.

“Fire away,” I encourage.