“So,you owe me a story,” Sebastian declared, leaning back against the couch.
Ididn’t need to ask what story he was talking about; I knew, remembering ourconversation from the other night. The night when he found his old band’s albumon my shelf.
Turningthe glass in my hands, I gazed into the amber liquid like a reflecting pool. “Idon’t … I don’t know if I can talk about it,” I admitted with a rueful chuckle.“I’ve never told anybody.”
Leaningforward to rest his elbows on his knees, he nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Beforethis week, I had never told anybody else about what happened with Sam.”
Startled,I turned to him. “Really? Nobody?”
“Nope.I didn’t think I had a reason to. I thought she had gotten an abortion, so whatwas there to tell?”
Mythroat constricted around the realization that maybe Sebastian and I weren’t sodifferent. For a long time, we’d both harbored more than one person should haveto carry.
“Butyou were practically a kid, and having to handle all of that by yourself? Youdidn’t even tell your parents?”
Shakinghis head, he rolled the glass between his hands. “Why? So they could mourn whatnever was, too?”
Takinga deep breath, I nodded, understanding. And then I began to tell my story.
“Iasked Sam to go to the Fist Fest with me. She wasn’t the biggest fan of metal—Iwas—but we went to concerts together all the time, regardless of music genre. Iwas mostly going for Heavy Chains—do you remember them?” I lifted my gaze tofind his, and he nodded. “I was ahugefan of theirs. But anyway, the bandthat went on right before them was awesome and I knew I wanted their record. But,since Heavy Chains was playing right after, I didn’t know when I’d get thechance to run out to the merch table. So, Sam offered.”
Itook another sip of the whiskey, letting it roll around on my tongue todissolve my worries before swallowing. “I was sixteen years old,” I felt theneed to clarify, to emphasize the next part of the story, “and Sam didn’t comeback to me for an hour.”
Sebastian’sbrows lowered. “Those festivals get really fucking crazy. She left you alonefor that long?”
Theirony made me chuckle bitterly. “Yeah, no shit. And I knew the second I saw herwhat had happened, because that’s what she always did. Sometimes it felt likeshe couldn’t go anywhere without hooking up with some guy. I never faulted herfor it, you know, she was young and having fun. But that night, I was pissedbecause she’d told me she would be right back. I couldn’t even enjoy the band Iwent there for because I was too busy worrying about where the fuck she’dgone.”
Theguilt that blanketed his face surprised me, as though it was somehow his fault.“Tabby … that’s … that’s fucked up.”
Ishook my head, not wanting to hear it from him. Not wanting him to take theblame for something he was clueless about. “I got over it. I mean, I was pissedthat she didn’t even bother to get my album signed by the band,” I laughedbitterly, “but I got over it. Until a couple of months later of course, whenshe found out she was pregnant, and then it all changed.
“Nobodywas surprised that Sam had gotten knocked up. I think we all knew that it wasonly a matter of time,” I explained. “She told my parents she didn’t know whothe father was, but she toldmethat it was a guy from Saint Savage.”
“So,you had to carry that weight for a long time,” Sebastian chimed in, and Inodded.
“Ithought about trying to contact the band, but I didn’t know how. And even if Idid, what was I supposed to say? I didn’t knowwhoshe had slept with.She never gave me a name or anything,” I said, feeling the need to explain whyI’d never tried to find him sooner.
Tippinghis eyebrows with understanding, he shook his head. “I never said I blamedyou.”
“Iknow, but …” I sighed, sipping again. “I felt so guilty. About that, and thatour parents had no idea, and … I don’t know. The whole situation was fucked up,and it was around that time I realized I had to grow up. I couldn’t keephanging out with her like that. I think part of me was afraid I’d end up likeher. And she never did grow up, you know. She was always hooking up withguys—less frequently, because of Greyson, but she still did it. She held down acouple jobs waitressing, but it was a revolving door, and she and Greyson weremoving in and out of apartments while she treated him more as a friend than herson, and—”
“Andso, you’ve always had to step in as the authority figure,” Sebastianinterjected, an understanding sparking in his eyes.
Inodded. “Yes. I had to, to be there for Greyson when she decided she needed oneof herdates. And that’s … that’s how she fucking died, too. She wasdrunk, coming back from sleeping with someone else, and wrapped her fucking cararound a telephone pole.” Without warning, I gasped, sharply inhaling my sob. “Andit was just … the last fucking thing I needed.”
Itsounded so selfish, I knew that. I hated myself for saying it out loud, butwhen I looked to Sebastian, I was surprised to find not an ounce of judgment orsympathy in his gaze. All there was, was understanding.
“Didyou know I was engaged?” I asked him, searching his eyes and wondering how itwas possible for someone’s irises to never end.
“Ididn’t,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Yeah,”I nodded, sniffling. “I was marrying this accountant from Harrisburg. His namewas Brad.”
“Bradand Tabitha,” Sebastian mocked with a hoity-toity lilt to his voice. “Thatdoesn’t even sound right.”
“Nothingabout us really was,” I admitted with an ounce of shame. “I liked him a lot. Hewas a really good man, and he stood by me through the deaths of my parents andmy sister. He helped with everything and I really thought I’d hit the jackpotwith him, even if we never felt quite right. I thought it was just the stressof everything I was going through, you know? But then, when he realized thatGreyson had moved in and wasn’t leaving …” I pressed my fist to my lips,holding in another sob. A burst of anger. The vile disgust.
“Heended things because of that?” Sebastian guessed, a dash of his own anger tintinghis words.
