AND WE LET IT BURN.
YOU WILL LOVE ME ALL,
OR YOU WON’T LOVE ME AT ALL.
I WILL NOT BE PIECES OF YOUR FAVORITE SONG.
HERE WE GO AGAIN, NOT THE LUCKY ONE YOU NEED.
HERE WE GO AGAIN, LOVE.
HERE WE GO AGAIN, NOT THE LUCKY ONE YOU NEED.
HERE WE GO AGAIN, LOVE.
Even when the lyrics end, Sabin keeps playing, as if stopping would mean a larger end. But I let him delay because it’s giving me time to think.
I shiver from the chill of the night, possibly more.
“Cold?” he asks over his strumming.
I nod.
He moves to get up and sit next to me, but I stop him. “Sabin?”
“Yeah, love?”
“You didn’t plan this San Diego move weeks ago, did you?”
“Of course I did! I can keep a secret. Didn’t know that about me, did ya?” He continues playing the guitar, the same song that I’m finding so beautiful yet so hauntingly sad.
“No, you didn’t. Three days ago, you told me that you’d take my car into town for an oil change. And, yesterday, you ordered a down parka with a hideous zebra-print lining for the winter. You said that, while I might find it grotesque, chicks dig zebra print, and you were going to make it ferociously chic.”
“All part of my plan,” he says, tapping the side of his head in between notes.
“You told Estelle, Eric, and James that you’d take nighttime pictures of the boats in the harbor on Labor Day when the fireworks were exploding over them and lighting up the sky because I’d told you how awesome it was. You were looking forward to going to that street festival with Chris and me. So, I think that you just decided to leave—maybe today, maybe yesterday. But this was not some long-term plan that you just dropped on us tonight.”
Because he won’t look at me, because he starts singing again, I know I’m right. “Did something happen?”
I wait him out. I wait until he’s ready.
Eventually, his music slows bit by bit, finally coming to a stop. He blows out a breath and puts down the guitar. “What I said before is true. It’s just time. It became very clear to me that I needed to find something of my own and quit leeching off of you and Chris.” He stops me before I can protest. “I am. I know you guys love me and shit, but it’s too hard for me to stay.”
He’s just making me more lost and confused.
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to. You just have to trust that I know what I want and”—he tips his head to the side and lifts my chin with his strong hand—“what’s best for me. For us.”
“What do you mean, for us?”
“Look, you have a life here with Chris. You guys are practically married, and you don’t need me interrupting what you have.”
“Fuck you for saying that. You’re not interrupting anything. We’re not married, and we’re notgettingmarried. That’s not how we work. We both have more than enough room for you, and I don’t mean because this house has a million bedrooms.”
“I’m not explaining this well.” He blows out a breath in frustration. “I know you want me here. I really do.”
I stare at him for a minute. “But you don’t want to be here.”
