“They are cold and have stick limbs. Also, notoriously shitty attitudes about US foreign policy. Yes, I love you more than snowmen.”
His gravelly laugh echoes into my ear. “But you’ll build one for me anyway?” he asks.
“With three noses. And I’ll put that disgusting parka that you shipped here on it.”
“What kind of fucking creepy snowman are you making? And that parka is super gangsta, I’ll have you know.”
“Just for that, I’m adding on a hat with a veil.”
Sabe laughs. “God, I miss you. You always make me feel better. It doesn’t make any sense because…” He trails off.
“Because why? We’re best friends. Weshouldmake each other feel better.”
“Yeah. It’s just…it seems like that should be true for…I mean…” He pauses. “It’s just, usually guys have a guy best friend, and girls have a girl best friend.”
I think for a minute. “And we have us. We don’t follow rules.”
“No, I guess not.” He strums his guitar, and then I hear him slap his hand over the strings to stop the music. “I gotta run to the market. You talked me into making this potato nonsense. Send me the recipe as soon as you hang up, okay?”
“Okay. Happy Thanksgiving. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I’ll try to pick up. Busy day with the potato eaters here.”
“I imagine so.”
“Have fun with Chris,” he says. “But don’t go traying.”
“Not without you.”
I hang up and stare into the unlit fireplace.Fuck. Fuck!
I sit numbly for twenty minutes and only shake off my daze when Sabin texts me and points out that, while we are very emotionally connected, he is not actually telepathic and cannot envision the recipe without text message dialogue. I text back the link and try to talk myself out of sulking.
I’ve been gone so long that Chris eventually sticks his head into the living room. “Hey, did you abandon me?”
“No, no. Of course not,” I say rather flatly. “It’s just…” I aimlessly wave a hand around.
Chris throws a dish towel over his shoulder and comes to sit next to me on the couch. “What’s wrong? Is Sabin all right? Did he fall out of a tree house? Big blow to the head?”
I try to smile, but it’s not working.
“Blythe, you’re starting to freak me out. What’s going on?”
“Sorry, everything is fine. Really.” I lean against him. “Sabin isn’t coming here for the holidays. He says he has to work.”
Christopher runs a hand through my hair and wraps a long curl over his finger. “I was worried about that,” he says, “which is why—”
“I mean, what the hell?” I yell out. “We’re all supposed to be together! This isn’t right. Everyone was broken and fucked up and all that, and then we sort of pieced ourselves back together, and…and…and we have to be together. All of us. I know he has a new job and real life, but…it’s starting, isn’t it? Eventually, everyone will start making their own plans. Holidays, summers…everything is going to change. We’re fragmenting.”
Chris puts a hand under my chin and makes me look at him. “Stop spazzing,” he says with amusement, “and let me finish what I started to tell you.”
I nod.
“We are not fragmenting,” he states assuredly. “I was worried Sabin wouldn’t be able to take off any time, which is why we’re going to San Diego for three weeks.”
I sit up straight. “What?”
“All of us—Estelle, Eric, James, you, and me. Then, Zach is going to come in right after Christmas.” He kisses my cheek. “We’re not fragmenting.”
