Sabin lies down next to me. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Are you going to look at me?”
“It smells like dirty prostitute up here,” I say.
He laughs. “I told you, she’s not a prostitute. She’s a paralegal.”
I practically snort. “Yeah, right.”
“Maybe it wasn’t paralegal. But it was para-something. Paraglider? Paragraph? Parallelogram?”
“Parasite?” I offer.
Sabin rolls onto his side and props himself up on an elbow. “Would you please look at me?”
Reluctantly, I turn my head.
The hint of a smile hits the outer edges of his eyes. “I missed you.”
I’m having trouble believing him, so I don’t say anything.
“I deeply apologize for being such a dick,” he says. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Okay.” I don’t ask him why he blew us off yesterday or how in the hell he could apparently forget about this morning. “I’m not an imposition?”
He looks as though I’d smacked him across the face. “How could you even ask that? Because of what Chris said? Don’t listen to him. You could never be an imposition.”
“Okay.”
“Where is Chris? I thought he was coming with you?”
I shrug. “He thought you and I might want to spend the day together.” Shadows dance through the skylight. “If you’re not too busy.”
Sabin stretches out an arm and returns with a cowboy hat that he sets on his head. Leaning over me, he brushes hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “I would love nothing more than to spend the day with you. I want to take you to see the horses here. Did I tell you that I ride a little now? Pearce—you know, the guy who owns this joint and the tree-house company—has been teaching me about horses and stuff.” He grins. “Blythe McGuire,” he says loudly and gleefully, “I’m a real fuckin’ cowboy now!”
I can’t help but laugh. “You are, for sure.”
“Now, stop with the pouting, and let’s have fun!” He sneaks his hands to the sides of my rib cage and starts tickling me until I’m giggling and shrieking for him to stop. “There’s my happy girl!” He goes back on his side and smiles down at me.
When I can catch my breath, I tell him a truth that I have to get out, “Sabe…I’ve missed you so much that it hurts. I feel so disconnected from you.”
His face softens. “Then, let’s reconnect. First, I’ll show you the horses here, and then we’ll get real tacos with the most awesome corn tortillas you’ve ever had. Not that shit you get in the supermarkets back East. The real stuff. You’ll love it. And we’ll eat too much and fart. Then, we’ll…what else do you want to do? Go downtown?”
“Just talk. Listen to you play guitar. Eat more. Fart more. Take you to the house in La Jolla. Go buy a Christmas tree, decorate, cook for the kids.”
He laughs. “The kids? I love that you say that.”
“Why?”
“Because you nurture us all. You’re kind of motherly.”
I frown. “I am not motherly! I hate children. They’re loud and annoying.”
“You are motherly. You watch over all of us, and we’re all loud and annoying. And you’re working hard to make the holidays good when they’re something we all used to hate.”
“A lot of suicides happen around the holidays,” I say.
