“Oh, gee, that’s cheerful. Were any of us planning on offing ourselves this year?”
I smack his arm. “No, I just mean that we’re all probably prone to getting sad this time of year, and I don’t want that for any of us. Everything changed when my mom and dad died.” I pause. “And I imagine that you guys did not have anything resembling a happy holiday season when you were growing up.”
“Not so much,” he says softly.
“So, I just want to undo whatever I can. But this is not the easiest time of year. I miss my parents.”
“I know you do. They were great people, weren’t they? I have no doubt that they would have been extraordinarily proud of you with the way you got through everything, the way you took care of James. All of it.”
I think for a minute while I look at him, take in how he’s changed, how he’s stayed the same. “Sabin?”
“Yeah, love?”
“Chris says that he’s glad your father is dead. Are you?”
“Yep. Every fucking second.” He sits up and reaches for our coffees, so I sit up, too. “But I don’t want to talk about him.”
I take a sip from the cup and peer at him over the edge as I do. “Sabin?” I say again.
He smiles. “Yes, love?”
“You’re half-naked and stink like a paralegal parasite who’s just been parasailing with a parallelogram.”
“Very funny. I’ll shower and get dressed.”
“Will some of that belly wash down the drain?”
“Oh, low blow, B! Yeah, yeah, I haven’t exactly been dieting here, but you’ll understand after I stuff your face with authentic tacos. I can eat ten at one time!”
I nod at his gut. “Not exactly something to brag about.”
“Just because you run ninety-seven miles a day and have a bangin’ body doesn’t mean you get to taunt us flabbies.”
I raise one eyebrow and crack a smile. “I have a bangin’ body, you say? Really? Tell me more.”
Sabin actually blushes a little, which cracks me up. “You know what I mean, but that’s my cue.” He slides himself to the ladder. “I’m taking my morbidly obese self to the shower to clean up. And to cry. Please ignore any wailing noises that waft your way.”
I scooch to the edge of the loft and hang my head down. “Sabin?”
He looks up at me from the bottom of the ladder and beams. “Yeah, love?”
“I like your tree house.”
“I’m glad. Don’t eat my bagels while I’m gone.”
“Don’t worry. Nobody in their right mind would eat a blueberry bagel. Barf.”
I hear the shower run, and then Sabin’s beautiful raspy voice reaches me as he sings a song I’ve heard many times. He knows it’s one of my favorites. It’s upbeat, and it makes him reach deep into his chest to belt out some of the lines. Listening to him takes away the last edge of my worry that there is some kind of rift between us.
OH, LAST NIGHT, I TRIED NOT TO DRINK,
BUT I WAS SCARED I MIGHT NOT GET MY SLEEP.
MID AFTERNOON, STUCK IN A BAR SEAT,
AND SHE SAID, “BABY, WHAT CAN I GET FOR YOU TODAY?”
OH, BUT SHE GOT
