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“Rex might have had to pull me off Colin,” I say.
“Had he called you that before?” Rex asks hesitantly, and it takes me a minute to remember which of Colin’s vile comments he might be referring to.
“What, Danielle?” Ginger asks.
“Or the girl? Not,” I add quickly, “that being called a girl is an insult. Just, you know Colin.”
“Oh, I know,” Ginger says. “That little asshole. Not,” she adds, looking at me and drawling suggestively, “that there’s anything wrong with assholes.”
“Oh fuck, I’ve missed you,” I say. “Got a drink?”
Ginger nods and grabs a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen. I take a sip and feel the heat feather down my throat and spread through my breastbone.
“How is it, then?” Ginger asks seriously, finally raising the question I’ve been dreading.
“Oh, fine; a little harsh for my taste,” I say, raising the bottle at her.
“Ha-ha,” she says. Then she just waits. I close my eyes and lean back against Rex’s shoulder. His arm automatically comes around me and all I want to do is turn my face into his neck and never come out.
“I’m not sure,” I say finally. “I’m… I feel all messed up, but… not precisely sad. More like—fuck, I don’t know.”
“Finish your sentence,” Ginger says. Jesus, she’s pushy. I can practically feel Rex taking notes.
“I don’t know if I’ll miss him. But, I guess a part of me always thought maybe the way things were was temporary. That, eventually, we’d be closer? Understand each other better. So now I feel like the… like that potential future has been… interrupted. Stolen from me.”
“More please,” Ginger says. I close my eyes again. I hate when she does this. I love when she does this. It’s like I don’t know what I’m thinking or feeling until I say it out loud.
“I was thinking, over Thanksgiving, that I don’t really know him. I don’t know what makes him tick—made him tick. Like, if he were the main character in the book I was reading, it’d only be chapter two. I’d know his name and who was in his daily life, but I’d be waiting to find out that thing that would make me care about his story. At least, that’s how I felt before. There was a whole book left. The promise that maybe if I kept reading I’d learn enough to make me like him—care about him. Only now, it’s like he was just a secondary character—a tertiary character. And the author hadn’t even thought about any more of a story for him. There just isn’t any more of him. And, I don’t know. That makes me fucking sad because I think probably he felt the same way about me. I know he cared about me, at least a little. I mean, I think so. And Colin and the guys, they knew him. And they’re fucking devastated he’s dead. And I’m jealous because….”
“Because?” Ginger prods.
“Because they were a family and I wasn’t part of it,” I say, and though I’ve never had the thought before, I know it’s what I really mean the second it comes out of my mouth. I swallow hard and my mouth tastes like blood. I take another gulp of whiskey and let my head fall back on Rex’s shoulder. I look up at him and see moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes. When he looks at me his eyes are so soft.
“I guess now we’re both orphans,” he says, and even though his voice is a masculine growl, it’s such a little kid thing to say that it breaks my heart.
“I guess so.”
I clear my throat.
“So, how was the family for Thanksgiving,” I ask Ginger, desperate to change the subject before Rex and I end up bawling all over each other.
“It’s been worse,” she says slowly.
“Just because we’re both orphans now doesn’t mean you can’t feel free to rain shit down on your family,” I say. Ginger smirks.
“The mother was a passive-aggressive ice queen from hell who told me I needed to lose ten pounds and then maybe my tattoos would look like an avant garde fashion statement instead of a desperate attempt to thumb my nose at society’s standards of beauty before men could reject me for being unconventional-looking.”
Rex’s mouth drops open.
“No, that’s seriously how she talks,” I say.
“I think you’re beautiful,” Rex says. Then a look of panic crosses his face. “I mean, I know that’s the opposite of your point. Shit, I’m sorry.” He looks at me, as if I can smooth it over.
“I love you,” Ginger says to Rex. “I love him,” she says to me.
Me too, I think, before I can even process the thought. Fuck me.
“The father was a black hole of spinelessness except when he was kissing the mother’s ass in the hopes of some small crumb of encouragement, approval, or affection. It was nearly vomit-inducing, except that I couldn’t possibly give the mother the grim satisfaction of thinking she’d turned me bulimic.”
