32

tabby

 

After dinner, we left the restaurant. Devin and Sebastian shed their jackets and ties, and Kylie switched out her heels for a pair of flip flops she pulled from her bag. With love in his eyes, Devin held her shoes and her hand, while Sebastian walked along beside me with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He tipped his head up and back, taking in the lights and sounds.

“I fucking love it here,” he commented quietly, beneath the breath of the city.

“Why don’t you live here, then?” I asked him.

“Because I think that feeling this small all of the time would drive me insane,” he admitted, pursing his lips.

“Oh, God, imagine that. Something that could actually humble you,” I teased, poking him in the side, and he brushed me away.

“Baby, I am humble,” he insisted. “Arrogance is just part of my charm.”

“Uh-huh.” I rolled my eyes playfully, while silently agreeing.

We found a bar. A little dive a few blocks from the restaurant. The bartender didn’t bat a lash at the expense of our clothes, not caring about who we were or what we did, and without a word, set out to pouring beers and making martinis. While the guys waited, Kylie and I selected a table toward the back of the bar, illuminated by one overhanging light and then haloed in a darkness that could swallow us all.

“So, how long have you guys been together?” I asked Kylie and Devin, and they smiled the way long-term couples do. That too long, not long enough glance toward each other.

“Rumor has it,” Sebastian said, tipping his beer to his lips, “Dev’s been in love with her for, how long? Twenty years?”

“Close,” Devin chuckled, wrapping an arm around Kylie’s shoulders. “But we’ve only been together for, what? Five years?”

Kylie nodded. “Something around there, yeah.”

“You guys make that second kid yet?” Sebastian grinned suggestively, and Kylie lifted her martini with a smirk. “And I’ll take that as a no.”

“I thought I’d knock her up again sometime in the beginning of the tour, so that by Thanksgiving, she’ll be completely miserable and ready to murder me by Christmas,” Devin grinned, and I couldn’t help laughing. He pulled Kylie into his side, kissing her temple as she rolled her eyes beyond the light and toward the ceiling.

“He loves to say shit like that to show off,” she grumbled. “You should hear him when we’re alone.”

“Oh, I know,” Sebastian agreed. “Don’t forget my bunk’s right next to your room.” Kicking his voice up a few notches, he mocked, “Oh, Kylie, you’re my favorite dream to ever come true. Let me buy you a thousand daisies and name each of the petals after—” A loud thud jostled the table and Sebastian responded with an oof. “Ow, dude. Totally unnecessary.”

“We don’t need to know what else you’re listening in on, you perv,” Kylie grumbled, laughter lighting her eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” He shook his head. “When you guys start necking, I kick the music up. I do respect your privacy, believe it or not.”

Devin and Kylie hung around for another half an hour before declaring the night over for them. They were beat and needed to head back to Connecticut early the next morning. With warm hugs and cheek-kisses, they bid us farewell. But, before they left, I took note of Devin pulling Sebastian in for an extra hug. He whispered something to him, and my curiosity ran wild.

“What did he say to you?” I asked as Sebastian sat back down.

A crimson flush flourished over his cheeks. “Just that he likes you.”

I knew he was leaving something out, omitting minor details to keep me from overthinking, and so I left it alone.

We finished our second round of drinks and ordered a third. I’d always been firm about not being a drinker, but tonight was different. Tonight felt like a special occasion, and what was I celebrating?

Freedom.

No grief. No kid. No work. Just life, in the big city, with this guy who drove me crazy in the worst ways, while also making me wild in ways I could barely understand.

“I think I’m drunk,” I declared, finishing off my third martini and placing the glass on the table. I reached across the table and grabbed his bottle of beer, tipping the mouth to my lips and finishing that too.

“Round four?” he offered, folding his arms on the table. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, the colorful works of art on full display.

Ignoring the question, I took his hand in mine, pulling his arm toward me, and peered through bleary eyes at the ink etched into his skin. “I’ve never asked what they all mean.”

“They don’t mean a whole lot of anything, actually,” he admitted with a shrug. “I get tattoos because I want them. I find something I like, or I get an idea that I think is cool, and I get it done.”

Even his body art was a testament to how he lived his life. Reckless and in the moment.

I nodded. “It’s crazy how different we are.”

“How do you figure? Does this have some crazy, deep philosophical meaning behind it?” He reached across the table with his opposite hand and tapped my exposed shoulder. It felt like a jab, but I still nodded. “Oh, so you’re telling me you weren’t some little goth kid who just really liked The Crow?”

“No.” I shook my head, smiling and wishing it didn’t feel so sad.

“Oh, well,” he tipped his chair back, wobbling on the back two legs, “you can’t leave a guy hanging, Thumbelina. You’ve gotta tell me what insight you’re carrying around on your back, hidden from the world.”

“It’s stupid,” I insisted. “I was really young when I got it.”

“How old?” he asked, cocking his head.

“Sixteen,” I stated matter-of-factly.

“Shit, I was sixteen when I got my first too.” He uttered the words as though this bit of information was another piece to connect us to each other. “Mine doesn’t look nearly as good as that does, though. Do you get it touched up?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I’ve had it redone since then.”

“Huh.” He eyed me with the glare of someone who was impressed. “So, tell me. I don’t care how dumb it is. I gotta know.”

With a sigh, I rolled my eyes and said, “I got it to symbolize my freedom.”

“Your freedom?” He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Oh, we’re going here, I guess. “My parents were pretty oppressive. They hated that Sam and I were into all this loud music and going to concerts. I only got to go because she took me.” Talking about Sam felt hard in the moment, remembering the fun we used to have, the things we used to do. I bit my lip to choke down the bubbling emotion. “Getting the tattoo was sort of an act of rebellion, I guess, but it really meant something, too. I felt free when I was with her. She didn’t give a fuck about anything. She never did.”

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian replied, and I looked up to find sympathy darkening his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ve ever said it, but I am. I’m so fucking sorry for everything that you’ve been through, and I’m even more sorry that you haven’t been given the chance to cope.”

I shook my head, clutching his hand. “I have though, in a way. With you. You remind me of her.” It was the closest I could let myself go, to tell him what he did for me. “You remind me of the life I wanted.”

Lifting the corner of his mouth into a rueful smile, he stood up and tugged me to my feet. “Too much booze makes you emotional,” he noted pointedly, repeating my earlier sentiment.

“Maybe that’s the idea,” I whispered, my voice passing over a boulder of fought emotion. “Where are we going?”

He pulled me toward the door, carrying his jacket and balled-up tie. “Does it matter?”

And I found that, tonight, it didn’t. Not as long as I was with him.

 

***

 

Sebastian hailed a cab with the deft of someone who knew what they were doing. I never could without feeling overwhelmed, but he raised his hand with a confidence I would’ve envied had I not been with him. But I was.

The driver asked, “Where to?”

“Central Park,” Sebastian replied, and the cabbie ran the meter as we barreled forward.

I hated cabs. They always felt like certain death. But tonight Sebastian wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulled me into him, and I laid my head against his shoulder. I felt safe in his arms, against him, and I questioned for a fleeting moment if I was willing to let that end.

“Doesn’t the park close?” I looked to his eyes, shooing my thoughts away long enough to ask, and he nodded.

“But not until one in the morning. We have a couple of hours,” he clarified.

A few minutes passed in silence, spent listening to my worried mind, telling me we shouldn’t be doing this. This was beyond sex, albeit lovely, but I couldn’t afford to do this. Not with him, not when I knew I needed to end it. But before I could relent, before I could tell him it was all a bad idea and we should turn around and go home, we pulled up to the gates of Central Park and Sebastian was paying the driver.

He helped me from the car and led me to the open gateway.  

“Can we play a game for a little while?” Sebastian asked, taking my hand in his and fitting his fingers between mine.

My stomach rolled with unforgiving nerves. “What kind of game?”

“Let’s pretend that we’re together,” he suggested. And immediately, I knew I was right in thinking this was a bad idea.

I shook my head. “This feels so much like a trap,” I muttered, yet I found myself giggling and tugging my bottom lip between my teeth with something that felt a little like excitement.

“It’s not, I swear. I just want to see what it’d feel like.”

Surrounded by gardens, fountains, and monuments, I pulled in a breath of summer air. “Why?”

“Because you said I remind you of the life you wanted, so let’s pretend that it’s the life we both wanted. What kind of life would we have?”

Tightening my hand around his, I pinched my lips together and nodded. “Okay, um … speaking completely hypothetically, right?”

Sebastian nodded assuredly. “Oh, yeah. Completely hypothetically.”

“Okay,” I relented. “Um, I think we’d live in a really nice house.”

“What does it look like?”

“Um, it’s big, but not so big that it’s overwhelming. We have enough space for your drums and my records, with plenty of space for Greyson to do his thing. And your damn chinchilla.” What I didn’t tell him was, I pictured Mrs. Worthington’s house. The only place I could consider to be my dream home, if I ever had one.

“We don’t have much of a backyard,” he mused, nodding to himself. “I don’t know if you like that shit, but I hate taking care of it. So, I laid down some brick, built some raised gardens, put in a pool, and there’s a place for the dog to shit. That’s it.”

I laughed. “We have a dog? Dogs are a lot of work.”

“Greyson and I take care of the dog, so you don’t have to deal with him, but we definitely have a dog. Grey loves him,” Sebastian persisted.

I agreed, nodding thoughtfully. “Okay, so we have a dog. What kind is it?”

“Labrador. His name is Dweezil.”

“Oh G—”

His hand squeezed mine as he tipped his mouth toward my ear. “It’s not up for debate, Thumbelina. This is our life, so don’t fight it.”

I groaned. “Fine, whatever. Are we married?”

I couldn’t believe I said it. The question brought a moment of hesitation, and I glanced up toward him. I expected to see fear and dread creasing the lines on his face, but all I saw was a wistful gaze toward the New York City skyline, as we continued to walk along the shrouded pathways.

“Yeah.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Of course. My mom bugged us forever until we finally got it over with.”

“Your sisters, Jess, and Alex were my bridesmaids, and uh, brides-man.”

“Greyson was my best man.”

“He loved that,” I said, surprised to find my throat constricting.

We approached a bridge, passing over a lake. Walking slowly, hand in hand, I watched the life we could have playing before my eyes like a movie I’d never want to stop watching. I knew then that I’d rewatch it every chance I got, whenever my world stopped feeling good enough. Whenever I felt like a stranger to myself, I’d have these false memories of another life, another time, where this all fit.

Reaching the center of the bridge, Sebastian stopped walking and pulled me into his body. “We never have to hide that we’re together,” he said, pressing a palm to my cheek. His fingers slid up and into my hair, gripping with desperation.

“Freedom,” I whispered, nodding.

“You never have to hide your tattoo, or your black and red toenails.” He lowered his forehead to mine, taking my hand and pressing it to his chest. “And I tell you all the time that I have never felt like this about anybody before in my fucking life, and it scares the shit out of me.”

I closed my eyes, breathing in the night. “I never feel like I can’t have this.”

“I never feel like I can’t have you,” he replied, and captured my lips with the tail end of his words.

Beneath my hand I felt the prominence of his heartbeat. Every reverberation, channeling the most inner part of myself I kept trying to shush with pant suits and nude nail polish. I wanted this, this life we built, but I knew, as his tongue took mine and tangoed between our lips, I’d never be kissed like this again.