40

tabby

 

“What do you mean you sold it?” I hissed into the phone.

Alex sighed. “It means what it sounds like, honey; I sold the house.”

The potato masher hung from my limp fingers, until I lost my grip and it clattered to the floor. I could hardly make sense of the emotions weaving around my heart, encasing my spirit with a sense of failure and sadness and a longing I wish I could erase. It was so final, so devastating.

“To who?” I finally asked, after moments of being locked in a dumbfounded stupor.

“Would it really make you feel any better if you knew?”

I bent to grab the masher from the floor, shaking myself from my trance. “Was it Roman?”  

“No, not Roman.”

“Then—”

“Tabitha, I just wanted to let you know that it’s done. The sale will be finalized in about a week and Mrs. Worthington will be free of it. No more worrying on your part, or hers.”

“A week?” I squeaked. “That’s so—”

“It’s done, honey,” Alex pressed gently.

I pushed my head to nod at nobody. “Yeah. Yeah, I know you’re right. Um … thanks for letting me know.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, honey. Give that blonde Adonis’ ass a squeeze for me.” He giggled girlishly as I rolled my eyes.

“Have a happy Thanksgiving, Alex,” I grumbled, and hung up the phone.

I took a deep breath and found the determination to have a good day. I should’ve been focused on how grateful I was that Greyson had wanted to spend the holiday with me. I couldn’t allow myself to mourn Mrs. Worthington’s house. Not today.

Grabbing the remote for my sound system, I hit play and was immediately treated to the distorted electric guitar of my favorite Seether song, “Fake It.” I sang along, mashing the potatoes and bopping my head to the music, when I realized the irony in the lyrics. Of faking it to fit into society, to meet the expectations of others.

I snorted as I set the potatoes aside. Next, I grabbed a carving knife and set to work on the turkey. Golden and not the slightest bit dry, the bird had been cooked to perfection. Cutting into it, I inhaled, taking in the rich aroma with pride as I sang along to Seether’s “Here And Now.”

I missed Sam.

I hoped she could see Greyson, excelling in school and forging an incredible relationship with his father. I was done trying to guess why she never wanted Sebastian in his life. Those were questions we would never have answers to, and that was something we just had to accept. But I hoped she was happy with the way things had turned out. I hoped she knew I was doing the best I could, and I hoped she was proud.

But more than all of that, I just wished she was still here.

As I held onto one of the legs and began to cut, the front door swung open. With a jolt, I whipped my head to face the intruder, and an instantaneous sting of pain swept through my hand and up my arm. The knife clattered to the floor and I clutched my fingers to my chest, as Sebastian walked into the kitchen with aluminum trays bundled in his arms.

“Honey, I’m ho—hey, are you okay?” He slid the trays onto the counter. “Jesus, Tabby, you’re bleeding. Let me see.”

I winced as he took my hand in his, the throbbing escalating with every pulse. Blood swelled from the back of my pointer and middle fingers, and I immediately felt faint at the sight.

“Oh my God,” I uttered, with the wash of lightheadedness.

I reached for the counter with my other hand as Sebastian grabbed for a towel, squeezing the cloth around my fingers and ordering me to hold my hand above my head.

“Where’s your Band-aids and shit?” His words came to me through a warbled effect as my eyes fluttered and my hand drooped to my side. “Oh boy,” he grumbled and pulled me toward a chair, forcing me to sit down. His fingers snapped in front of my spotting eyes. “Hey, ground control to Major Tabby, are you listening to me?”

“Uh-huh,” I mumbled, nodding weakly.

“Yeah, okay, this is going well. Hold on a second … Hey Grey! Got a situation down here, kid!”

 

***

 

When did I get on the couch?

My eyes blinked open to the brightness of the living room, and I turned my head to find Sebastian sitting on the coffee table, wrapping gauze and bandages around my fingers.

“Did I pass out?” I mumbled, laying a hand over my forehead.

“Yep,” he confirmed with a smirk. “You could’ve told me you can’t deal with blood.”

“I can,” I defended. “Just not my own.”

He cocked his head and smirked. “Must make that time of the month really difficult, huh?” Rolling my eyes, I attempted to jerk my hand from his grasp. “Hey, I’m not done here yet. Relax.”

“Well, you don’t have to be so disgusting,” I scolded.

Chuckling, his lips quirked into a lopsided smile as his eyes met mine. “No, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

The immediate rush of tension dissipated just as quickly as it came. “You don’t think I need stitches?”

“Nah.” He shook his head, wrapping the final strip of bandage tape around my pointer finger. “They might scar a little, but they’re not deep enough to rush you down to the emergency room.”

Trusting him, I nodded. “How’d you find the first aid kit?”

“Greyson got it while I carried you in here,” he said, and patted his hand over mine before gently laying it over my stomach. “Okay. You’re good. Time for me to butcher the bird.”

“Wait, you don’t—”

His deep brown eyes widened with laughter. “Tabby. You almost chopped your fingers off! There’s no fucking way I’m letting you wield any more weapons.”

“You startled me!” I defended myself, as he stood up and headed into the kitchen.

“You knew I was coming!” he laughed in reply.

I slowly got up from the couch, testing my legs before trusting them enough to walk after him, and when I did, I found him already set to the task. The breath was stolen from my lungs at the sound of his powerful voice, singing along to Seether’s “Rise Above This.” A deep, melodic growl, nearly matching that of Shaun Morgan himself. I leaned against the door frame, losing myself in the bang of his head and the sway of his hips, and before I could stop, I found myself thinking that I would be perfectly content if this was my life.

This could be the life I’ve always wanted.

“Hey, by the way,” he tossed over his shoulder, “thanks for inviting me for dinner. You really didn’t have to do that.”

Feeling as though I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t have, I cleared my throat and pushed away from the door. “Oh, stop,” I brushed him off, walking to stand beside him as he continued to carve. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“Uh, yes, it is,” he laughed, smirking and holding my gaze. “It is a big deal when the woman you have history with invites you over for fucking Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Well, whatever,” I dismissed the comment with a purse of my lips. “Thanksgiving is for family, and guess what, Sebastian? That’s what you are. As weird as this all might be. You’re family.”

He lowered the knife, laying it on the counter as his eyes searched mine for an answer to the question I sensed he was thinking but wouldn’t ask. What the hell are we doing here? I stood frozen, wondering the same thing. I found myself wishing that he would lay his hand against my cheek and kiss me, telling me to forget dinner before carrying me up to my room. And along with my fantasy, I finally succumbed to the proclamation of my heart.

I love him.

The self-admission struck me deep, rattling my soul, and I turned away from him, wide-eyed and bitten-lipped.

“This isn’t weird,” he finally spoke. “It just kinda feels like us.”

I begged my heart to relax as I replied, “It just is, right?”

“Yeah.” I looked to him again and watched him nod with acknowledgment. “Exactly.”

 

***

 

“This is so freakin’ good,” Greyson declared, spooning another helping of sweet potato casserole onto his plate. “Aunt Tabs, you should let Dad cook more often.”

“Okay, for the record, I didn’t let him cook,” I pointed out, glancing at Sebastian with a taunting smirk. “He just showed up with this stuff.”

“Hey, I told you I’d bring something,” Sebastian reminded me.

“Yes, you told me you’d bring something.” I gestured toward a plate of homemade buttermilk biscuits, the tray of marshmallow-covered sweet potatoes, and a dish of cranberry stuffing. “You didn’t tell me you’d blow my green bean casserole out of the water with food Martha Stewart would be proud of.”

He let out a throaty chuckle, reaching out for another serving of said casserole. “Hey, don’t diss the green beans. This shit is good.”

Greyson wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, whatever. Nobody eats that crap.”

Sebastian squinted his eyes with a warning glare aimed at his son. “Come on, man. Be nice.”

“It’s okay,” I insisted. “I’ve made this thing every year since I was … God, twenty or so. And I only did it because my mom loved it so much. She was the only person who ate it though, so I guess I didn’t have to make it this year …”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Sebastian said, keeping his stern glare on Greyson. “Because I think it’s fucking good.”

Greyson smirked. “You’re just trying to—”

My cheeks ignited as Sebastian pointed a finger at the smug teen. “Hey. I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you.”

“Oh yeah?” Greyson challenged, continuing to smirk as he cocked his head and darted his eyes toward me. “Why?”

“Because Christmas is coming, that’s why,” Sebastian shot back, before dropping his fork as he pushed his hands into his hair, eyes wide with horror. “Oh my fucking God. I’m turning into my mother.”

I bubbled with giggles. I didn’t bother to say it, as the moment had passed and eating had recommenced, but I found it astonishing. The effortless way the two of them had fallen into their roles as father and son. The expected awkward phase had lasted a meager month, if that, and then it was this: a relaxed balance between parenting and friendship. Sebastian was a natural, more than I ever expected, and dammit if it didn’t make him that much more attractive.

“So, uh, speaking of Christmas,” Sebastian said, reigniting the conversation as he darted his eyes toward me. “I was wondering if—”

“You don’t need to ask if Greyson can be with you for Christmas,” I interjected with my assumption. “I’m sure Grey would want to be at your place anyway. Right?” I turned to my nephew, who responded with an eager nod, and my heart flinched.

“Yeah, but that’s not all I was going to say,” Sebastian replied with a chuckle. “I was asking if you’d both like to come to my place.”

“Yes!” Greyson shouted before I could answer for myself. “Aunt Tabs, you have to.”

I shook my head, immediately awkward and reluctant to accept. “Sebastian, you don’t need to invite me.”

“But you invited me here today,” he said pointedly, darting his eyes between Greyson and me.

“It’s not the same thing. You’ll have all your family there, and—”

“And I thought we established that we,” he circled his finger, pointing at Greyson, himself and me, “are a family.”  

Swallowing, I nodded, grounding myself by flattening my hands against the table. “We are, but I—”

“Come on, Aunt Tabs,” Greyson blurted, slumping into his chair. He pleaded with his eyes. “You’ll be all alone if you don’t come, and I want you there.”

That’s all it took for me to give in. “Okay, okay. I’ll go.”

“Excellent,” Sebastian replied with a grin. “And you better be bringing one of those green bean casseroles with you. The Morrisons are gonna go apeshit over that stuff.”