37

tabby

 

Two weeks after school had started, and two weeks back to work, I asked Alex how the sale of Mrs. Worthington’s house was going. His response was irritatingly vague, mentioning that he’d found a few potential buyers via the internet listing, but that he didn’t want me to be involved with it.

“Why the hell not?” I demanded, all but stomping my foot. “I was invested in that house for the past year!”

“Yes, and look at what it did to you,” he responded with a pleading look in his eyes. “Hell, honey, look at you now. What are you even wearing?”

“What’s wrong with what she’s wearing?” Jess asked, gesturing toward my leather blazer and Pearl Jam t-shirt. “I think she looks badass.”

“I just want to know where my sweet Tabitha went and why she had to leave Joan Jett in her place,” he groused, tipping his nose into the air and leaving my office in a somber huff.

Jess turned to me. “I don’t think he even knows who Joan Jett is,” she muttered through the side of her mouth, and I laughed, shaking my head. Then, she added, “I like this new you, by the way.”

I laughed inwardly at that. There really wasn’t much about this side of me that was new at all. I was finally just letting her come out and play, instead of telling her to sit down and keep quiet while the grown-ups went about their business.

After years of constantly fighting an internal battle, I had finally decided I could be myself while still remaining professional. And two weeks back on the job, told me that was true. I’d already taken on a couple of new clients in the area, neither of which batted a lash when I met them with my fingernails painted dark grey.

I never liked nude nail polish, anyway.

“Is this what a month of going to concerts does to a girl?” Jess asked, crossing her legs and grinning.

“Oh my God, Jess, it was amazing,” I sighed, tipping my head back and reminiscing about the four weeks I spent maxing out one of my credit cards, dipping into my savings account, and seeing shows I never thought I’d ever let myself see.

Most of the tickets had been purchased through scalpers, since I was buying them last minute. Normally, that’s not the type of thing even the younger me would’ve done. But this time was different and it was special. I dedicated those weeks to Sam, and I learned to find freedom on my own.

“So you’ve said … about a hundred times,” she teased, rolling her eyes playfully as she stood up and left my office. I guess I had that coming, after I’d spent the past two weeks talking endlessly about how awesome my sojourn had been.

I checked the clock and noticed that it was already time to head over to Greyson’s school. I braced myself as I grabbed my briefcase and headed out the door. Every day since the start of school, I waited for him to show up with an in-school suspension notice or a detention slip. I was on edge, thinking it was all too good to be true for a few months with his father to have cured him.

Pulling up to the school, I found him already waiting for me, and like every other day, a feeling of trepidation sat heavily in my gut as he got into the car.

“Hey, how was school?” I asked him, driving away from the curb.

“It was good.”

I glanced at him skeptically. The short, curt answers didn’t convince me. “What was so good exactly?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, grabbing his phone out of his backpack. “It was just a good day, I guess.”

“Well … are you still liking your teachers?”

“Just as much as yesterday.” He eyed me sidelong, smirking in a way that immediately reminded me of his father.

“Sorry.” I held my hands up in momentary surrender before gripping the wheel. “I’m allowed to ask.”

“Mm-hmm.” He shook his head and looked back to his phone, typing away and smiling to himself.

“Who are you talking to? Sebastian?” He nodded. “How’s he doing? How’s the tour?”

“You could ask him yourself, you know,” Greyson muttered, continuing to type.

I sighed, tapping my fingers against the wheel. “Well, maybe I’m just trying to make conversation. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Greyson groaned, laying the phone in his lap and turning to me. “I’m okay. Seriously.”

“Are you positive? Because we could go back to the therapist, or—”

“Aunt Tabs.” He cocked his head, and my eyes met his to find his pressing glare. “I’m fine.”

Sam’s memory clung to the walls of my mind as I hesitated on my words. I wanted to ask him about her, and if he thought about her anymore. He seldom brought her up, if at all, and it broke my heart to imagine he was struggling internally. Alone. Refusing to bring her up for some adolescent reason.

“Grey,” I uttered on a shaking breath. “I just want you to know that you can talk to me, if you wanted to. If you ever wanted to talk about—”

“I miss Mom, okay?” he blurted without warning, surprising me with his apparent ability to read my mind. “I’m not okay that she’s not here. It really sucks, and I hate it. But I swear, I’m okay. Just like you say that you are, too.”

I tightened my grip around the steering wheel and pursed my lips. I was okay, while still allowing myself the freedom to miss my sister and my parents, and I considered it was possible he was also. But the question begged to be asked.

“Did he really help that much?”

“Who? You mean Dad?”

I couldn’t help but smile as the tears collected in the brim of my eyes. God, he said it so easily now, like he’d been calling him that every day of his life. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness.

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m just … I’m just having a really hard time believing that he could’ve turned things around so much in such a short period of time.” Greyson was quiet for a moment and I thought I might’ve upset him by questioning the positive effect his father had on him. I reached out and laid a hand on his thigh. “I don’t mean that he shouldn’t help to make things better, Grey. I’m just—”

He shook his head. “Sometimes bad things happen, and good things come along to balance them out. Not to like, erase the bad things, or to make you less sad that they happened or anything, but just to, you know, make them easier to deal with.”

The words struck a chord within my heart and I glanced at him. “Who told you that?”

He smirked with an accompanying shrug. “Oh, I dunno. Just some guy you thought wasn’t good enough for you, or something like that.”

With a tip of my head toward the window, I scoffed. “Greyson …”

“I’m staying out of it,” he declared, lifting his phone from his lap. “I’m just saying, Dad’s one of the good things, Aunt Tabs.”

I didn’t nod, because to nod would be to admit that I agreed. And if I agreed, well … wouldn’t that be to admit that I was wrong about Sebastian? And I wasn’t ready to do that.

Not yet.

 

***

 

Me: Hey.

Sebastian: Whoa. Am I dreaming, or are you actually initiating a conversation with me right now?

Me: Might want to pinch yourself really, really hard. Just to make sure.

Sebastian: Nah, no need. If I was dreaming, I’d already have a pic of your tits.

Me: Lovely.

Sebastian: So, Ms. Clarke, what did I do to deserve the gift of your attention on this fine September evening?

Me: Well, for one, your dog ate my shoes. So, you owe me a pair of heels.

Sebastian: Sorry. I told him to do that in a fit of rage. Didn’t think he’d actually do it. My bad. (But also, please tell him I said, “Good boy.”)

Me: So funny.

Me: Anyway, I wanted to thank you for what you’ve done for Greyson. I don’t think I ever did, and I just think you deserved it.

Sebastian: …

Sebastian: Still not sure that I’m not dreaming.

Me: Shut up. Seriously. Greyson’s been doing really well. I mean, it’s only the beginning of the schoolyear, but he’s doing great so far.

Sebastian: Yeah, I know. He told me. He’s been hanging out with a few different kids too. Did he tell you that? Kid’s making some new friends who aren’t little dickheads.

Me: No, he didn’t tell me that. He’s not telling me too much.

Sebastian: I wouldn’t take it personally. He’s not mad at you. I think he’s just more comfortable talking to a guy.

Me: I never thought that could be a possibility.

Sebastian: Yeah. Trust me. If something was wrong, he’d tell you.

Me: Okay.

Me: Anyway, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to say I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for him. You’ve really helped a lot.

Sebastian: Well, it’s why you recruited me in the first place, remember?

Me: I do. I guess you did your job well.

Sebastian: I guess so.

Sebastian: And by the way, you could totally keep me. If you wanted.

 

I read his message a handful of times before laying the phone down for the night. There were so many things I wanted to say, but I couldn’t say them, not yet. I didn’t feel ready, or maybe it was that I wasn’t yet convinced that what he felt—what I felt—was real.