With caution, I slowly approach him. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. So I start with the basics, quietly saying his name. My voice hitches in my throat as I do so, but he still somehow hears me through the alcohol clouding his mind. His eyes flicker up to meet mine, and they are heavy and dilated and tired and rolling all over the place. And they are dark.
“Baby.” Tiffani’s soothing voice comes from my side, and she steps in front of me to place her hands under his arms as she yanks him back up onto his feet. He immediately falls to the left, hitting the side of his face against the wall as she struggles to hold on to him. “Tyler,” she says, but he quite simply ignores her, too wrapped up in his fuzzy world to process anything. She throws his arm over the back of her neck and helps him to the stairs, where she sits him down. And then she promptly slaps him across the face. “Sober up,” she huffs. “You’re a nightmare.”
It’s the drunkest I’ve seen him, and it appears it is for Tiffani too. She looks exasperated as she exhales, her hands on his jaws as she tries her hardest to hold his head up. He can barely keep his eyes open at this point.
She throws me a glance over her shoulder, her forehead creased. “Ella will kill him if he goes back over there like this,” she murmurs, shaking her head at him in disgust. Tyler tries to mumble something, but it doesn’t make sense. “I’ll take him home with me for the night.”
I give her a clipped nod as Tyler slides off the stairs and onto the floor, his body sprawled out across the ground. “Why is he so drunk?”
“He wouldn’t stop drinking,” Tiffani explains. She seems to be in a sober enough state despite the earlier wine, and she kneels down by him, grasping at his shoulders as she carefully tries to sit him upright. “He must have taken at least six shots in a row at one point.” She looks almost helpless as her small figure attempts to push him back against the wall while his hands pull at the material of her dress. “He normally knows his limits. This is so embarrassing for me.”
“I’ll go get some water for him,” I offer, and slip into the kitchen as fast as I can. All the while that I’m there fetching him a glass of water from the faucet, I can’t help but realize that he chose to get this wasted. And there’s only one reason as to why he would do that: it’s because of what went down between us. I triggered it.
Just as I switch off the faucet and turn around, I bump into Dean. “It’s nice to see a sober person for once,” he says, nodding at the water in my hand. I glance down at it and then at the beer in his hand.
“It’s for Tyler,” I say. “What about you?”
“Well, I’m a little tipsy,” he admits shyly as he reaches up to scratch his head. He shrugs. “Tyler’s pretty wasted.”
“I know,” I say with the same blunt tone I’ve had all night. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Dean.” I squeeze past him, through the other bodies that are gathered in the kitchen, through the stack of empty beer boxes, and back into the hall.
Tiffani has resorted to sitting herself down, her back against the wall with Tyler’s head in her lap as she folds her arms across her chest. I can’t tell if Tyler’s asleep or dead. I hand her the water.
“Thanks,” she says, and she’s genuinely grateful. “He’s making a fool out of me, so I’m gonna get him out of here. I don’t want anyone else to see him.”
“I’m sorry if he’s ruined your night,” I apologize on his behalf, and I’m not sure why. Probably because it’s my fault he’s this drunk in the first place.
“He’s always ruining my night.” She sighs as he reaches up to touch her eyebrows, gently grabbing his hand and moving it away. He groans. “You’re such an asshole, Tyler, you know that, don’t you?”
“Tiffani?”
She glances up at me, her face taut. She’s pissed off at him. “Yeah?”
“In the morning, when he wakes up,” I start, my eyes falling to his face as he rolls over, his eyes closed but his lips parted, “can you tell him that I need to talk to him?”
Chapter 17
On Monday, it’s the Fourth of July. Only the nation’s biggest celebration of the year, when fireworks are in high demand and the population seems to double within each city as thousands show up for the festivities. I don’t know how Independence Day is celebrated in Los Angeles, but in Portland we normally head down to the Waterfront Blues Festival every year to watch the fireworks over the Willamette River. Before Dad leaves for work, he tells me that we’re going to watch the fireworks in Culver City. But I doubt it’ll beat Portland’s display.
“You can come and see the parade down on Main Street with us, if you’d like, Eden,” Ella suggests as I saunter into the kitchen in my pajamas. Chase and Jamie are already seated at the table; Chase’s eyes are glued to the TV on the counter as he shoves bacon into his mouth, while Jamie pours himself a bowl of cereal.