He looked into my eyes as I waited, then waited some more. “I think you were also talking to Nolan Brady at one point,” he finally said.
“You think?” I quickly replied. Nolan’s was the name I’d been waiting for.
“You were…but I honestly wasn’t paying that close attention. I just knew you were really, really drunk…and Nolan looked…concerned. That’s it. I swear.”
I felt as if I might pass out and realized that I’d been holding my breath. I sucked in a few gulps of air as Gabe asked a logical follow-up. “What does Nolan say about it? Surely he remembers what you talked about….”
I shook my head, unable to speak.
“He doesn’t remember, either?” Gabe asked.
“I never asked him,” I finally said.
“Oh.” Gabe nodded.
“I’ve never talked about it with anyone,” I said. “Not him or Shawna or Meredith or Mom. Not even that annoying therapist that my parents made me see. No one until now.”
“But we’ve talked about the accident before….” Gabe said.
I shook my head. “I don’t mean the accident. Or Daniel’s death. Or any of that. I mean what I did that night….”
Gabe held my gaze and said, “And? What did you do that night, Josie? What do you remember?” His expression was so classically Gabe-like, focused and intelligent and compassionate (though he never wanted you to know just how much he cared), that I started to talk. I told him how I had my first drink in my bedroom as I dressed, sipping from my sorority flask. I told him I was in a fight with Meredith because she wouldn’t let me wear her pendant that went with my outfit, and Mom had taken her side, and I left the house pissed off.
“How’d you get there?” he asked.
“Kendra picked me up,” I said. “But she had a date…and left early, so I was hanging with other people. Shawna kind of blew me off, so I was upset. And I just kept drinking. A lot. Mixing stuff. Vodka and beer…Things got fuzzy, then fuzzier, then black.”
Gabe nodded.
“I don’t remember leaving the bar. And I don’t know how I got home….Somebody must have brought me back. Or maybe they called me a cab. I don’t know….I just remember waking up in my bed. The room was spinning and there was a trashcan next to the bed. Someone put it there….Or maybe I did. I really don’t remember….”
I blinked back tears for as long as I could, but at some point, I just couldn’t stop myself from crying. I wasn’t sure why, exactly, and I could tell Gabe wasn’t, either. But he sprung into action, quickly paying the bill, then whisking me to the crowded parking lot. It was still daylight, and I hid my face in the crook of my arm as he opened my door, something he never did—chivalry wasn’t really his style.
To my relief, he didn’t ask more questions on that ride home. In fact, we didn’t talk at all, in that way you can be silent only with a close friend. When we got back to my apartment, he came inside with me. I headed straight to my room to get ready for bed, changing into a long Georgia T-shirt I wore as a nightgown, brushing my teeth, washing my face. At some point, when I didn’t come out, he knocked on my bedroom door and asked if I was okay.
“Yes,” I lied, quickly turning off my lights so he couldn’t see my face.
“Can I come in?”
“Yes,” I said again, as I dove under the covers.
He sat on the edge of the bed, stared at me, and said, “What’s going on, Josie? Why are you so upset?”
“I don’t know,” I said. Because I really didn’t. It was more of a feeling than anything I could put into words. A feeling that I somehow had something to do with Daniel’s accident.
“Yes, you do,” he gently pressed. “Talk to me.”
“I just feel like…it might be my fault….” I finally said.
“How would it be your fault?” he asked. “That’s crazy.”
“It’s not crazy,” I said. “Maybe Daniel was coming to get me.”
Gabe shook his head, adamant. “I don’t think so, Josie. You’re being paranoid. He was going to get a burger. Isn’t that what he told your mother?”
“Yes,” I said. “But…”
“But nothing, Josie. You’re just experiencing…survivor’s guilt or something. Your brother had an accident. It had nothing to do with you.”
I took a deep breath, my whole body shuddering. Then I told him I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Ever again, in fact.
“Okay,” he said, staring at me, his face a mask of concern. “Do you want me to go?”
“No,” I said, peering up at him. “Please stay with me.”
He nodded, then kicked off his shoes, walked around the bed, and sat beside me, on top of the covers. He leaned against my headboard, his legs straight out in front of him, then reached over to awkwardly pat my back. Once, then twice.
“Thank you,” I said, my eyelids feeling heavy.
At some point after I had drifted off, I heard him get up to go. I rolled over and asked him please not to leave.
“Shhhh,” he said, rubbing my back through my duvet, blanket, and sheet. “Go back to sleep.”