CHAPTER NINE
The Importance of Being
Well, these pants are hideous, and there is no way I can be seen in them. I glare in the mirror. My ass might as well have a sign that reads “Proof of Gravity.” The material seems to puff unreasonably, causing strange wrinkles and folds that add to what is already not a perfect shape. Angry, I yank them off and throw them to the bottom of my closet. For once, I actually want to look good, and instead I look like utter crap. I put my hands on my ass and squeeze. Stupid fat. Wait a minute… . There is definitely improvement here. A new firmness. Running is paying off.
Holy shit. These pants are too big. No wonder they look so terrible.
I start digging through my closet. I have to own something less horrible that I can wear to Sabin’s play. I locate a pair of inexcusably expensive straight-leg jeans my aunt gave me that I’ve never really fit into before, and I squirm into them now. A peek in the mirror does not cause vomiting, so I keep them on. The good thing about tight pants is that they pack everything in and hold it in place, and these have enough stretch that I can still breathe. My long-forgotten mascara has somehow not caked up, so I darken my eyelashes and then run an equally old tube of pink gloss over my lips.
The knock on the door startles me. I can’t remember anyone stopping by my room before. “Who is it?” I quickly reach for the closest shirt from the pile of rejects thrown on the bed. I may be out of practice having visitors, but I know enough not to answer the door in a bra.
“It’s Estelle.”
“Oh. Come in.”
Estelle opens the door. Great. She is decked out in a sleek navy minidress and gorgeous three-inch heels that tie up her calves with a wide ribbon. Her dark hair now has electric pink streaks running through some of the short pieces around her face. She looks so hot that even I want to jump her. “Hey. You’re going to the play tonight, right? Sabin put us in charge of bringing you, and Chris is going to meet us there. This is our brother Eric.”
“Hey.” Eric steps out from behind Estelle. Even if I hadn’t been told they were twins, it is obvious. He is the shortest of the three brothers, and if it weren’t for Estelle’s heels, they’d be exactly the same height. Eric has the same strong facial bone structure that she does. They make a perfectly gorgeous pair.
“Good to meet you, Eric.”
“So you’re a friend of Sabin’s?” he asks.
Oh. Sabin was the one to invite me to tonight’s play, not Chris. So I am Sabin’s friend. Am I really friends with either of them, though? True, Sabin has been texting me incessantly about his show: If you don’t show up on Friday night, I’m going to gouge out my eyes with a spork so that gazillions of tears cannot fall and drown the entire campus population. Chris, however, has been as absent as they come. Yes, he held open the dorm door for me last week and was perfectly friendly in the two seconds that it took him to say, “How’s it going?” before rushing off to his class. That seems to be the disappointing extent of our relationship.
I nod. “Sort of. I’ve only met him a few times, but he seems quite insistent that I see his show.”
Eric squints at me. “You don’t seem like his usual type.”
Estelle swats him with her hand. “She’s not one of Sabin’s conquests. Or Chris’s for that matter. She’s a friend.”
Eric blushes slightly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything. Sabe is just … a busy guy.”
“Ha! Like Chris hasn’t had his moments, too?” Estelle adds.
“Well, Sabin seems very nice. And entertaining. Let me just get my shoes.” While rummaging through grungy sneakers and clunky black clogs, I vow to do something about my wardrobe. “Sorry, hold on. I don’t dress up much. Where did you get your shoes, Estelle?” I ask from the depths of my closet. “They’re beautiful.”
“Online somewhere. What size are you?”
“I have huge, gross feet. At least an eight and a half.”
“Here.” Estelle taps my back.
I emerge and try to brush my hair back down with my hands. “What are you doing?”
Estelle has begun an elaborate process of untying the satin ribbons that wrap around her ankle. “Giving you my shoes.”
“What? No! You can’t do that. What are you going to wear?”
“I have another pair of shoes in my bag. Besides, these will look great on you. Eric, get my other pair, will you?” This is dreadful. Totally embarrassing.
Eric opens Estelle’s giant purse and pulls out a pair of teal snakeskin ankle boots with stiletto heels even higher than the ones she’s wearing. “Oh, ‘Stelle, these are idiotic. I’m not sitting next to you.”
“F*ck you. And fine by me. I’m not planning on trying to sit next to you while you’re in that boring outfit. For a gay boy, you don’t dress all that well. Here, try these on.” Estelle holds out the black shoes and smiles. “I’d give you the boots, but based on the clogs you just threw out of your closet, I doubt you can handle the heels.”
“I think these are going to be enough for me to handle. This is really cool of you. Thanks.” I slip my feet into the heels and then hold the ribbons cluelessly.
“Here, I got you.” Eric kneels in front of me. “I’ve watched my sister do this enough times. Let’s cuff these jeans a little to show off the shoes.”
“Aha! There’s some gay!” Estelle says triumphantly. She purses her lips as she jams a foot into one of her boots. “I bought these on the small side, but it was the last pair they had.”
“Are you sure you don’t want these back?” I am uncomfortable that she has lent me these shoes, but they really are hot.
Estelle looks up and eyes my feet. “Mother fu—”
“Estelle!” Eric throws up his hands.
She rolls her eyes. “Oh my, golly pie! Better?”
“No, not really.”
“Then, motherf*ck, those look better on you than they do on me. Keep them. I can’t possibly wear them again after seeing them on you.” Before I can protest, she is already up and pulling at my shirt. “Are you sure about this shirt, though? I’m not convinced the vintage Coke thing is really working for you.”
I look down. This is what I get for not paying attention to what I’d yanked out of the clothing pile. “No, this … I’m not wearing this out. I hadn’t really figured out what to wear yet.”
Estelle whips around and roots through the mess on the bed, surely for far longer than she would have had to if I actually shopped and paid attention to fashion trends. Finally she reaches into her giant bag. “Here. This will be awesome on you. Jesus, if I had your tits, I’d be wearing this shirt every day.” She tosses a pale blue top over to me. “It’s freakishly warm tonight for October, and tomorrow we’re supposed to get snow, so enjoy the warm weather and show off that body.”
“Estelle, I can’t possibly—”
“Yes, you can,” Eric says. “She appears to have twenty-seven outfits in that bag, so take some weight off her shoulder.”
“Eric, turn around,” Estelle instructs. “You’re still a boy.”
“Thanks, darling.”
I put on her shirt. My scar is totally uncovered, but I decide that I’m not going to let this stop me. No one has complimented me the way these two have, and … and … and I’m having fun. I feel good. “So what do we think?” I raise my hands up and pose.
Eric turns back around. “Well, Miss Just A Friend, you look great.” He winks.
“You do. Damn hottie. Now, let’s go. If we’re late, Sabin will tear us all a new one.” Estelle throws her giant purse over her shoulder and leads the way out.
***
I cannot wait for this play to be over. Sabin is fantastic, very spirited, and skilled onstage. He is not the problem. The college auditorium, however, seems to be doubling as a sauna. I shift in my seat and fan myself with the program. I know rationally that the temperature is fine in here. Nobody else looks overheated. Estelle, on my right, is the picture of relaxed and cool, and Eric, on her right, hasn’t taken his eyes off the stage.
The source of my sweating and discomfort is sitting about four inches away from me on my left. Chris’s upper arm has brushed against me no less than fifteen times. Given that I don’t have many, or really any, friends, I should be focusing on this play so that I can come up with specific compliments for my new pal Sabin. Instead, it is all I can do to keep looking straight ahead. I realize that if I steal one look at Chris, I might come unglued. Of course, there is no reason to think that he is feeling my presence the way that I feel his. But every time that he laughs at a line from the play or mutters to himself—or, for Christ’s sakes, sniffs—I practically shudder with lust.
If I believed in God or was religious to any degree, I might argue that these crazy physical sensations are punishment for masturbating. For masturbating a lot. I think that I may have an addiction. A sex-maniac beast has awoken, and I am a horny mess nearly all the time. I almost feel surprised that I haven’t yet grabbed Estelle and shoved my tongue down that beautiful girl’s throat. I’d probably get further with Estelle than with her brother.
Oh my God. What is wrong with me?
The thing is, Estelle seems incredibly cool, but I am not interested in her. Or Sabin. Or any of the other hundred people in this auditorium. What I want is to feel Chris’s arms around me again. I want to go back to that day last month by the lake. Maybe minus the bizarre blurting out that my parents are dead and the flashbacks that left me defenseless in his arms. Or go back to that moment in his room when he pushed my hair out of my face, when his breathing became ragged. What I wouldn’t give to be able to rip off that button-down shirt of his right this second and feel his chest again… .
Not that I would know what the hell to do with him if given the opportunity to take off more than his shirt. I hardly have a wealth of experience to work from. It is probably better that nothing else is going to happen between us and that I am alone in this nearly excruciating ache. At least this way he never has to know how inexperienced I really am.
“Excuse me. Can I squeeze past you?” says a bleach-blond guy who stops at our aisle. “Sorry. Hey, Christopher, how you doin’? I know, I know. I’m majorly late.” He’s in a wrinkled shirt and jeans and is noticeably good-looking. He squeezes in front of us to reach the empty seat next to Eric.
“Reliably majorly late,” Chris jokes. He leans his head toward me, touching his arm to mine again. “That’s Eric’s boyfriend, Zachary. You’ll like him. Cool kid.”
It’s hard to think now, but if I don’t say anything, then he’ll pull away. I come up with an ordinary enough response. “How long have they been dating?”
“Since early last year.”
I turn my head a bit. Not enough to meet his eyes, though. My heart is pounding.
“It’s good that we all like Zach so much,” Chris whispers. “I can’t imagine one of us dating someone the others didn’t approve of.”
“You guys watch out for one another,” I say.
“Of course. Don’t you and your brother?”
“We used to. Not so much anymore.”
Chris pauses. “I’m sorry.”
I lift my chin to look at him. “It’ll get better. Someday. I’m starting to believe that.” I am way too close to him, but he is actually engaging me in conversation like nothing is weird between us, and I don’t want to lose that.
“Yes. It will.”
Although Chris is distracting, I eventually get pulled into Sabin’s performance. I may not know a ton about acting, but I do know that I enjoy watching him and that I laugh more than once. I’m disappointed when it’s over, partially because I’ll have to leave my spot next to Chris, but also because it has been such a pleasure to see my new friend onstage. Applause erupts, and I feel Chris looking at me as he stands and starts clapping. I glance at him. Damn, that little crooked smile of his is gorgeous. I rise from my seat and raise my hands above my head, clapping loudly as Sabin runs to center stage and bows. The Shepherd siblings whoop and yell, and their enthusiasm rubs off on me. I clap harder. Chris is screaming Sabin’s name, and Estelle starts whistling through her fingers as Eric climbs up on his chair. He reaches for Zach and then Estelle, bringing them up high, too. Estelle’s hand finds mine, and I am pulled up to stand on my seat next to her. I look down and hold out a hand to Chris. The rush when he places his hand in mine is nearly too much.
Sabin scans the room and sees us. He points at our group, beaming. His family goes nuts, and although I join in, I am painfully aware of the envy I feel about the obvious bond they have. I have nothing like this with James anymore. He barely feels like my brother, and I imagine that he doesn’t think of me as a sister. It isn’t normal, and it isn’t acceptable. I desperately miss him. I will try harder. Harder but without pushing. Whatever that means.
The houselights come on, and the auditorium slowly begins to empty. I can feel Chris standing behind me as we wait to move out of the aisle, and it seems to take an eternity before we are all gathered outside the building.
“Where the hell is Sabin?” Estelle asks. “He said he’d be right out after the show.”
“Probably figuring out which party to go to. He’ll be here,” Chris assures her.
I intentionally stand away from Chris and talk with Eric and Zach. I catch him looking at me a few times, but he doesn’t make any effort to move closer. Eric and I discover that we are both in the same English class, Love and Madness in Eighteenth-and Nineteenth-Century Literature. It’s an elective course that is open to both sophomores and upperclassmen, and it’s one of my favorites.
“So who do you prefer?” Eric asks. “The Marquis de Sade or Kate Chopin?”
I laugh. “Well, depends what day you ask me and how masochistic I’m feeling. And you?”
Eric grins. “I see you’re a girl after my own heart.”
“So, the Marquis de Sade,” we say together.
Zach shakes his head and puts his arm around Eric, rubbing his arm to stave off the now-cool October evening. “I think you both could do with a little less madness and a little more love.” He kisses Eric’s cheek. “But I’ll take the mad with the good.”
Eric groans, but can’t help smiling. “That was a tragic pun.”
“My loyal fans have congregated, awaiting my arrival!” Sabin blows through the group and lands next to Estelle. He has changed out of his costume into jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather biker jacket, but remnants of makeup still outline his already-dark eyes. He is flushed and buzzing in the afterglow of his performance. Or from the bottle of tequila in his hand. Either way, he is a firestorm of energy. “So? Whaddya think? Whaddya think? Blythe, you go first. Lay it on me. I was terrible, wasn’t I? You fell asleep? You were in a near coma and had to be revived with a kiss?” He raises his eyebrows in ridiculous exaggeration. “And I see you’ve been revived. Hmm… .”
“I most certainly did not fall asleep!” I protest. “You were wonderful. Honestly, Sabin, it was a great show.”
He beams. “Thank you. That’s very kind. Okay, who’s next? Who else has endless praise ready to be lavished upon the world’s best actor? Anyone? Really? Nothing? I’m crushed.”
“You know you were awesome,” Estelle says. “Your ego is big enough without us fawning all over you.” Then she cups a hand to her mouth and whispers, “But you were fantastic.”
The boys toss more deserved praise his way, until even Sabin starts to look humbled. “So, c’mon, everyone. There’s a band playing up on the hill, and I’ve got just the spot to watch them.” He starts leading the group across campus, and he has to yell to be heard over the noise of the band’s warm-up and the chatter from the theater crowd.
I am frozen in place, unsure what to do. Am I supposed to go with them? Am I invited? Do I even want to go? “I … I’m going to head back,” I say to no one in particular. “Thank you so much—”
“I heard that! Blythe, get up here!” Sabin calls over his shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere, is she, guys? I think she’s stuck with us now, right, everyone?”
“Shitting rainbows!” the rest of the group yells.
I scurry up to Sabin and let him throw an arm around my shoulder. “Shitting rainbows? Explain.”
“Stupid family joke. Bucking up in the face of tragedy and whatnot.” He waves a hand. “I gather you’ve been there.”
Chris has told them about my parents. Awesome. They are taking me in like the orphan that I am. “Really, I should get back to the dorm and—”
“Shut up,” he says teasingly. “I know what you’re thinking, and that’s not why you’re here with us.”
We walk for a minute. “Why am I?”
Sabin shrugs. “Does there really have to be an answer to that? Sometimes it’s just right. You fit. Jesus, kid, can’t you feel it? Don’t question everything.”
I smile. I do feel it. Belonging. It has been hard to recognize. Even the drama with Chris doesn’t change what’s here. I hear Chris’s voice in my head. Stop fighting it. Plus, Sabin has a warm, protective hold on me that is irresistible; a big guy with his arm over my shoulders just feels good right now.
“Stop calling me kid. I’m older than you are.”
“Ooooh, feisty girl! I like it!” His big arm shakes my shoulder, and I giggle.
“So where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
He leads us through the lighted paths between campus department buildings and up a back hill to the most modern building at Matthews. “Welcome to Architecture 101. Have you been here?”
I shake my head. “It looks cool, but we can’t go in, right? It’s kind of closed.”
“We’re not going in. We’re going on.” As he pulls down the fire escape from the side of the building, the noise seems to echo across the entire campus. “Up we go.”
“Sabin!” But he is already starting to climb the ladder. “Sabin!” I yell again.
How I am going to manage this shaky fire escape in Estelle’s crazy shoes is beyond me. I look up. Sabin has already reached the roof. Shit. I’m not much of a rule breaker, but this is only a minor infraction, so I’m not about to wimp out because of sexy shoes. Tentatively, I start up the first few rungs.
“Need a hand?”
I don’t have to look down to know who it is. His voice is unmistakable, both because of how it sounds and because of how my pulse goes f*cking crazy.
“I’m perfectly fine,” I say and continue up.
I hear Chris and the others talking below, their voices fading as I near the top. Sabin is leaning over the concrete ledge that looks across campus.
He raises the bottle as if toasting me. “You made it, feisty girl!”
I kick a foot out in front of me. “Barely. No thanks to Estelle’s shoes.” I stand next to him now and take in the view. The campus looks pretty spectacular at night.
“Hey, about before,” Sabin starts as he puts his arm around me again, “I really am sorry about your parents. That absolutely sucks.”
“Thank you. And I’m sorry you lost your mom. You were really little, huh?”
Sabin nods. “We were.”
“I’m glad you’ve had your father.”
He laughs. “You shouldn’t be.”
“Why? You don’t get along?”
Sabin glances behind us. Chris is holding his hand out and helping Estelle up over the edge of the last ladder rung.
“My father’s kind of an a*shole. Chris makes him out to be worse than he is, but it’s just easier not to deal with Dad’s crap.”
“Oh. Then I’m doubly sorry.”
“Not a big deal. We pretty much stay away from him, so it’s not much of an issue anymore. We’re all good now.” He brings the bottle in front of us. “Unscrew, please, madam. I’m not ready to let you go. Chris might snatch you away from me.”
I practically snort. “Yeah, right. Hardly.” I unscrew the cap on the tequila.
“Don’t be so sure.” Sabin looks behind us as Chris and Estelle head our way. “Where are Eric and Zach?”
“You know how he feels about being up so high,” Estelle says. “I mean, hello, Sabin. How long have you known him?”
“Oh Jesus, what is wrong with me? I totally forgot.” Sabin looks solemn for a moment. “I’m an a*shole. I’ll go after him.”
“Don’t worry,” Chris said. “You know Eric. He doesn’t really like public spectacles.”
Sabin turns to me. “Eric is more of a one-on-one kind of a guy, just so you know. He’s the quiet one.”
“And this whole time, I thought it was you.”
“Oooooh, nice, Miss Blythe. You’re a funny one, I see.” He rubs my arm with his hand.
“You cold?” Chris asks me, but I don’t turn around. “Do you want my jacket?”
“I’m fine. Thanks.” In fact, I am freezing now.
“I got her.” Sabin takes his arm from my shoulder and takes off his leather jacket. “You are most definitely chilly.”
I look up at him as he holds the jacket while I slip my arms in. We return to face the band, and he tips his head into me, saying softly so that only I can hear, “A little jealousy never hurt anyone, huh?”
It takes all I have not to smile.
Sabin takes a swig and then tips it my way. “Drink?”
“No, thanks.” I continue looking out over the campus lights, keeping my back to Chris. “Tequila and I have a troubled past.”
“Ha! Is there any other kind of past?”
I laugh. “Fair enough. Pass it over.” I agree to drink tonight because it’s for fun and possibly to calm my nerves, not because I’m trying to block out the world. Even the small sip of tequila burns my throat. “Shit, that’s rough.” But I take another small drink anyway. “I don’t suppose you carry salt and lime with you?”
“I do not. I’m a purist.”
“I bet your sister has some in that bag of hers.”
“Bet she doesn’t.”
“Bet she does.” I tip my head back and interrupt Chris, who is talking to Estelle. “Estelle, we have a bet going. Do you happen to have a lime and some salt with you?”
“Depends. Who thinks that I don’t?”
I turn around. “Sabin.”
“Well, let’s see here,” she says mysteriously. One of the shoulder straps falls as she searches through her oversize purse while Chris and Sabin shake their heads. She looks up and grins. “Catch.”
I swipe my hand in front of Sabin’s and catch the pass. “One lime,” I say with satisfaction.
“Only halfway there,” he grumbles.
“And,” Estelle continues as she roots farther into her bag, “roughly twenty salt packs from the caf.”
“Goddamn it.” Sabin tosses up his hands and starts toward her. “You’re gonna pay for this, little sis!”
“Consider them celebratory confetti,” she yells as she tosses her handful into the air. Sabin tackles her, but she manages to climb onto him and force a piggyback. “Faster!” she commands. Happy squeals echo above us as Sabin starts zigzagging back and forth across the vast rooftop. They collapse in a laughing, tangled heap and stay where they are.
Perfect. Now I have lost my Sabin security blanket, and I am alone with Chris. It’s what I want most and least. The college band has finished their sound check and launched into a pretty good cover set, a series of indie and college-rock–type songs. At least there is music to fill the quiet between Chris and me. I turn around under the guise of enjoying the lofty view of the stage. Eventually, Chris sidles up to me.
“Hi,” he says gently.
I hate how f*cking perfect his voice is. While I’ve now spent countless minutes thinking about him during my runs—and, if I’m honest, alone in bed at night—I don’t care for how unnerved and flustered I am getting around him tonight. How can I not, though? I sexually molested him in his room (probably with less skill than he was used to), and then I don’t hear anything from him, except for the emotionally loaded playlist.
He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me …
“Hi,” I say back. “Tequila?”
“Sure, why not? Do a shot with me?” Chris pulls a key chain with a pocketknife from his pants and takes the lime from my hand. “I even caught a few of Estelle’s salt packets.” He bends down in front of me and cuts the lime on bended knee. I can’t help smiling when he holds a lime wedge out to me. “What’s so funny?”
Before this night, I hadn’t had a drink in a while, and the slugs of tequila that I’ve already taken have clearly gone to my head, because I start giggling and can’t stop.
“Why are you laughing?” he asks, bemused.
“It looks like you’re asking me to marry you with a lime.”
He grins. “I guess it does. So? Are you taking the lime or not?”
“Yes.” I take the wedge from his hand. “I am indescribably moved by your proposal.”
“Ah, thank you. I think I can promise that a proposal with a lime is the closest I’ll ever come to the institution of marriage.”
“So you feel the same way I do,” I say.
“If people really love each other, why bother with all the ceremony”
“Precisely.”
He stands up. “Salt?”
I nod and lick the top of my hand between my thumb and forefinger, and Chris sprinkles salt for me. I do the salt/tequila/bite-the-lime routine. I suck on the lime for a second and then say, “It fits perfectly. All that planning was worth it.”
“I have an eye for these things.” He winks just before he licks and salts his own hand.
It’s a good thing that he can’t read my thoughts, because watching his tongue sweep over his own hand nearly makes my knees buckle. Apparently, I have forgiven his disappearing act over the past few weeks. When we are together, that’s easy.
He downs a decent gulp, coughing as soon as he swallows. “God, Sabin drinks some cheap crap.” He sucks his lime wedge nearly dry.
“You’re not kidding. This stuff is pretty bad.” I pause. “Wanna do another one?”
“Totally.”
So we do.
After we’ve both coughed our way through another round of too-big shots, we stand side by side and watch the crowd below us that is progressively getting louder. A group of girls by the front of the stage begins hooting and chanting as someone comes onstage. I squint. “Hey, is that… .”
Chris follows my gaze. “Oh my God, yes. That’s Sabin. He and Estelle must’ve gone down the back ladder. I didn’t even notice.”
We watch as Sabin struts across the stage and waves to the crowd gone wild. “This one’s for the newest member of the clan. I love you already, B.!” he yells into the microphone.
“Oh my f*cking God.” I close my eyes. “What is he doing? He sings?”
“He can do anything.”
“I know you’re up there, sweet girl.” Sabin looks in the direction of the rooftop as he swings a strap over his shoulder and begins to run his fingers over the strings of an acoustic guitar. “No more worrying, okay?”
When he sings, there is a beautiful, deep rasp in his voice, and I am nearly gutted by what he is singing to me. I don’t know what this song was originally intended to be about exactly, but I know what Sabin is telling me. He is telling me to protect my heart. He is telling me about timing, and dreaming, and surviving. And mostly, he is telling me to abandon my worry. To find joy and to live again.
The tears that fill my eyes are, for the first time, happy ones. I blink them away. Sabin shields his eyes from the lights and peers up to the rooftop. He waves and then does a ridiculous champion-boxer move where he punches the air and then throws both hands up in the air while he takes a victory lap around the stage. He is too much in all sorts of wonderful ways.
“Sabin’s a good guy, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Chris agrees. “He is. He’s incredible.”
I keep my eyes on the stage. “You are, too.” Tequila is making me brazen with the truth.
Before I have a chance to regret my words, Estelle rescues me. “That’s your brother, not mine! And, hey, where’s my lime?”
Chris cuts another wedge, this time using the wall instead of going down on bended knee. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” he says affectionately.
Estelle takes the bottle with one hand and smoothes down her still-perfect hair while she catches her breath from her rushed climb back up the ladder. “Too much to list. But look at him. He’s awesome.” The shot of tequila makes her wince as much as it did Chris and me. “Jesus, this is bad booze. No lime could save us.” She takes a spot next to us, and we stand silently watching as Sabin continues his onstage reign. She rubs the cross that hangs around her neck. “I wish Eric had stayed.”
“Me, too.” Chris rubs her back briefly. “He’s with Zach. He’s fine.”
“I know. I just wish he’d hang with us more. Anyway, Blythe, I’m glad you came out. Drink what you want, guys, and then let’s go down. Sabin has a spot for us by the stage. I think we’re in for a long night.”