Left Drowning

“My father’s kind of an asshole. 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 asshole. 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 fu

“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 go

“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 fucking 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 u

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 fu

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 pla

“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. “Wa

“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 fucking 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.