Chapter 19
Nate and I move to the deck when we get back to the bungalow, stopping only to grab two bottles of water before settling onto the cushioned recliners.
I don’t know if it’s the high from karaoke or a buzz from the drinks, but I’m emboldened enough to bring up the conversation Nate expertly left back at the bar. “So, don’t think I missed how you pivoted the conversation away from Nina earlier.”
“Nothing gets past you! Though you were the one who interjected with dreams of karaoke.”
“Which I totally stand by! Karaoke is fun, and you needed to get out of your head for a minute.”
Nate nods slowly in agreement or understanding. “Thinking about the past can be difficult, especially confronting things that didn’t turn out the way I’d hoped.”
“What were you hoping for?” It takes hearing my question aloud to realize how invasive it is. “Sorry, that’s too personal.”
“No, it’s okay.” He’s slow to uncap his bottle of water, take a sip, and swallow.
“I was hoping for forever, I suppose, but that had less to do with her specifically and more with what I want in life. Wife, kids, house in the suburbs, a packed library…a simple life with the people I care most about. She used to want something similar, but then that dream became too small. I kept hoping she’d go back to who she was, and she kept hoping I’d become someone I’m not. We were both disappointed by the end.”
“What brought you two together? Other than her being gorgeous. Not that I’d know! I just assume. She’d have to be if she’s doing beauty and fashion influencing, right?”
Nate graciously stops my rambling. “She’s beautiful, but I liked her more before all the…” He wipes a hand through the air, searching for the right word before landing on, “extra stuff.”
I wait to see if he’s going to touch the first part of my question, but then he continues talking further away from it.
“She used to be a third-grade teacher. Then she started some social channels to share her passion for hair, makeup, and fashion. Soon she was a full-blown content creator and went from a full-time teacher to assistant to substitute as she scaled her channels until she was no longer teaching at all. Until influencing became everything.”
“She changed a lot while you two were together,” I offer.
He nods. “I know the idea is to grow together, but I don’t know if the problem was me not growing or if we were growing in two different directions or what.
At the end of the day, the parts I loved most about her became so buried under layers of makeup and products and new clothes that it was impossible to find the real her when I needed to. ”
“I get that.”
“What really scares me is that the person I once loved may no longer be there at all.”
This strikes a chord Nate can’t imagine plucking because the idea of Sarah, a person I loved more like a sister than a cousin, is gone. Physically, at least. Spiritually, I like to believe she’s with me when I need her. Though sometimes she too can be hard to find.
“People you love are always with you.” I clear my throat. “Even when they grow or change in ways you don’t, or if they leave you altogether. There’s still a piece of them with you.” I hope that’s true, and that Nate never learns it the hard way.
“Maybe. Things with Nina got to where she wanted to spend more time around Brody. With his rising fame, she thought they could become famous together. Like, if she could stay in his orbit, she’d garner more attention and boost her status or whatever when he becomes more popular.”
I shake my head. “Even when that works, it only gets someone known for who they can rub shoulders with rather than who they are or what they bring to the table. Surface-level recognition doesn’t last.”
Nate lets out a sharp laugh. “She would have rubbed a lot more than shoulders with Brody if it meant securing a semblance of fame.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I say, but I see how the thought cuts him. I really can’t imagine someone leaving Nate for a shot at fame, though I know the allure of being chosen by someone like Brody Bannam.
Nate shrugs, but the motion is tense. “After a while, it was clear she’d rather date Brody.
Do you know how awful that is? To have loved someone knowing they’d rather be with your brother?
She changed so much over the years that it’s impossible to shake the feeling I was just a way to pass the time and get closer to Brody. ”
This also had to be why he and Nina stopped meeting up with Brody and his latest situationship, and why I hadn’t met Nate until the hospital. Why, by then, he and Nina were already over.
“I totally understand,” I say, thinking of all the guys who preferred Sarah. She may not have been my sister by genetics, but our bond was the closest thing I had to one. While she was an incredible person, it was tough to see her chosen over me repeatedly.
“I thought you didn’t have siblings?”
“I don’t,” I admit. “I had a cousin, though.”
Am I really about to tell all of this to Nate?
My family, therapist, and Corina all know parts of Sarah I could share without worrying about losing them, but I rarely bring her up, and not with those who don’t already know about my loss.
Even Brody doesn’t know about Sarah, although I tried (and failed) once to tell him something about her.
How could I explain how much someone who’s gone means to me?
“Had?” Nate’s prompting question is so soft I almost don’t hear it.
“Sarah.” I touch the locket around my neck, opening the gold circle.
I lean forward to show Nate the pictures of Sarah, realizing then how close our faces are.
He studies the locket, and then his gaze travels slowly to my eyes.
I swim in the steadiness of his stare, letting everything around us still as my head spins.
Then I force myself to sit back and breathe. There’s a story I need to get out.
“She was like a sister to me. My parents split when I was in kindergarten. Shortly after, my mom’s sister—Sarah’s mom—got a house down the block.
Sarah would come over to play while our moms caught up over wine.
Since we were only a grade apart, we saw each other at school all the time, helped each other with homework, gossiped about boys…
we were inseparable until she went off to UNLV. ”
I’m sticking to the facts, but my throat still tightens and pressure forms behind my eyes as I near the end of her story.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Nate whispers, leaning forward and placing a hand on my knee. “But I’m here to listen if you do.”
It’s enough for me to continue. “Sarah went away for spring break her freshman year with a bunch of college friends. She invited me too, but our breaks didn’t line up and I didn’t want to embarrass her in front of her new friends or whatever.
They went down to Mexico. Partied. Drank a lot.
Drank a lot more. One night, she ended up skinny-dipping with her friends at the beach. ”
I think of the most tactful way to say what happened next…what won’t result in me ugly crying in front of Nate.
“She drowned,” I say finally, swallowing hard. “With her friends right there. She got caught in some sort of riptide and washed out into the ocean. By the time they got to her, it was too late.”
“Abigail.” There is so much concern packed into my name that I expect to choke on a fresh batch of tears.
The pressure builds but stays contained.
“Afterward, it took a long time and lots of therapy for me to face open water. Now I can get in when I can touch the bottom, and I’ve been okay with lakes.
I’ve tried some open water in large groups with lots of trained professionals around, but on my own I just… ”
“Can’t yet. That’s understandable.”
I blink back tears, turning before Nate can see the first one fall.
“Not yet,” I agree, wiping away the droplet and inhaling deeply before facing him again.
“Someday, though. You’ve been a big help with that, bigger than you could have ever realized.
” My voice breaks, but I continue with what I need to say. “So, thank you.”
“Oh, Abigail.” Nate’s voice shatters as a tear rolls down my cheek, chased by another.
He moves to sit on the edge of my lounge chair and envelops me in a hug.
The embrace, along with the familiar scent of sage and citrus, consoles me—opening the floodgates on memories I’ve avoided for years because they hurt too much to think about.
I tell Nate about late nights with Sarah building blanket forts and holding flashlights to our faces while whispering scary stories to each other. How we won the science fair together in middle school because Sarah had a knack for chemistry. Not a genuine interest, just inherent talent.
I confess to punching Alex Chompin during a slow dance because he preferred Sarah to me.
Share the way Sarah forgot to study for the SATs and how we stayed up all night beforehand so she could cram.
How I tossed her a Skittle every time she got a question right and hit her with a pillow every time she was wrong.
The crunchy coffee I made the next morning, not understanding how my mom’s new French press worked.
I spill stories about double dates at the bowling alley across from the high school where I met Carson and thought he was the person I’d spend the rest of my life with.
The way Carson dumped me after Sarah’s accident because I was “no longer fun” and “really fucking depressing.” How, after graduating from ASU, I moved to Vegas because Sarah loved living there and I never really got to know that piece of her.
That I got a job in brand management specifically for professional athletes because it combined my marketing degree with Sarah’s passion for living life to its fullest. How I threw myself into work, creating picture-perfect brands for people so they could control their story from day one.
I tell him everything except my concerns that carefully crafting everyone else’s stories makes me lose sight of my own.
That maybe I don’t have a story worth telling, anyway.