31. Tabitha
CHAPTER 31
TABITHA
I booked myself today off. My plan was to unplug and relax, try to enjoy having a clean, quiet house all to myself. But I went into the restaurant anyway. My staff mocked me mercilessly and called me a workaholic, so I hid in my office. I did some paperwork—that was in no way pressing—and flipped them all the finger on the way out.
Then I came home and cleaned my house from top to bottom like I planned. Not having Milo here to make an instant mess in my wake seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up.
Then I went to Gwen’s yoga class—something Trixie thought might be good for stilling my mind. It was lovely, but I’m not so sure it worked, since I’m sitting in the cool backyard with my mind spinning.
The gas heater Rhys bought pumps out warm air as I watch the sunset wrapped in a blanket, having an early evening cup of coffee. I know it will keep me up later than necessary, but it doesn’t matter. Plus, I figure it’s better than wine, considering how blue I’ve felt for the past twenty-four hours.
I thought Milo being away was bringing me down. But I’m starting to think I might miss my big, broody wrestler too.
Either way, jittery is better than depressed.
And when I finish my coffee, the jitters kick in big time. I pad back into the house, wash my mug, and put it back in the cupboard, not wanting to make a mess after the cleaning I did earlier.
“I know, I know,” I mutter to Erika the plant. “I’m being weird and neurotic. Trust me, I know.”
I swear she continues to glare at me judgmentally. She’d have dropped her mug on the counter and sauntered into the living room, flopped down on the couch, and put her feet up on the edge. A smile tugs at my lips as memories flood me of her lying on the couch and putting her feet on me. They were usually stinky after volleyball, and I’d squeal and plug my nose as she locked me between her legs and tried to rub a foot in my face.
I’d hated it then.
And I’d give anything for her to do it to me now.
With that thought in mind, I decide not to sit in the living room. Feels too raw in there.
Instead, I find myself in front of the storage closet with the door swung open, staring at the box of her recovery journals. My fingers ache to reach for them.
And I do.
I take the box down and make my way back out to the patio—the spot where Rhys and I had been meeting every morning. A spot that makes me feel less alone, even though he’s not here.
Wrapped back up, I reach into the box and pull out the black, leather-bound books. All the same style—not fancy, but not your basic scribbler either.
Flicking through a couple, I force myself not to read ahead as I search for the one dated furthest back. And when I find it, I settle in and read.
Dear Universe,
Apparently, it will be good for me to get this journey down on paper. I’m not sure I buy it. But my parents have disowned me, and my fucking angel of a sister just emptied her bank account to put me through the best rehab program money can buy. So it seems like the least I can do is follow the professionals’ suggestions.
This is rock bottom. Well, I’m thirty days clean, so maybe that’s one step above rock bottom? But I’m also pregnant, so that might knock me back down… or move me up another notch? I’m not sure how I feel about it yet. Especially since I can’t for the life of me remember who the dad might be.
I haven’t exactly been on my best behavior.
What I do know is that I’m not going to fuck up a human who didn’t ask for any of this. I can stay sober for nine months. For them.
I’ll reassess after that. But for now, I feel responsible for something a lot bigger than me.
I suppose this is as good a place as any to start.
How the hell do people sign off from a journal entry? This feels very juvenile.
Whatever,
Erika
I snort at the Whatever sign-off. It’s pure Erika, holding two middle fingers up to the universe. There’s a sadness in the entry, but also… hope. She’s hooked me, and maybe I shouldn’t be reading these, but I can’t stop myself. It’s not like she can come back from the dead and kick my ass for going through her diaries like she would have when we were kids.
So I carry on.
The first journal details her pregnancy, her internal battles throughout, the demons in her head that just never quite let up. It makes me realize that using was never buried at the back of her mind. It was an urge that sat right on her shoulder, and she battled it so fucking hard.
My eye sockets feel full reading about it, and my nose tingles when she recalls wanting painkillers during her labor but refused to ask. Even in childbirth, she fought.
The second journal chronicles her life with a newborn, the way Milo gave her a new lease on life. She still addresses the universe and signs off with Whatever , but there’s a brightness in these entries—which she writes with perfect dedication and regularity. I can see right before my eyes that motherhood has made her a more reflective person.
There’s something about becoming a parent that has given me a new and profound understanding of my own parents. Suddenly, I appreciate the things they’ve done for me. The sacrifices they’ve made for me seem a lot bigger than they did before Milo.
I hate to admit it, but I can understand why they cut contact with me. I think I’ve broken their hearts irreparably (over and over again), and now I carry a guilt that I never did before.
One day, I hope I can repair what I broke, but as it stands, I’m too embarrassed to face them. Instead, Tabby does it for me. I can tell she’s fucking pissed at our parents, but she still faces them on my behalf, acting as the go-between so that Milo can have grandparents in his life.
As a mom, I feel bad for her too. It makes me realize she’s played this role in our lives for years now. The carrier pigeon. The eternal sunshine—even though I know she’s a scrappy little bitch at heart.
Tabby is loyal as hell. I don’t think there’s anything I could do that would make her abandon me. And that knowledge is both reassuring and… infuriating? I don’t know if I deserve that kind of dedication. She’s just so damn good—so reliable—that I almost feel small next to her, even when she’s helping me. It’s that I look even worse in her shadow. Shiny versus tarnished.
Maybe I’m jealous.
I wish I could have been more like Tabby.
I feel like I’ve swallowed something sharp as my throat works to digest her words. This is what I get for reading her journals—the knowledge that she both admired and appreciated me while simultaneously begrudging and envying me. And what’s more hilarious is that I don’t think anyone would accuse me of being sunshine . I’m matter-of-fact, and I get shit done.
But I never considered that she may have felt as though I was marching in some superiority parade by helping her. I just did what needed to be done to support her.
I did what needed to be done to keep her alive.
I wanted her to live as if my own life depended on it.
And I still failed.
I ignore the twisting sensation in my gut and the thickness in my throat as I read ahead. She recounts sleepless nights and exhausted days when she knew one hit would give her a high she desperately needed. But then she talks about Milo’s button nose and the way he smiles at her, and how it would give her the boost she needed.
She talks about me, and it makes me smile.
Tabby is a godsend—even if she is a bit of a micromanager. I think without her I’d die from exhaustion rather than addiction. I don’t think many people know the love of a sister the way that I do. One day, I’ll work up the nerve to tell her how much I appreciate her.
I sniffle as I read the passages. Happy sniffles, but no tears. In this phase, it seems like she has more good days than bad. Somehow, even her handwriting looks cleaner—stronger.
When I flip open the third journal, my eyes home in on Rhys’s name, and I slam it shut as I shimmy in my seat. A nervous flutter in my stomach has me pulling my feet up to sit cross-legged as I tug the blanket tighter around my shoulders. Rhys has sworn there was nothing between them, but there’s always a voice of doubt in my head that constantly questions if trusting him is smart. One I’ve been ignoring.
Anticipation and dread braid together and wrap around my throat as I open the journal once again to read something I may not want to know.
Dear Universe,
Excited to report that I have found a beautiful new place to live. Emerald Lake, technically a small city. It’s big enough to feel different from home, and still tiny enough to be cozy. It’s clean, and safe, and unlike anywhere I could have imagined for myself. For the first time in a long time, I feel proud of myself. I feel like all my hard work and all the right choices I’ve made are finally paying off.
My heart soars. Knowing my sister felt this moment brings me a level of peace that I’ve needed.
I’ve got a salaried job at a car dealership and a townhome with a view of the water in Emerald Lake… and my hot-ass neighbor.
Oh. I suck in a breath and forge ahead.
Tall, dark, and handsome personified. Gruff but friendly. No wedding ring. And used an adorable baby voice when he talked to Milo and reached for his hand to shake. Needless to say, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with my landlord. Did I mention he also owns the whole building? LOL.
LOL ? She hasn’t used LOL in a single diary entry. It’s like I can feel her giddiness leaping off the page.
I skip ahead to the next entry.
Tabby helped me move in, and as much as I needed her help, I was ready for her to leave. Not because she did anything wrong. Just because…this place feels like a fresh start, like something that’s finally mine. And I can’t handle the constant nervous glances and the “You’re all good, then?” questions.
It’s like she’s taken on a mothering role and is scared to watch me fly from the nest. There’s something embarrassing about having her all up in my business when everything is going so well.
It also annoyed me that my hot-ass landlord popped his painfully handsome head over the fence and asked how long my sister was going to be in town.
That’s how I knew it was time for her to leave.
I blink at the page. Rhys asked how long I was going to be in town? Based on the date at the top of the entry, this must have been a day or two after I marched into his house and laid out some ground rules for being my sister’s landlord.
Guilt licks at my subconscious. It makes me wonder if I fucked up a relationship that might have kept her alive. If she and Rhys had happened, would she still be here? With her perfect sister crushing on her partner?
My head shakes as I brush the thoughts away. I’m taking serious leaps of logic to get to that point.
So instead of playing the “what-if” game, I keep reading through the book under a darkened sky, pages lit only by the soft glow of the back porch light. The night is peaceful, but my brain is a raging storm.
I baked cookies and brought them next door as a thank you to my landlord for letting us rent the other side of his duplex.
The attempts at making contact with Rhys just keep coming with each entry.
Left my car door open and drained the battery. Watching Rhys give me a boost was a fantasy I didn’t know I had.
Sometimes I get Rhys’s mail in my mailbox by accident. Hand delivering it is always a highlight. Now and then, he even opens the door shirtless.
Usually, my attempts at making contact with my hot-ass landlord are half-hearted, but today he came through for me. The woman who runs the daycare that I take Milo to called saying she was sick, and I was too nervous to take a day off work—I really need this job. Rhys heard me on the phone in the backyard, and this time, when he popped his head over the fence, he didn’t ask about my sister.
He offered to watch Milo.
I have no idea what the man does for a living, but he’s often home. He seems nice enough, and I was desperate, so I took him up on the offer.
My stomach was in knots all day. The mom guilt was real. Leaving your child with a man you barely know probably isn’t recommended. It gave me another dose of guilt for all the times I disappeared to god knows where on my parents.
Needless to say, when I rushed home, Milo was happy as could be. Fed. Changed. And asleep in Rhys’s arms while they waited for me on the front porch.
With no dad in his life, it was the first time I’d seen a man hold him. It was a sight I could get used to.
Talk about butterflies.
I swallow, eyes scanning the entry again as my fingers trail over my sister’s pen strokes. Touching the proof that Rhys has been in Milo’s life for a long time.
As I make my way through the journals, the familiarity between the three of them only grows.
We had Rhys over for dinner to thank him for bailing us out.
Rhys joined us at the town fair. He won Milo a stuffed panda bear so big that it almost looks real. Watching them together is… something I didn’t know I needed.
Today Rhys asked about my sister, and it fucking pissed me off. All the time we’ve spent together, and he saw her out the front window a year ago and still thinks about her?
It was petty of me, but I told him she doesn’t come around often, even though I’d let her visit last time he was out of town. Made it sound as though she’s so focused on her own life that she’s practically forgotten about Milo and me. May not have cast her in the kindest light.
But she’s gotten so much in life. She can’t have this too. I don’t want her to come here, bringing up old Erika where new Erika is making her fresh start. It’s easier to have Emerald Lake be free of all that shit.
At any rate, I ended up telling Rhys about my addiction issues to help explain the situation. He listened and let me talk it out without interjecting at all. I think it was therapeutic to get it off my chest. There’s something so steady about him. So compassionate. He thanked me for sharing with him and hugged me when I got it all off my chest.
Today was a good reminder that I can’t have Tabitha visit when he’s in town.
It’s a view into her head that isn’t mine to take. And yet… a part of me gets it. I just never saw my presence that way. I did the best I knew how with a situation I wasn’t properly prepared to navigate.
It also shows me the turning point when Erika came to visit more often, the time when she started saying her landlord didn’t like her having visitors. In retrospect, she became secretive, and I interpreted it as busy and happy and just… thriving.
And maybe she was, but her fixation on Rhys takes a different turn. And as the year passes, so does her tone. She’s agitated. Cutting in her words.
Still, I read on.
Rhys bailed me out AGAIN with a childcare mishap. Today I worked late, so he had to do bedtime. I wasn’t sure how it would go, but when I came home, the house was quiet. I tiptoed upstairs, eager to see Milo and worried I might wake him.
That’s when I saw Rhys, standing over his crib, big hand laid over his tiny chest, singing him “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”
Watching them brought on tears, so I snuck back downstairs and locked myself in the bathroom to hide. I don’t know what it was specifically. It was just sweet. Got me right in the feels.
They were happy tears. They made me want that nuclear family for Milo. But when I asked Rhys to stay for a drink, he politely declined. The look on his face said it all.
It made me realize he only comes around when Milo is here.
It made me realize this may not be going where I hoped it would.
Which is fine.
Whatever,
Erika
That entry makes me wince. The whatever hits differently on the heels of her realization. That whatever is a turning point.
Today Rhys overheard me on the phone telling Tabitha that I was exhausted and feeling down. Not an hour later, he showed up at the front door with a bottle of glycerin bubbles in hand and his signature harmless scowl perfectly in place. He played bubbles with Milo in the backyard, so I could take a nap.
I’m mature enough to keep things in friend territory, and I needed a break. Toddlers are no joke.
When I woke up, we chatted. I don’t know if he was feeling bad about the way he quietly turned me down the other night, but he ended up telling me that he’s a professional wrestler. Like orange tans, greasy muscles, fake fights, and cringe interviews.
I burst out laughing when he told me, and I’m still giggling as I write this. He’d mentioned before he worked in the entertainment industry, and I didn’t press because, well, he’s my landlord. Didn’t particularly want him digging into my past.
But I guess we were exchanging secrets, and this was his. Now I get why he wouldn’t want to tell people.
Maybe this will be less funny tomorrow.
I bristle, feeling defensive. He told her outright, whereas I had to pry it from him. And sure, it’s entertainment, but the bruises on his body are not fake. If nothing else, I feel relieved that I’ve never mocked him for what he does. It’s probably why he didn’t want to tell me in the first place.
If Erika were here, I’d kick her in the box. This is the side of her that was “too cool” for so many things. Too cool for school. Too cool for volleyball. Too cool for family events. This is the underlying attitude that got so much worse when the drugs came into play. I vividly remember the eye rolls and the cutting mockery that became almost constant. Those were the precursors that led to distance before she pulled away completely.
I decided that the best way to get over Rhys was to get under someone else. And I did. One town over, I met Tyson. He’s lanky in that Tommy Lee way and hung like him too. He’s raw and edgy. He’s exciting. I had the time of my life.
Rhys watched Milo for me, and when I came home looking mussed, all he did was smile and say he was glad I had fun.
I think deep down I was hoping to make him jealous.
It didn’t work.
A sense of dread surges inside me, slow and steady. Each entry is like a big breath into a balloon. The feeling presses against me as I flip the pages hungrily. It’s as though I can feel the impact coming but can’t take my foot off the gas.
She mentions Tyson more and more. Going out is mentioned more and more. Rhys taking care of Milo becomes a given, an afterthought—an expectation. And the dates on the entries match up with when she started leaving him with me more often too.
Nights out turn into weekends away.
A social beer becomes a few too many highballs.
The highballs are a gateway, and though she never puts it in writing, I know in my gut what she and Tyson were doing when either Rhys or I were taking care of her son.
Her reflective tone shifts, and suddenly she’s casting blame on everyone else.
I’m both furious and fucking devastated as the change in her persona unfurls.
She was so close.
I blink at the page beneath me. A wet dot bleeds out into the paper, the pen stroke becoming slightly blurred.
It can’t be.
One furious swipe at my cheek, and I stare back at wet fingers, my lips popping open into a silent O shape.
Then I decide not to fixate but to keep reading.
Tyson has run into some trouble. All the nights out and extra-special treatment he’s given me have caught up with him. I didn’t realize he was treating me so extravagantly. He wanted everything to be top of the line, but he couldn’t afford it.
The least I could do was help him out. But it’s not enough. I gave him so much that I couldn’t make rent. Luckily, Rhys was understanding. I promised him I’d pay it back, and I fully intend to. I wish everyone had as much faith in me as he does.
The dealership is giving me fewer shifts, and when I asked why, they said they had to hire another receptionist because I was taking so much time off. Which is bullshit. It’s only been a weekend here and there. I know I can’t ask Tabby for help again, or she’ll be all fucking over me.
But this time is different. It’s not because I’m in trouble. I’m just taking care of Tyson—my family. It’s exactly what she’d do in this situation.
Alarm bells sound. I want to reach into the pages and shake her. I want to scream at her, “ This guy is not your family! He’s your downfall! ” But she’s not here for me to make her see reason.
Another tear tumbles from my lashes as I watch my sister’s life crumble right before my eyes.
When I told Rhys my shifts were slow, he didn’t hesitate to offer a rent break. And the way he’s been so overly helpful financially got me thinking. I finally looked him up, and my eyes about popped out of my head when I saw his reported salary.
That’s why I asked Rhys to be Milo’s guardian in the will I finally got around to doing. He seemed taken aback at first, but said yes.
It was an immediate relief. At least if something happens to me, Milo will land somewhere with a good security net. Plus, Tabby has been so fucking nosy with her questions lately, pushing back when I ask if she can take Milo for another weekend, and it ticked me off.
She’s been on my ass about a will for years, so when I drop Milo off in Rose Hill, I’ll let her know she finally got her wish.
She chose Rhys to spite me. And for his money. My stomach turns hard and fast. Fuck .
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Tears fall with each curse that flies through my head as I piece it all together.
It’s only when I read through the final entry that everything finally clicks.
Things have been extremely stressful, so I lied and told Tabby that Rhys evicted me, and I needed to go look at new places to move into so that Tyson and I could take a much-deserved weekend together. Naturally, she swooped in to help—zero questions asked.
My head throbs, and my heart shatters.
The grudge I’ve been carrying against Rhys this entire time evaporates on the spot. The one he’s been letting me throw in his face, even knowing it was unfounded.
And all that’s left in its wake is an all-consuming agony. I should have noticed the subtle changes in her. I should have swept in sooner. I should have known better.
The heavy weight of realizing I’m the one who failed her is unbearable.
For the first time since my sister’s death, I cry.