My career—my success—wasn’t because I was a good writer. It was because I’d latched onto Gabe like one of those suckerfish that follow sharks around, gorging themselves on their castoffs.
And if I tried to disengage, I’d starve.
It feels like that now—sitting in a bookstore that Gabe owns, signing books that he’s promoting.
Would I ever know if my work was good enough on its own?
Would I ever know if I was good enough?
The bell above the front door jingles. Teddy—who had positioned herself at my feet—perks up, head cocked, ears raised.
“We’re here,” a female voice says from the front of the store.
Teddy rises and follows the sound.
“We’re back here,” Gabe says. “Signing books.”
“Hi, Teddy Bear,” another voice—a younger one—says. “Are you a good girl?”
“Signing books?” the first voice asks as it approaches. “Oh. Right.”
Gabe’s best friend is the spitting image of him. Dark hair with artful grays streaked throughout, a strong jawline, and that wholesome, sturdy Montana vibe. She’s wearing jeans and flannel. The scarf around her neck looks handmade.
“Hi,” she says. “I’m Lauren. Gabe’s sister.”
I stand and hold out my hand.
“Chani,” I say.
I feel like I should quantify myself as well, but what can I say? I’m Gabe’s interviewer/fangirl/friend/who-the-hell-knows-what?
“This is Lena,” Lauren says, putting her hands on her daughter’s shoulders.
“Hey,” she says, looking at the floor.
Her dark hair is pulled back in a braid that’s coming undone around the ears, loose hair against her neck, which is extended like a giraffe’s. It’s clear she’s going to be tall, and also clear that right now she hates it. Her shoulders are pulled forward, like they’re trying to hide her.
“Hi,” I say.
“I’m hungry,” Lena says when her grandmother comes out of the back room.
“Me too,” Gabe says, and I can sense he’s trying to offset his niece’s rudeness.
I don’t mind. I might be ancient by Lena’s standards, but I can still remember what it was like to be her age. It sucked.
“Of course, you are, honey,” Elizabeth says, coat in hand. “Let’s go get some dinner.”
We take two separate cars to the house that Elizabeth shares with Lauren and Lena. It’s a beautiful two-story Victorian with blue shutters and trim.
“I bought it for them after Spencer died,” Gabe says. “Lauren didn’t want to stay in the old house, and I think it’s been nice to have my mom around.”
I nod as if I can understand what it’s like to lose a spouse or a parent.
“I’m sure they’re grateful for your help and support,” I say.
It sounds so bland, so meaningless.
“I was in a bad place when he died,” Gabe says. “It wasn’t my worst, but it was pretty close. I managed to pull myself together for the funeral and for a few months after, but it didn’t keep.”
His hands are still on the wheel.
“It’s true what they say,” he says. “That you can’t get sober for other people. Because if that was true, then I would have been able to do it for them. For him.”
Lauren’s car pulls into the driveway, and we sit there, watching as the three women go into the house. Gabe doesn’t move. It’s quiet and dark, and I see the lights come on inside.
“We all grew up together. Me, Lauren, and Spencer. He was in my grade, but the three of us were pretty inseparable. Until him and Lauren…”
Gabe lets out a breath.
“Spence knew my dad,” he says. “Which isn’t nothing. Him and Lauren were, like, disgustingly in love, but even if they hadn’t been, even if they’d never gotten together, losing him was a bit like losing my dad again.”
There’s a sheen to his eyes, a deep, weighted sadness. I sense that he’s kept these thoughts inside and now they’re spilling out, maybe unintentionally. I don’t know what it’s like to be in his shoes, but I know that sometimes you just need someone to listen. So I do.
“She was the same age as me, you know,” he says. “Lena was. When her dad died.”
I didn’t know. At least, I hadn’t made that connection.
“It’s weird,” he says. “Not the right word, but…”
He gives himself a shake.