Page 69 of Wild Eyes
“Tabby owns the best restaurant in town, the Bighorn Bistro,” Rosie says. “You and I can drop in sometime. I promise it’s not just small-town good. It’s better-than-big-city good.”
Tabby scoffs. “That’s my new slogan.Better than big city good!”
“It is! You grow your own herbs and vegetables. You bake your own croissants. You harvest your own roses for the tea. Oh, Skylar, you have to try the tea. I’ll bring you some.”
I watch these women. These normal women. Women who harvest their vegetables and offer to drop tea off for no good reason. I feel like I’m living in an alternate universe. One I actually like.
“Maybe I’ll just swing by and grab some,” I say. “I’d love to see your restaurant.”
Tabby, with her elbow propped on the table and head against her open palm, brightens a tad, but her voice still comes out monotone when she replies, “I’d love that.”
Rosie analyzes her friend. Eyes moving up, down, side to side. Head tilt. Brows down. “Tabby, my plan was to fill you with a bit more wine before starting my interrogation. But…what’s going on?”
The woman’s head turns slightly, still propped up by her hand. Like she’s too tired to sit up straight. “If I tell you what’s going on, you’ll both think I’m the world’s biggest downer and I’ll ruin the night. I’ll perk up, I promise.”
I worry my bottom lip as I watch her. She looks…sad.
She’s got sad eyes.
I wonder absently if that’s how I looked a week ago.
“My parents are getting a divorce and I found out I only own a small percentage of all the songs I’ve produced and all the contracts I’ve fulfilled. All the hours I’ve put in…I think they’re more invested in the money than in me. Maybe they’ve always been. I’m officiallythatformer child star,” I blurt.
It’s an overshare. So much so, Tabby sits up straight and stares at me head-on. “What assholes.”
I sip and nod. “I know.”
“Is that why you contacted Ford about doing an album?” Rosie pipes up.
“Yep.”
“You think that has anything to do with how rough your interviews have been lately?” Tabby asks, her eyes brighter than they have been all night.
I shrug, not offended at all by her curiosity. In fact, I feel accepting of the question. It’s one I’ve spent several days mulling over myself. “I guess. Probably.” I take a drink of the French rosé.
They both stare at me, and it’s almost comical.
“Yeah, actually. I’m positive it is. I don’t know what to say when everything that comes out of my mouth is a lie. Lying, man…it catches up with you. Rots you from the inside out, I think.”
“Facts.” Rosie exhales the word as she flops back in her chair and takes a deep swig of her matching pink wine.
The vibe around the table seems more relaxed.
Like my honesty brightened the mood.
But it doesn’t last because Tabitha’s next bit of honesty darkens it.
“My sister died.”
Rosie and I both freeze, staring at her. In the game of who has the saddest story, Tabitha just laid down a trump card.
“About a month ago.”
Rosie’s blue eyes bulge from their sockets, a glittering sheen covering them. “Amonth? Oh, Tabby, I’m so, so sorry.”
Tabitha swipes a hand under her nose and slices her gaze away, avoiding eye contact. Rosie reaches across the table and clasps Tabitha’s hand, still curled around the stem of her wineglass. “It’s okay. It’s fine. I always knew this day might come.”
My heart cracks. I’m an only child and I don’t know her, but I can feel the devastation rolling off the woman beside me. It’s thick and bitter.
