Page 103 of Begin Again Again

“Nothing. I figuredyouneeded an airlift out of that awkward-as-fuck situation.” Sal threw the wet wipe on the floor and tugged another from the pack.

“I wouldn’t need an airlift if you didn’t start shit with Derek whenever you saw him. Why can’t you just leave it?”

Sal shrugged. “Boredom, I guess. What are we drinking?”

“Tequila?”

“Since when do you drink tequila?”

“Dunno,” he said, and for a second, he believed it. Then he remembered Beth telling him in bed that tequila was all she drank while she was out. He’d tasted it as she talked, the wide prickle and smooth afterburn.

“Tequila’s fine,” Sal said. “Meet you outside?”

Byron went to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Don Julio from the shelf. Derek and Tracy were gone, probably back to his room to finish what they’d started. She wouldn’t be around for much longer. Not with the way Derek barely introduced her. Would she be back at all? Or would she and Beth both leave the house for the last time tonight?

She’s coming back, he told himself, but he didn’t believe it.

He found two shot glasses and headed outside. Sal had sparked their joint. They drew deeply then extended it to him. Weed wasn’t Byron’s thing. Sometimes it was fine. Sometimes he got paranoid as fuck.

“Scared?” Sal asked, smoke flaring from both nostrils.

Byron took the joint and raised it to his lips. He inhaled and his head filled with steel wool.

“It should be fine,” Sal said. “It’s not too strong.”

There was a robotic beep and Kero Kero Bonito poured out of Derek’s Bluetooth speaker.

“That’s better,” Sal crowed. “Music!”

“Turn it down a bit.”

“Or what? Mother Hardiman’ll cry?” But Sal turned the music down. “Only for you, brother.”

Byron believed that. He listened to the shifting metallic beat and thought again of Beth. If she’d stayed, they could have gone to get Sal together. They could be sitting here, all three of them, chatting. Or maybe Sal and Beth could talk and he could listen, and they could crowd-source a solution to whatever bullshit had gone down at his parents’ house.

“How’s things going with the weed?” Sal asked.

He shrugged. His mouth was cottoning over. “I need water.”

“Or tequila!” Sal stood, joint hanging from their mouth, and poured them a shot. “Live, laugh, love?”

“Sure, why not?” Byron tapped his glass to theirs and downed his shot. The liquor raced down his scorched tongue and into his stomach.

“How’s Beth?” Sal asked through a thick purplish cloud. They looked like the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland. He’d always hated that cartoon. “She’s fine.”

Sal passed the joint back, and he took a smaller drag, trying to hold it in. It didn’t work. He coughed his guts out as Sal poured them another shot.

Beth. Byron could still see her lying in his bed. Laughing about… he couldn’t remember… her red hair tumbling around her face. So feisty, so resentful of the fact that she wasn’t terrifying and ten feet tall.

“Brother? You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Byron passed Sal the joint. “Beth’s… it’s full on.”

“What do you mean? Bad?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

“That’s weird.” Sal’s voice strained as they took a massive drag. “Why don’t you know?”

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