Tom called less than an hour later. “I’m sorry, Tish. I lost my head.”
“Me, too. I shouldn’t have done that to you. To us.” I was holed up in my bedroom, avoiding the raucous family gathering below. Ben and his family had agreed to stay for dinner after the afternoon spent out and about, and Mom and Marilyn had meal preparation under control, which suited me perfectly. I wasn’t up for pretending I was fine, and although I was really good at helping Gina get over her slumps, when it came time for her to help me get over mine, she usually just irritated me. I wasn’t sure I’d ever have kids. I didn’t think I was cut out for it.
So I explained to Gina that I had to take a nap before dinner, and if she wanted to take one, too, she could come upstairs with me. I knew how that would go over, and sure enough, she politely declined. “‘Sides,” she grimaced. “I already had one in the car. I’m not sweepy at all.”
Her mom rolled her eyes behind her. I knew the routine. Ben and Marilyn were going to feed the kids Mom’s tuna casserole, give them a quick bath, load them into their car seats for the twenty-five minute drive, and arrive home with two passed-out kids and a night to themselves.
“Listen.” Tom’s voice still sounded tight, and I braced myself for whatever else was coming. “If Sebastian can get this stuff down, I’d like to maybe have him play along for the whole show and make this my last Friday night at Taylors. I know I’m not leaving until next month, but I think he’ll be more than ready to carry it the first Friday in July, especially if he plays along this week.” He paused, and when I didn’t immediately respond, he continued, “We could make this my Taylors send-off, you know? You good with that?”
“As in, you not play with us at all after this Friday?” I sat up in bed and drew my knees up to my chest. I’d heard his words, but I couldn’t believe he actually meant them.
“Yeah. It’s not because of tonight, or at least not because of what just happened with us, okay?”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Tish, please. I want to go out with a bang, okay? A little pomp and circumstance. We don’t have anything major planned for this month, but if we post it on our website and media pages, put a few fliers up, you know we could get a good crowd together. I don’t want to just—” He faltered a little, looking for the right word. “I don’t want to just fade away. Transition out while this new guy transitions in. If I have to go, I want to go out in style.”
I started singing Bon Jovi’s “Blaze of Glory,” trying to keep both our spirits up, but my heart raged on the inside. Tom chuckled softly.
“Exactly.”
“I don’t want you to leave before you leave, Tom.” The silence that followed my statement was like a lead cloak settling around us. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, pained, but firm.
“I don’t think you really know what you want, Tish.”
My mouth opened and closed like a baby bird’s, and I finally just snapped it shut. He was right, but I certainly wasn’t going to admit it out loud. To him.
“But I do know what I want.” I heard him take a deep steadying breath. “And I want to enjoy my last few weeks here. I’ll keep working with the band until I go, but no more shows for me after this one.”
“Tom. Please don’t do this.” But I knew no amount of pleading on my part would change his mind.
He ignored me. “I’ll come to all of them, though, and watch you perform like a proud daddy.”
“That’s creepy,” I muttered, trying desperately to find some levity in a situation that felt like it might drown me.
Tom chuckled. “A proud big brother, then.”
“But Tom, wait.” I hadn’t finished telling him what had happened with Jordan. “I don’t know if Sebastian…” I switched gears. “Well, he kind of left in a huff today,” I blurted out, shoving my pride out of the way altogether. “I told you he freaked out. But he also walked out before we resolved anything.”
“Same way I did?” he asked, his voice tinged with a weariness I was beginning to recognize.
“I guess. Yeah.”
“But all his gear is still there, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then he’ll be back.”
I sighed. “That’s what Jordan said. It’s almost as though the two of you are BFFs or something.”
“He’ll be back.”
I let it go and changed the subject. “Tom? Can I ask you something?” I’d done a lot of thinking since he’d left my house, about what Tom had said, about the way things had gone down earlier with him and Sebastian, then with my brother and Sebastian.
“Anything, Tish.” I knew he meant it.
“Am I abusive?” That sounded terrible and I cringed. “I mean, am I too physical? Am I—am I too violent?”
I heard Tom draw in a deep breath and then let it out slowly, finally answering, “I wouldn’t say you’re violent. Or abusive. Those are more about the condition of someone’s heart and mind. But I suppose you’re too physical. If nothing else, you’re too quick to be physical. I know it’s kind of your go-to reaction, especially with your brothers. You guys have always played rough.”
I nodded, even though I knew he couldn’t see me.
“Tish, you’re not a kid anymore. You’re a woman. As in, with breasts,” he added with a short laugh, probably so he wouldn’t sound so much like a parent.
“That’s me,” I quipped, playing along. “A delicate budding flower.”
“No, no! That’s just it. You’re not budding. You’ve blossomed already. You’re a woman, all the way.” He was suddenly adamant, his voice strident. “You shouldn’t let any guy manhandle you the way your brothers do. I know they would never intentionally hurt you, but it could happen by accident. They’re bigger, stronger.” His voice softened. “It’s just the facts, Squeak.”
I bit back the retort on my lips, knowing he was just teasing me, trying to take the edge off his words. There were moments, if I was honest with myself, when being on the bottom of a dog-pile scared me, especially when there were more than two brothers in on it. Their combined weight was crushing, and I could easily imagine cracked ribs or a snapped arm, all completely by accident. And today, when Jordan had held me down, my wrists clamped tightly together in one of his hands, I’d been struck by the knowledge of my complete helplessness beneath him. Although I trusted him totally, the knowledge that he was in a position to do whatever he wanted to me, and that I would have no recourse, made me shudder even now. No wonder Sebastian had reacted the way he did. And when Tom had me locked close to his body earlier today, I’d felt it again, the instinctive panic that accompanied being helpless. Ironically, I also felt a wave of it when he bodily set me aside against my will, and I’d realized there was nothing I could do to make him stay if he wanted to leave.
“The thing is, not all guys are like your brothers. Or me. There are accidents—” He paused dramatically. “—and then there are accidents. If you go into a relationship swinging, someone is going to end up with a black eye. And it might be you.”
“I don’t hit anyone but my brothers,” I muttered defensively, remembering a split second too late that the reason we were having this discussion was that I’d punched him. “And only because if I don’t, they’ll think I’m wimping out.”
Tom was graciousness itself and didn’t point out my inaccuracy. “If you don’t, maybe they’ll step back and see that you’re not a kid anymore. Besides, from what I can tell, Jordan is the only one who still throws you around, isn’t he?”
“They dog-piled me last Thanksgiving. All four of them.”
“For no reason?”
“For no reason whatsoever,” I replied in a mockingly defensive tone. “I even made them a batch of chocolate brownies just to show them how much I loved them.”
“Right.” Tom guffawed knowingly. “With one of your dad’s ex-lax chocolate bars.”
I snickered. “Yep.”
“Look. I can’t speak for them, but I’m your friend. And, well, I love you.” He cleared his throat. “So I’m asking you to let me speak for me.” He paused, apparently waiting for permission to continue.
“I’m listening.”
“Tish, it makes me really uncomfortable to see them treat you like that. It feels… disrespectful. No, wrong. It feels wrong. But it also makes me uncomfortable to see you treat them that way. The whole hitting thing is ugly, whether you’re a guy or a girl. Whether you’re doing it in jest or not. Whether it hurts the other person or not. The rules should apply to everyone, in my opinion. It doesn’t make you seem tougher. It just doesn’t.” His voice was low, intense, and even though what he was saying poked jagged holes in my pride, I knew he was speaking from his heart. “In fact, it makes you look like you lack self-control, so you just start swinging instead.”
As I listened to him speak, I thought about the way I treated people, about how physical I was with the guys in my life. And there were a lot of them. My four brothers, Tom and the other three in the band. Besides Ani, most of my friends were male, too, especially at school. I just seemed to have more in common with men. Tom was right. I threw a lot of “harmless” punches, backhanding arms and chests, pushing and pulling, like I was just one of the guys. Manhandling. But I wasn’t a man. I was a woman, as he’d pointed out. With boobs. And although my brothers got away with quite a bit of roughhousing with me, if any of the other guys in my circles treated me even half as roughly as I treated them, there’d be hell to pay.
So how could I justify hitting them? Because I was smaller? That just made me a quintessential Napoleon. Little man syndrome.
Except, I reiterated to myself, I wasn’t a little man. I was a little woman. And now that I thought about it, I kind of liked the idea of being treated less like a man and more like a woman.
“You’re the only one who can put a stop to it, Tish. You just need to stand up to your brothers and say so. Your folks will back you up. I will, too. And honestly, I think they just do it because you expect it.” I could hear a tinge of frustration in his voice. “Like I said, I can’t speak for anyone else. But I don’t want you to hit me anymore, okay?”
“I think it’s a habit,” I muttered, feeling completely deflated. “I don’t even realize I’m doing it half the time.”
“I know. I know. But just like any habit, you can break it if you choose to.”
I flopped back on my pillow and draped my arm over my eyes, shutting out the late afternoon sunlight streaming in my window. I didn’t really like myself at that moment. Or every other moment of this whole stupid day.
“Tish? I can hear you beating yourself up.” How did he know me so well?
“But I’m so good at it. Beating people up.”
“Stop it.” His voice was firm, kind.
“Sorry. You’re right. I guess I have my work cut out for me.” I rolled to my side, anxious to change the subject. “What should I do about Sebastian? And are you really serious about not playing with us after Taylors?”
Tom released a short sound that might have been a laugh. “Sebastian Jeffries. Why do I already feel sorry for him? I wonder if we should have put some kind of disclaimer about you in writing, in the small print.”
“Tom! I’m not that bad… am I?”
“Text him. Call him, if you want, if it will set your mind at ease.” Tom paused just a fraction of a second. “Or leave him alone. Regardless of what you do, he’ll be back. He’s not going to walk out on his gear.”
I wanted to believe Sebastian wouldn’t walk out on me, either, but that was making some pretty big assumptions about the guy.