𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙣
⊱ ─────────── ⊰

I take another gulp of white wine and then put the glass down to indulge in my bubble bath.

Honestly, I've been soaking here for an hour Kind of getting numb. Kind of don't care.

I know I should get out, just like I know I should take care of myself - wax, do my hair, go get a mani/pedi. Frankly, I don't give a fuck. It's an accomplishment that I've even gotten in the bath and put on this avocado face mask.

Once I'm out, I paddle-brush my hair in the mirror.

Sigh.

I slam my hand against the light switch to power them off in the bathroom and throw on some clothes for the day. Nothing special, just an outfit so I can go into society decently today to run errands.

First, a video call with Tish and Brenda.

✕

Towards the end of our chat, Brenda goes on about how she can't wait to come to the wedding but a phone call distracts me.

It's Mary.

I roll my eyes, disappointed.

Ignored.

It's not that I don't want to talk to her, it's just that I'm keeping the line open for Annette.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

"Uh, I'm gonna get that, okay?" I say to my old counselors.

"Yes, of course." Brenda says, waving in the camera.

I wave back, standing from the chair.

"Talk soon." Says Tish, letting me end the Zoom meeting finally.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

I don't bother yelling that I'm coming or anything because I hope whoever it is, goes away.

So I take my time but arrive at the door only to see Tate on the other side of it.

He was staring in the window, too, so he saw me and I can't ignore him.

"What do you want, Tate?" I ask him begrudgingly.

"You're not gonna let me in, sweetheart?" I forgot just how southern his accent was. It would be charming if he wasn't such a dick. While the "sweetheart" should've been endearing, it's belittling coming from the likes of Tatum Slaughter.

"Why should I?" I make him answer.

I cross my arms over my chest and hold for his response.

"It's about Chris." He sighs heavily.

Immediately, I unlock the door and open it so he can come in.

With wide eyes, I hold my breath for whatever news he's about to lay on me.

"You've heard from him?!" I sound too excited, I know.

"Well, no," Tate answers, rubbing his neck. "but I was hoping you have."

The tension in my shoulders eases up, leaving me slumped over as I sulk to the kitchen for a glass of wine.

"Not since I went to New York." I grumble, filling my glass.

Tate shakes his head. Changing the subject, he asks me, "Sharing?"

I slide the glass of wine over the countertop and it reaches Tate at the other end.

He smirks, helping himself to a glass he finds in a cabinet.

"Got any popcorn?" He asks.

I tilt my head, eyes low. "I don't have shit."

Tate laughs at my response. "You're a mess, huh?"

I slap my palm to my cheek and groan. "You have no idea," I chuckle, making way to the living room.

"If you don't mind my company, I got just the thing you need."

✕

"Jesus." I call out as I choke.

Tate pats my back. "You're just like Jasmine, baby lungs."

"I'm not a smoker." I claim, handing him the joint.

"Chris never let you smoke with him?" Tate wonders, looking at me as I fall on my back on the couch.

I shake my head but don't mean to say no. "He did, i just don't really like to."

"Well that's good, it's not very ladylike."

"Well why'd you offer me to smoke with you, dick?" I laugh out loud.

Tate chuckles. "Figured you needed it."

I sigh deeply. "I did. I did..."

"You think he's okay? I mean, y'all talked, right?"

I clear my throat to respond honestly. "He's okay. He always is."

"Yeah, that's Chris for you."

"Look, Tate, maybe you should go. I know you and Chris aren't really on good terms, but-"

"Don't worry, honey, Chris is okay. He asked me to check on ya."

I do a crunch to sit up and get a look at Tate's face. He's serious.

"He did?" I inquire, my face curled.

"Don't look so surprised," he laughs. "I'm responsible."

"It's not that, it's just— didn't he knock you out?"

"He has a hell of an arm, I'll give 'em that. He's family, I can't hold a grudge."

I choose to believe him and it makes me feel a lot better.
"Did he say anything else about me?"

Tate goes silent for a while, taking another hit.

Holding back a cough, Tate tells me, "He said to make sure you're eating. What's that about, you one of those anorexics or somethin'?"

I'm sent back to a place in my head to a time where I didn't eat when I was deeply upset. When Malcolm was abusive while Chris was gone, when Callie and Quinn died—

"Take me out to eat, then." I challenge Tate.

He dawns a crooked smirk. "Shit."

"Tate, how are you, man?" The host greets Tate at the door.

"What's happening, brotha?" Tate's response makes me roll my eyes.

"It's not happy hour, yet, you still want a table?" The skinny blonde-haired boy says.

Tate looks at his watch, then at me and finally agrees. "Why not, we're just grabbing something to eat."

"Who's the lucky lady this week?" The host chats with Tate the whole way to a booth in the back.

I trail them, trying to listen closely to Tate's response but can't catch it.

Both men look back at me, though, and smirk.

"She's a lot prettier than that black chick, the hell you do with her?"

"That black chick was my best friend, and we're both too pretty for you so why don't you stop yapping and go clean a table?" I fire back.

The host stands there, dumbfounded, with his shaggy haircut.

Tate scratches his head and dismisses his friend.

"You have terrible friends. Ben's okay, though. I like Ben." I tell Tate.

"Why'd you say all that if Jasmine don't even like you?" Tate leans in to inquire and puts his arm behind my head.

I slightly slide an inch or two over and clear my throat, thinking of a proper response.

"I love Jasmine, she's just going through a lot right now, doesn't mean we're not still friends." I reply.

The waitress presents herself with a smile spread across her small lips. She takes our drink orders then says she'll be back momentarily.

I notice the sleazy way Tate watches her switch away, but don't say anything.

Wanting to put an end to the silence, I speak up.
"Speaking of Jasmine, how is she?"

Tate sits up and swallows hard. "How would I know?"

My eyebrows furrow as I read his face. "What, isn't she with you?"

"You saw her silverback boyfriend come in and take her from me."

I shake my head, ignoring the racially-motivated insult.

"But last I heard she was with you?"

Tate shakes his head, too, but slowly. "Heard wrong, dear."

"I-" I'm cut off when the waitress brings a glass of water for myself and a couple of copita whiskey glasses.

"What are these for?" I wonder even as Tate thanks the waitress for the alcohol.

Tate smirks, pouring a healthy amount into a glass that he pushes to my lips.

My face curls once mix of burnt charcoal notes and vanilla hits my nose.

Tate's laughter makes me feel like an amateur. I know it's bourbon, I get that from the strong scent and color, only I'm not familiar with it enough.

"You've been in Tennessee for how long, and still haven't tasted you some good ole' Tennessee whiskey?" He chuckles.

I eyeball the glass and swirl the consistency around because that's what I've seen people do before when tasting certain drinks.

"Cheers." Tate toasts, clinking his glass with mine.

I shrug my shoulders before deciding to drink it.

Why the hell not?

I pick up caramel and toasted oak as the whiskey travels down my throat. It's definitely a lighter version of bourbon. There's definitely an ingredient in here that's mellowing out the harshness of the whiskey itself.

"So?" Tate waits for my final verdict.

He leans in and gives me a nudge with his elbow, chewing on his eager smile.

"I like it," I hum, still sipping. "I like it a lot."

"Atta girl." He says, winking. "How about another?"

"Pour me more than that little baby shot you gave me last time." I tease Tate, sliding my glass across the table.

He laughs out loud, filling my glass. "There you go, big girl."

I look at him over my glass as it's to my mouth, and smile cheekily.

"Cow-girl." I correct him.

He smirks, looking at me finish my second drink. "Well, yee-haw."

✕

"—Yes, yes we did." I laugh through my storytelling, feeling slightly embarrassed.

My cheeks burn as I feel Tate watching me with his jaw dropped.

"Wow," Tate talks expressively, "I had no idea you two went through so much."

"Yeah, uh, it's been a journey."

"Most definitely. Still, sleeping with the uncle, though?"

"Trust me, I did not sleep with him. Well..."

"Even if you did-"

"I didn't, though, is what I'm saying."

Tate throws his hands up. "I'm just saying, this is a no judgment zone." He makes me laugh.

I continue walking along the beach, one foot in front of the other until I notice we're walking with the same foot.

Tate nudges me and chuckles.

With a breathy laugh through my nose, I tuck the hair behind my ear.

"I like your hair like that - curly. It's pretty. Why don't you wear it like that all the time?"

"Oh, um, I don't know? It's not my thing, my sister was the curly one."

"Was?"

I gulp, looking down at my feet. "She died."

"Oh, yeah. I heard. Sorry."

I hang my head. "No, it's okay. People die."

"That they do." He exhales deeply.

With this feeling that Tate was giving me pity, I try to change the mood.

"Give me that." I squeak, snatching the second bottle of Jack Daniel's from Tate's hands.

"Easy, girl. You tryin' to get wasted tonight?"

I look up at him and wipe the spilled liquor from my mouth.

"That I am." I mimic him from before and start jogging down the beach.

"Aye, wait up!" Tate yells after me.

I miss summer nights. The best ones were spent in Colorado. My favorite memories are all at the beach, mostly.

Quinn loved the beach although we never went much. She was three when we moved to Penshaw from Arizona. And when we lived in Scottsdale, a beach day was last on the list of things we needed.

To tell the truth, I didn't know Colorado or Nashville had beaches. I'm happy we found this one.

"Used to spend my nights out in a barroom. Liquor was the only love I'd known; but you rescued me from reachin' for the bottom, and brought me back from being too far gone..." a group of voices further down the beach sing the Chris Stapleton song.

"Cowgirl, you're as fast as you are drunk." Tate's voice appears behind me suddenly.

"Shh." I whisper.

"You hear that, too?" Tate asks me, walking ahead.

"Wait up!" I shout, trying to catch up.

It only takes a few more minutes of walking along the beach to find several kids by a fire, singing and playing the guitar.

One guy in University of Tennessee hoodie waves us over to join.

I cautiously follow Tate who carelessly rushes over to the college students.

Another Tennessee student offers me a seat on their Rtic 65 cooler.

"Beer?" He proposes, tossing one to whoever had a hand up or empty koozie.

Tate accepts a joint from a girl in a multicolor Baja hoodie and pops his shoulders at me.

I admire his easy-going attitude and go-with-the-flow mentality.

"Wanna dance?" The Baja hoodie girl asks the kid with the beer.

His eyes light up like he's just won the lottery, and the way she's biting her lip, I can tell that this is huge for them. My guess: probably both a part of this friend group and have secretly liked each other for some time, rarely some light flirting here and there, but they're both waiting for the other to make the first real move.

I can't help but smile as I watch the rest of the group scatter along the beach with a partner and slow dance to the musical stylings of their friend singing none other than 'Tennessee Whiskey.'

As I finish my drink, Tate towers over me.

His hand falls in my face and I just look at it.

"Let's dance."

I laugh at him and glance away shyly. "Cowgirls don't dance."

"Everyone dances to this song." He insists and pulls me to my feet like I'm weightless.

"I've looked for love in all the same old places. Found the bottom of a bottle's always dry; but when you poured out your heart, I didn't waste it. 'Cause there's nothing like your love to get me high..." he sings on.

"What are you thinking about? Chris?" Tate asks me in my ear.

My head on his chest, I nod solemnly. "Yeah."

"You wish he was here right now?"

"Yeah." I whisper.

I squeeze Tate's shirt, wishing he were Chris. The powerful lyrics and soulful voice makes me believe that he is here. The whiskey makes me forget he isn't.

"Tate?"

"Yeah, Annie?"

"Uh, do you think Chris still loves me?"

"I do."

"Should I still love him?"

His chin sits on top of my head as we sway side to side.

"Only if you want to."

"Do you love Chris?" I ask.

"Like a brother." He tells me as his hand travels down my back for the third time during this dance. I ignored it so I didn't cause a scene, but this time, he gets a handful of my ass and I push away from him.

Head spinning, I stumble back.

"Woah, you okay?" He asks me.

I flick my wrist at him. "Ya, I'm fine. I, uh, I'm gonna call an Uber."

"Don't be silly, Annie, I can take you home."

"S-stop calling me that," I slur my words. "Look, good night."

"Morgan, wait," Tate hollers for me as I run uphill, towards the road, "MORGAN!"