I have missed him.
“Just being thankful and shit,” I say.
Chris leans in toward my phone. “Tell him I amnotthankful for his timing.” But he blows me a kiss and starts to shape the dough into a loaf.
“Oh, horrors!” Sabin says dramatically. “Have I interrupted some sort of disgusting and unnatural sexual interaction?”
“Sabe!” I yell.
“Ah, I have. Well, I have no idea what that might entail as it’s been a hundred years since I’ve gotten laid.”
“It’s the season to be grateful, not pissy.”
“I’m grateful that I haven’t fucked anyone and been vulnerable to a hideous venereal disease. How’s that?”
I frown. “Are you okay? This is hardly the attitude of someone who ran off to San Diego and fell into the most unusual life ever.”
Sabin wasn’t kidding when he said that he lived in a tree house. He really does. An actual fucking tree house. In perfect Sabin fashion, he got a job with a company that builds rather luxurious accommodations for those who wish to live in unusual habitats. The owner of the business, Pearce, offered Sabin the tree house on his own property for minimal rent. Aside from a bedroom and living area, it even has a small kitchen. Not to mention, it has working electricity and plumbing.
Chris nods at the sound system we keep high on a shelf, away from kitchen accidents. I hit the On button, and he waves for me to step out of the kitchen if I want. Music blares from the speakers, and I cover the mouthpiece on my phone.
“I’m not done with you,” I warn Chris.
“Better not be.”
I find quiet in the living room and lie on the couch. “Now, tell me, how’s tree-house life?”
“Lofty,” Sabin says.
“Funny. Say more.”
“It’s pretty awesome.”
“When are you going to send me pictures? You keep saying you will, and you haven’t. How am I supposed to relax when I can’t picture you in your surroundings?”
“I told you. I’m still fixing it up. It was sort of half done when I moved in. I mean, it was all there structurally, but it didn’t have much style going on. I added on a wraparound porch. Did I tell you that?”
“How the hell did you know how to do that?” I ask.
“Pearce helped me. He got me extra lumber from jobs they’d finished.”
“You must be learning a ton. This guy Pearce sounds really cool, huh?”
Sabin pauses. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, now, I’m roped into having Thanksgiving dinner with him, his kid, and a whole crew of people I don’t know. I’m supposed to make a side dish, but I haven’t really figured that out quite yet.”
“Um, you’d better get moving. It’s, what? Almost six there? The markets are going to close.”
“I don’t know if I’m even going to go. It’s gonna be dumb.”
“If you were invited and you accepted, then you’re going. And this guy has been very good to you. He gave you a job and a place to live, so go be grateful.”
“Fine,” he says grouchily.
“Hey, are you okay?” I ask.
Sabin has a social drive that I don’t, so I’m surprised he’s not more enthusiastic.
“Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be? I have sunshine and surf, missy.” His voice lifts, and I feel slightly better. “Just tired. We were doing a job two hours away. Lots of driving on congested freeways, plus the whole hauling lumber and raising it up a story. Oh, but get this! So, the guy we built that tree house for? He had us put in a zip line that goes from his main house to the landing by the tree-house’s front door and then a slide that loops out, like, three times from the bedroom to the ground. It’s fucking awesome.”
