I shiver, and he pulls me into his hold. A Sabin hug is always a good place to be. Today, his chest is hot from the sun, and it helps warm me.
He’s lost a lot of weight over the past year, and I notice that I’m more fully against him than I used to be when he’d hug me. For a moment, I miss his big belly. Of course, he looks a lot better, but the absence of his soft extra weight is undeniable.
About once a month, he’ll agree to go on a run, but he bitches and moans most of the way. Running a section of the Boston Marathon with me last spring was not, it seems, a catalyst for taking up regular routes. Yet I can feel that he’s getting more muscular and less flabby, thanks to the lifting that Chris has been pushing him to do and the work he’s been doing with James on the house all summer. My architect-to-be brother redesigned one of the bathrooms, and Sabin was totally on board with smashing tile, hauling out the old tub, and lugging materials up and down the second floor.
I touch a hand to Sabin’s bicep and squeeze. “You’re getting all beefy, Sabe.”
“I’m quite sexy, you know. It’s sickening how ripped I am. I don’t know how any other dudes can stand to be around me because my macho manliness is too much to bear.” He steps back and begins striking a series of clichéd poses in which he flexes his muscles.
I shake my head in amusement, but the truth is that he does look good. His black hair flops around his face as he moves, and his green eyes twinkle. While he’s not exactly ready for underwear modeling, the change in his physique is obvious. He looks healthy, and even his face has slimmed down a bit. It turns out that Sabin had cheekbones under the fullness.
After he finishes the umpteenth muscle stance, I step closer and touch a hand to his cheek, rubbing the scruff. “Are you ever going to shave this off, so we can see your pretty face?”
“That would be too much hotness to handle. I need my scruffiness to minimize the impact.” He shakes his face against my palm and grins.
I suppose the big sideburns and perpetual five o’clock shadow suit him.
“You shouldn’t make jokes, Sabe. I’m really proud of you.” Now, it’s my turn to embrace him, and I slip my arms around his stomach. “I’m so glad you’re staying with us. I couldn’t stand to lose the twins, James, and you.” I squeeze him hard.
He is such a source of solace and stability for me. Of that, I am constantly aware and constantly appreciative. I feel like I can’t explain that wholly to him, but I try to remind him of it as much as possible. It just never feels like enough.
There aren’t the right words or right phrases to encapsulate how powerfully he’s become part of my being, how to convey how I worry about him, how I celebrate him, how I mentally fuss over every hour he is awake. Maybe it should feel creepy, but Sabin’s mother died years ago, and he doesn’t have a girlfriend or other close friends. He’s a young guy still, and I cannot help but feel that someone should watch over him, that someone should love and adore and hover.
But I say what I can—for now. “You’re my best friend, Sabin. I feel like you always have been, even before I knew you.”
He pauses for a moment and then rests his chin on top of my head. “And you’re my best friend. Of course you are.”
I rub his back and move to his side. He actually has a waist, and I’m almost entranced by the way he’s changed. “You’ve done so much since rehab—”
“Oh God, don’t call it rehab. That’s such a hideous word. Let’s just say, I was at a spa getaway, suffering from exhaustion, like a celebrity.”
“Stop. There’s nothing wrong with rehab.”
“It wasn’t really rehab. It was excruciating intensive therapy.”
“Well, you haven’t had a drink since you left. That’s sort of rehabish.”
“Alcohol wasn’t really my problem, sweetheart. That was a poorly thought-out coping mechanism, I’m told. A replacement for actual self-analysis and change. Boring psychobabble.” He pauses for a bit too long. “And can we not do this? I did what I had to do, and now, it’s done. It’s handled.”
I didn’t mean to stumble into this conversation. Talking about his past, everyone’s past…it’s a bit of an unspoken rule that we don’t go there. There are details that he cannot bring himself to share with me, and I get that. I want him to have privacy and containment, if that’s what’s helpful.
I know that Sabin feels ashamed, and I’ve learned not to dig too much with him. Whatever he’s been doing to free himself from his childhood trauma seems to be working, so I give him space. But I also want him to know that I acknowledge what he’s pushed through, and I’m proud of him.
“Sorry. I just meant to tell you how much I love you, and I’m glad you moved in here.”
We stay quiet and listen to the gentle splash of waves as the tide finishes coming in.
“This fall, we can go apple-picking and jump in leaf piles and…and…do things with pumpkins.”
“Do things with pumpkins?” he asks with a small laugh.
“You know, carve them, make pumpkin bread, smash ’em up. Whatever you like.”
“Okay.” He kisses the top of my head.
“And, you know, you’ll perhaps disappear for the night with another tourist and crawl home in the morning. Then, I’ll make you pancakes while I avoid hearing lurid details and lecture you on how stupid one-night stands are.”
“And I’ll tell you how sexy and awesome they are and how I’m just adding to my glowing reviews on Yelp.”
