Dare

by Glenna Sinclair

  “You left your father’s ashes at the crematorium,” Sebastian said. “I’m paying them to keep his urn there, which isn’t company policy, and you need to decide what you want to do with it. I know it’s ashes, but it is your father.”

  I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead. I didn’t need this. I didn’t want to hear this right now. This was the last thing I needed to be discussing right now. My stomach turned against the tide of liquor I’d been pouring into it, and I felt the distinct need to vomit.

  “I don’t care,” I said.

  “Yes, you do,” Sebastian argued. “I know you do, Rachel. I know that you’re trying to drown yourself right now, but you’re still there.”

  “No, I don’t want to be there.”

  “But you are, and you need to do things,” he said. “You need to make a decision about the farm, too.”

  “Leave the farm alone.”

  “I happen to know,” he said, ignoring me, “that the bank is moving to foreclose the farm. That the bank will own it unless something is done. That there is produce that needs care, but all of the farmworkers have been let go. That shipment dates have come and gone and stores have been trying to get in contact with you, but your father’s voicemail is full. Emails are going unanswered.”

  I wished I could just throw my phone across the club and forget all of what Sebastian had just told me, but I didn’t have the coordination. I kept it pressed against my ear because I was convinced that doing so was the only thing keeping the vomit inside of me and not sprayed on all of my surroundings.

  “Rachel, you have a right to grieve. But you also have responsibilities.”

  “I don’t want them.”

  “My offer still stands.”

  “What offer?”

  “To buy the farm,” Sebastian said. “That offer still stands.”

  “That’s what you’ve wanted all along,” I blurted. “To buy the stupid farm. That’s what your goal has been this whole time. You’re a vulture. You hung around long enough for Dad to die, and now you’re going to try and snap it up from me.”

  “I am willing to explain to you my motivations behind buying the farm,” he said, “but not over the phone. And certainly not in your condition. Let me know when you’d like to discuss it.”

  “Never,” I spat, managing to end the call and stuff the phone in my cleavage before staggering off to the bathroom. I almost made it to the toilet—so close — but ended up barfing the contents of my stomach all over the seat and floor around it. I vomited and vomited until there was nothing left inside of me, and it felt like my stomach was turning itself inside out. I didn’t want to be myself anymore. I didn’t want these feelings or responsibilities or these parties or these drinks.

  I wanted to just be someone else. My mother had, essentially, done that. Could I? I didn’t know what was possible anymore. Just that my stomach was empty. My stomach and my spirit.

  Chapter 16

  When I woke up, I was in the bed in the spare room of my mother’s apartment, still in full party regalia, my mouth still tasting of the rainbow of drinks I’d vomited the night before. My head felt in real danger of splitting open like an overripe fruit, and I knew my brain was probably fermenting in the toxic juices I’d ingested last night. I couldn’t remember the order I’d had them in, let alone the parade route of clubs we’d burned through. I didn’t even remember getting home, though it had apparently happened. I couldn’t recall anything after I’d emptied my stomach in the bathroom, assuming that my mother or someone in her entourage had found me, or I’d found my way back to them, my body nothing more than a robot moving itself in the direction of relative safety.

  What I did remember was my conversation with Sebastian. A new wave of shame washed over me, and I gagged. I would’ve thrown up again, into the trashcan beside the bed that someone had left me for that very purpose, but I didn’t have anything to offer it. I was completely empty.

  I got to my feet, holding onto the wall as vertigo made me waver, and took stock of myself. I needed a shower. I needed to brush my teeth. I needed to drink water. I needed to take some aspirin. I needed to go back to sleep to give the aspirin a chance to do battle with my hangover. All of those things needed to happen, though not necessarily in that order.

  But what I really needed to do was to figure out what I was going to do with my life. Could that be something I could even figure out? I pondered the point as I crept out to the kitchen, wondering but not worrying about the quiet house. If my mother had partied as hard as I had last night, she probably wouldn’t leave her room until well after noon. I found the aspirin in a cabinet in the kitchen and swigged a couple down with a bottle of water. My stomach was so tender that it wanted to vomit up the water, but I forced it down. I needed to rehydrate. That’s what all this pain was from. My body needed to understand that water wasn’t the enemy.

  I was aware of my stench, and it grossed me out even more. It was as if a cloud of smoke and sweat and vomit hovered around me. I stripped off my dress, bra, and underwear in the bathroom, dropping them in the hamper even though I was certain that the only way to get rid of the stench was to burn them. I briefly considered shaving my hair off of my head before stepping under the shower spray and closing my eyes.

  The temperature was scalding—in an attempt to wash everything that had happened last night away.

  It wasn’t until I was brushing my teeth in front of a foggy mirror, a towel wrapped around me, that I understood it was time to go. I’d overstayed my welcome in Vegas, even if my mother liked taking me all around town to show me off to her friends. It was past time to go home, to face the things I needed to face.

  I hadn’t known it at the time, but last night was my last night in Sin City.

  I got dressed in the outfit I’d worn on the plane, made my bed, and picked up the clothes in the room I’d been staying in. It struck me that I should say something to my mother before I left, that I should at least let her know that she didn’t have to include me in her reservation count for the day’s schedule.

  I raised my fist and let it hover a few inches away from my mother’s door until I realized I didn’t have anything to say to her that would be of any use to either of us. I didn’t agree with her lifestyle, her choice of coping mechanisms, or anything about her. And that was okay. My mother’s life wasn’t for me. I knew that from now on my life would have to be my own choice. Sure, it had taken an entire painful week to realize that, but it was a lesson learned.

  What would I say to her if I woke her up from her hungover slumber? Thanks for letting me crash in her apartment for a while as I tried to untangle my life? What are you doing with your life? Do you need help?

  But it wasn’t my place to judge her for what she chose to do with her life. Sure, she was my mother in the sense that she’d given birth to me. But that was where the similarities ended. I was working on moving past the fact that she’d left her family in order to pursue her dreams. I was over agonizing about whether it was a brave or selfish thing to do. It was both of them—at times, more selfish than brave, but I could learn from her example and feel confident going forward in my own life.

  There were some things I needed to figure out before I could forge my own path forward. Some responsibilities I had to address. Sebastian had reminded me of that. I’d let them go for too long. I had embarrassed myself. I should never have ignored the fact that Dad’s ashes were languishing at a funeral home, neglected by me. That was disgraceful, but I knew now that I had to step up and do what was expected of me no matter how much I wanted to avoid doing so.

  I collected my purse from my room and left everything else except for the clothes I’d been wearing when I’d boarded the plane with my mother. Something about that felt right. I didn’t need any of the clothes she’d given me to wear out to clubs or the staples I’d bought myself at the store when I got here. I didn’t want to be the person I had been while here anymore. I was ready to be myself again—at least, the perso
n I thought I was going to be—and those clothes were symbolic of the person I thought I had wanted to become.

  Stepping out into the hot Las Vegas sun was almost like a rebirth—in spite of my lingering headache. I walked with no other purpose than to get away from my mother and the person I had tried to be to fit into her interpretation of what life should be like.

  It wasn’t until I was a whole block away that I got my phone out of my purse and made a call.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” Sebastian said by way of greeting. “In a lot of pain?”

  “Just my ego, mostly,” I said. “Thanks for being the voice of reason last night. I really appreciate your advice on everything—though it frankly disturbs me how much you know about the situation with the farm.”

  “I’m in the business, Rachel,” he said. “I hear things from other people, or I just ask. Information isn’t as private as you think.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I hadn’t known that Dad had let all of our workers go, though it made sense. He’d fed me a lie about several of them taking vacation at once, though I knew that was atypical. I’d accepted it because I didn’t realize Dad had a reason to lie to me at that point. But after seeing all those bills and warnings in the papers in the office, I knew that if he hadn’t had enough money to keep the farm afloat, he certainly hadn’t had enough to keep paying the people who worked on the farm. It was surprising to imagine how he kept our electric and water services turned on, though I had to wonder whether he just paid the things I would notice gone. That hurt. All Dad had wanted to do was to keep me from worrying about things, but that same worry had consumed him. I’d been lulled into a false sense of security, and the stress from the farm’s problems and his efforts at concealing them had burned him up from the inside out.

  “What’s on the docket for you today?” Sebastian asked. “More parties?”

  “Afraid not,” I said. “I’m leaving.”

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Walking.”

  “Toward what?”

  “Just away, for now,” I said. “I don’t have a destination. Though I hope maybe to somehow end up at the airport.”

  “You’re ready to go back?”

  “Yes. I’m ready to go back.”

  “Walk to the nearest intersection and tell me the cross streets,” Sebastian instructed me.

  I stopped in my tracks instead, puzzled. “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to pick you up.”

  I laughed. “But you’re in Los Angeles.”

  “Wrong. I’m in Las Vegas.”

  “What in the hell for?”

  “Don’t be upset,” he pleaded. “I thought you might need help. You were all alone out here…well, with your mother, but the two of you are pretty different people.”

  “You and I are two pretty different people, too,” I observed.

  “I realize that. But I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You were kind of out of it last night.”

  I had to smile. “Aw, my drunk dial last night made you come all the way out to Las Vegas?”

  “Actually, I’ve been out here since you have been—well, since you told me you were out here.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You’ve what?”

  “You know. Just taking some vacation time. I deserve it.”

  “Sebastian…”

  “I was worried about you, Rachel,” he said, dropping his jocular tone. “If you want to fuss at me about that, then go for it. But you haven’t been taking care of yourself. I wanted to make sure you had someone if you needed someone. Do you need a ride to the airport? I would be happy to pick you up.”

  Part of me wanted to be irritated with Sebastian for following me to Las Vegas, but he’d had reason to worry. I hadn’t been myself when I was here, but he had kept a respectful distance. He’d done so much for me, too, with Dad gone—including making sure that his remains stayed well cared for. That was something really special—though uncalled for. He had stepped in when I’d stepped away, and I had to appreciate that.

  “Fifth and Craig,” I said, smiling.

  “Excuse me?”

  “That’s my intersection. I would really like a ride to the airport; it’s a long walk and a hot day.”

  “I’ll be right there,” he said.

  “I’d really like to see you, too,” I added, almost shyly, but he’d already ended the call in his haste to focus on the road.

  I could hear him before I could see him, the roar of the engine to an even more ostentatious car than the one he usually stuck to back home echoing down the street. He pulled up to a stop right at the curb, the tires squealing a bit in protest at the sudden brake job. The car was candy apple red and all svelte curves. Passers-by in vehicles of their own slowed to turn and gape at the sports car stopping for little old me, a visibly hungover twenty-two year old in cowboy boots and stained jeans. I didn’t care what they thought about me. I just knew how glad I was to see Sebastian, throwing my arms around him as he got out to open my door for me.

  “I am perfectly capable of opening my own car door, damn it,” I told him—even as I squeezed him half to death.

  “I know you are,” he said, squeezing me back just as hard. “But I like doing things for you. People should do things for you. You’re so special. You deserve special things.”

  And then, right in the middle of Vegas traffic, his ridiculous car stopped illegally, Sebastian Clementine dipped me down and kissed me right on the mouth, passing motorists honking their approval or disapproval or surprise—it didn’t matter. What mattered was that it felt right, and that I liked it, and that I wanted it.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed, as he whipped me back up, breathless. “I’m kind of dizzy.”

  “Kiss was that good?” he asked, grinning wickedly.

  “I think I need to eat something, actually,” I said, laughing at the crestfallen look he gave me.

  “Well, I know just the place for that,” he said. “To my chariot.”

  We bellied up to a dive bar that Sebastian promised me had the best burgers in the entire city, and when the massive things were brought out on a plate big enough to be called a platter, I believed him. The heavy grease was just what I needed to polish of my nasty hangover, the toppings fresh and crisp, the fries seasoned perfectly. I even finished his fries when Sebastian declared himself too full to continue.

  “We have something to discuss,” he told me, signaling the waitress to refill my water that I kept draining. I was probably going to float away I’d drank so much, but at least I’d be hydrated when it happened.

  “Please don’t lecture me,” I said. “I haven’t drank like that since college, and I don’t intend to start back up when I get home.”

  “I’m not going to lecture you,” he said. “The thing we need to discuss is the farm.”

  “Oh.” There was a portion of me that was pretty sure it would’ve rather dealt with Sebastian lecturing me about partying too hard. “You were going to tell me the reason you wanted to buy it. The thing you couldn’t tell me because of Dad.”

  “That’s right,” Sebastian said. “If you want to hear it. I’d understand if you don’t want to face that right now. I know you’ve been through a lot, Rachel. I just want to help you in any capacity that I can.”

  “You’ve already done a lot,” I said. “Leaving town without even collecting Dad’s ashes…” I choked on my words, unable to finish the thought. It finally sank in that Dad was dead. He was gone, and he wasn’t coming back.

  “It’s okay, Rachel.”

  “It’s not.” I shook my head, took a sip of water, and tried to clear my throat even as the tears threatened to spill down my face. “You were right. There were responsibilities that I should’ve taken care of that I didn’t. I left things undone, and the farm wasn’t even the most important one.”

  “Your father’s remains are in good hands right now, I promise.”

  “I can never repay you for that,” I said. �
��I don’t know what I would’ve done if the funeral home had just gotten rid of them after the cremation. I wouldn’t have ever been able to forgive myself.”

  “What’s important is that you’re coming back now,” Sebastian said. “That’s the only thing that matters. What you’ve been doing for the past week doesn’t matter at all. It’s what you’re doing right now. What you’re going to be doing tomorrow, and the day after that.”

  I exhaled and swiped at a tear that escaped down my cheek. “Thank you. It’s really kind of you to say that.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “Okay.” I gripped the edge of the bar and steeled myself mentally. “What could you not tell me about the farm sale that would’ve made everything make sense to me?”

  It had been the biggest point of contention in our relationship, and it felt kind of strange to sit here in a dive bar in Las Vegas and address it head on. I felt, strangely, like an adult way of handling it. Adults faced their problems like this, instead of running away from them. I could be done with running away from things.

  “I knew about the money problems the farm was having,” Sebastian told me. “Just a perk of working in the industry, I guess. I know everyone’s business. But your father had run it into the ground.”

  “It wasn’t him,” I said quickly, jumping to defend him. “It was me. Dad took out loans he couldn’t pay back to send me to the college I wanted to go to. I didn’t know until I saw all the bills just how little money he had left.”

  “Well, that solves one mystery,” Sebastian said, giving me a small smile. “That’s why I wanted to buy the farm—to settle that debt. You were both so passionate about it, and I liked seeing that. And I loved you, and you seemed to be really happy there. I wanted to get the farm out of trouble to make sure you had a farm when you were ready to take it over from your father. Is that still what you want? Because I would still buy it from you, now that you’re the owner. I would make it so the debtors would come after me, not you, and I’d shower them with cash while you ran the farm however you wanted. I have that kind of cash to spare—don’t wrinkle your face like that. I’m not bragging. I’m being honest.”