Page 100 of Badd B*tch

"No, for real. He said exactly what I needed to hear. He gave me condoms and told me he knew I was gonna have sex at some point soon and he wanted me to be ready. He told me it was my choice. He said that if I felt pressured, at all, that I should call him right away. He told me that he'd rather I have sex at home rather than the back of a car and risk arrest. And he followed through on that one—my first time was in my own bed, and it was pretty great, as far as first times go, from my conversations with friends at the time."

"That is pretty awesome,” I said. “I’m glad you had that.”

"He wasn't a monster, Jax. I promise."

"I believe you."

"But…"

I sighed. "I knew there was a but."

"There's always a but." She sighed. "The expectations of perfection in everything…I still struggle with that. And when I'm not perfect, when I don’t succeed at something, it messes with me big time. And obviously, perfection is impossible, so there's just so much that I feel like I've failed at. Big things and little ones, but the big ones really fuck with me."

"Luke's death?" I guessed.

She nodded. "That's the biggest one, obviously. I should've…" A sigh. "I won't bore you with the list of things I know I should've done differently. I've spent hundreds of sleepless nights running that whole thing through my brain obsessively. I feel guilty for the crash at all. It’s my responsibility to bring that machine back to the United States Navy with all souls on board. I didn't, and it's my fault."

"Tea, you have to know—"

"Obviously I do know, intellectually, at least, that it’s not always possible and I couldn't have prevented it. But my brain and my heart don’t accept that. And then, after the crash, I should've, could've done this and that and ten other things. If I'd done any number of things differently, would Boulder and Terry and Luke be alive? But worse than all that is the survivor's guilt. A whole unit was lost, Jax. Everyone except me. Why? Why me? I shouldn't be here. Why do I get to live? Why do I get to…I dunno. Eat ice cream and watch a sunset and laugh at jokes when those men never will—not just the three guys, but the whole unit that was wiped out? Why do I get to fall in love again, but Luke doesn't? He had such a hard, shitty life. I like to think I at least made it a little better, but he…he deserved better than to bleed out in the mountains of Afghanistan, and for what?" She shook her head. "That's not a political question. Just…a life question. A question for God, maybe."

"Are you a faith person?" I asked.

She rolled a shoulder. "That's too big of a question for three in the morning, bubbie. I dunno. The universe is too big and too complex to be an accident, but everything I've seen and done and experienced? I have a lot of questions."

"I have a random question."

"Sure."

"Bubbie."

She laughed. "Oh. That was my mom. I don't know where it came from, but that was my mom's word, and now Tania and I use it."

"What was your mom like?"

She sighed. "My memories are hazy. She was quiet. Calm. I don't think she ever yelled at Tania or me. She loved garlic bread. I don't know why I remember that, but I do. I remember the four of us sitting down at an Italian place. I was…eight? Tania was six. It was a classic Italian place with the red-and-white checked tablecloth and a wicker basket full of focaccia and a little dish of olive oil. There was, I shit you not, some dude with a handlebar mustache playing an accordion. I remember Mom getting two pieces of garlic bread with her plate of spaghetti, and she ate both pieces first. I just…I have this memory, clear as day, of the look on her face as she ate that garlic bread. It was…just pure joy."

"Weird what we remember, huh?"

"Bizarre. Why that? I don't know. She used to brush and braid Tania and my hair—Tania's and my? Mine and Tania's?" She peered at me in the gloom. "Which is right?"

I laughed, shaking her whole body. "Hell if I know. I suck at grammar. I'm okay enough at the picking words part of writing, but spelling and punctuation and object subject dangling infinitive particles and whatever?"

"I think it’s participle, bubbie."

"You know more than me, then."

"Anyway. Every morning after breakfast, Mom would spray our hair down with this mister bottle, brush it out, and braid it. We'd sit at the kitchen table, and she would stand behind us. I can feel her fingers in my hair as clearly as your hand on my hip, Jax, but I haven't felt it in almost fifteen years. After she passed away, I braided Tania's hair for her. I just found out at the hospital that she knew how but she pretended she didn't because she knew how much it meant to me to braid her hair like mom did, and I guess it was the same for her, having me do it."

"So who braids your hair, Tea?"

"Me," she whispered.

"Fuck this." I twisted, kissed her. "Stay here."

"Where are you going?"

"Just…stay here."