Last week we learned that Sasha had met Sean Covelli - the boyfriend of the missing Lia - back when they were both in their 20s.
Sasha and Sean made small talk over their beers and Sasha asked if he had a cigarette. It was her go to move to get a guy alone outside. They went out the back door. This was back when she felt almost as cute as she actually was. When she didn’t fear approaching men and saying exactly what she was thinking. When she could summon enough false confidence to approach a man and speak to him and think he would be interested in what she had to say. Now, she’ll say anything to anyone, but knows they don’t really care what it is. And most aren’t listening anyway.
So Sasha confessed to him, “I have your album. The demo. From the Underachievers. It’s great stuff,” she told him, meaning it.
Sean sized her up. Fortysomething Sasha realizes that he was doing the math in his head, trying to figure out if she just liked his band, or if she was also a Grunge Girls devotee, and if he felt like dealing with either. The older Sasha appreciates how that whole situation must have forced him to become wise beyond his years, quickly. She’s embarrassed and a little ashamed that she was one of the many who contributed to this education, even as she knows that she didn’t seek him out or really do anything wrong.
“Thank you.” He takes a drag off his cigarette so he doesn’t have to say anything right away. “The other guys play under a new name now. Taxi Service. You should check them out.”
“What about you? Are you…” But before Sasha can finish, Sean shakes his head and cuts her off.
“Nah. I couldn’t. Didn’t want to. After.” He takes another drag, exhales. “My girlfriend went missing. You probably already know that.” It wasn’t accusatory, just the raw acknowledgment of someone who had to live with a tragic and unwelcome notoriety. “I mean, unless you’re an alien visiting Earth for the first time.”
They share an awkward laugh to diffuse the tension, after which Sasha says simply, “I do and I’m sorry.” And in that moment, Sash knew her “prosy nothings” wouldn’t come to anything. That a relationship with Sean was out of the question; not when you’re dying to ask the other person about the one thing you know they don’t want to talk about.
“Thank you for the cigarette. I’m sorry if I brought up bad memories.” Sasha turned to go, but Sean stopped her.
“It’s OK. It’s not your fault. It’s just how it is.” He shrugs and lights another cigarette before offering her one. They smoke together in silence for a bit before he says. “I’ve always known she was dead.”
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