NOVEMBER 15th, 1993, SEATTLE, WA

    "ALRIGHT, I'M JUST going to come out and say it. You're a bitch."

Reagan gasped at Chris from the driver's seat of her car, dropping the french fry she'd had pinched between her fingers.

"What?" Reagan cried. "Why am I a bitch?"

Chris sighed and took a noisy slurp from the straw of her cup. "No reason, except that everything seems to perpetually always work out in your favor."

"That isn't true. That's not true at all," Reagan countered.

"Oh, shut up, don't deny it. You're living the dream. Well, I guess your dream, but still. Spread some of that good fucking fortune around, would ya'?"

Together, they were sitting in Reagan's car, parked outside the nearest Jack in The Box on Reagan's meager lunch break. It wasn't so much of a lunch break as it was an opportune moment to escape the office. As soon as Reagan had secured spare time without another member of the A&R team breathing down her neck, she'd phoned Chris and asked her to meet up at the greasiest, most fattening fast food restaurant that she could think of.

Chris was presently staying with Reagan for a few days, which meant that she'd had no problem hopping into her own car and driving over. With Sarah at home watching Gracie, Chris had nothing else better to do, unless it was scouring the record shops in Seattle.

"It's not perfect," Reagan said, hoping to sound reasonable. "If it was perfect, then Dave wouldn't be in New York right now. Or I'd be with him, at least."

"That's why you have me to keep you company," Chris said. "I'm your temporary 'Dave.' Don't ask me to make out with you, though."

Reagan balled up the wrapper of her finished cheeseburger and tossed it into the grease-stained paper bag sitting between them.

"Don't worry, that's not part of your job requirements," she said reassuringly. "Just keep me sane and we'll be fine."

"You don't have any reason not to be sane. You're married to a rockstar, you have a cute little kid at home and you're working at a record label and not inside of a sweaty car repair shop."

"Now you're making me feel guilty."

"Ah, don't," Chris shrugged. "It's not your fault that it happened. If it was going to happen to anyone, it should be you."

"You deserve to be happy, too. Want me to come to the next Yellow Fellow show? Maybe I could sign you."

Reagan smiled mischievously, but Chris sighed, her shoulders sagging.

"About that," she began uneasily. "I've been putting off telling you, but Yellow Fellow is officially broken up."

"What?!"

"Yeah. It's over. It wasn't going anywhere, and honestly I was sick of Scott and Michael. They wanted to be a cover-band for the rest of forever."

"Chris, I'm really sorry," Reagan said gently. "That sucks."

"It's whatever. My parents are really happy about it. They said I need to start a real career."

"A band can be a career!"

"Not to them. It doesn't help that I name-dropped you and told them about you getting this job. Now they really think I'm a failure. God forbid I bring a girlfriend home, they're one step away from trying to enlist me into a conversion camp."

"I wouldn't let that happen," Reagan pledged.

Chris chuckled dryly. "No, you wouldn't. Shit, I'd probably drag you there with me, even though you're straight."

"Look, don't compare yourself to me," Reagan said. "Yeah, it seems like everything is fine, but I haven't worked out all the kinks yet."

She was namely referring to the stagnant presence of a dark rain cloud hanging over Nirvana's very existence, but in truth, it wasn't her problem to claim. It would have paled in comparison to everything that Chris was venting about.

"At least you're on better terms with your mom. Who would have thought that you popping out a kid would change everything?"

"It's just a new kind of fucked-up for me to deal with. I swear, she only tolerates me now because of Gracie. It's like she knows that if she steps out of line, then boom, no more grandchild to spend time with."

Chris shook her head in disgrace. "Good ole' Kimberly. You do everything right and she still finds a way to rag on you."

"I don't think this is her definition of right," Reagan said, sifting through her leftover fries. "She would have wanted me to stay in Olympia, at home so I could play babysitter. The sad part is, I would have done it for the kids. I miss them."

"How is this not right to her?" Chris demanded. She swept one hand outwards, gesturing to the pristine leather interior of Reagan's car. "You've got money and a family. And a sweet fucking job! Did she really expect you to work at Wilson's until you were sixty-five?"

"Probably. That's how she would have done it, isn't it?"

"She's just jealous. You got lucky, and she didn't. No offense to your dad, of course."

"I don't want that to be true because if it is, that makes our relationship even more fucked up."

Chris let out a deep guffaw. "Yeah, right. Let's be real, for a second. If what you think is true, then your mom definitely wanted you to stay at Wilson's, watch Kody and RaeLynn and marry some guy like Tommy after the twins graduated high school."

"Tommy?" Reagan said with vague interest. "I haven't heard about him in awhile. How is he?"

"Greasy and still pining after you," Chris replied. "I saw him a few weeks ago at the grocery store and he asked how you were doing. He said he saw Dave on MTV. It was in one of their new music videos, I think."

"Heart-Shaped Box?" Reagan wondered aloud.

"Yep, think so. You should have seen his face. It's like someone was ripping out his tongue when he mentioned Dave. I don't think he's ever going to get over that."

"Tell him to forget about it. He needs to find someone who appreciates the effort."

"No way. He'll go to his grave wishing that he'd put a ring on your finger. They'll probably write on his tombstone, 'here lies Tommy Wilson, the dumb ass who thought that he could beat out Dave Grohl in winning Reagan Abner over.'"

"You think that they would do a sentence that long a tombstone?" Reagan asked, licking a glob of ketchup off her pointer finger.

"I don't know. Maybe. I would pay to see it."

"Leave poor Tommy alone."

"I don't think I will, but thanks for the suggestion."

Reagan nibbled on her last fry quietly, looking out the windshield at the noonday traffic. She hated that what Chris had said was bothering her. For every reason beneath the sun, she should have felt pride knowing that other people saw her life and assumed that it was perfect. But what made her so peevish was that it wasn't, and that point aside, she didn't strive for perfection whilst knowing that the people she loved weren't attaining the very same thing.

"Are you ready for New York?"

Reagan whipped her attention back into Chris. "Huh?"

"New York," Chris repeated poignantly. "In two days?"

"Oh. Right. Yeah, I guess I am."

"Is the whole clan still going?"

At this, Reagan fought back the groan climbing its way up her throat. She had nearly forgotten about that.

"Yes," she sighed. "And there's no telling how it's going to go."

"It'll be fine," Chris said, waving a nonchalant hand. "They'll be flattered that you even invited them. And Robbie is probably psyched."

"I didn't invite them. Dave did," Reagan admitted.

"Well, fuck me. And here I was thinking that he couldn't get better!"

It had been a really nice thing of Dave to do. The subject of Reagan coming to see him perform for an MTV Unplugged session in New York City hadn't been a question — both she and Gracie would go, finally reuniting with him since his departure the month before. But Dave had gone a step further. He'd insisted that Reagan extend the invite to the rest of the Abners, pointing out that they'd yet to see him play a live show. Since the theory of the performance was that it would be 'unplugged,' without the screech of guitars and earsplitting wail of speakers, Dave had thought it to be the perfect performance for the Abners to attend.

And then, like the generous person that he was, he'd gone ahead and purchased all of their airline tickets.

It wasn't necessarily that Reagan didn't want her family members there. Well, some of them, at least. Chris was right in saying that Robbie was over the moon about it, and Kate was besides herself with gratitude. The twins weren't quite old enough to understand, but they were happy about it too either way. The only problem laid with Kimberly and Richard. Or rather, Kimberly.

Reagan didn't have to ask her father to know that he was touched by Dave's invite. A musician himself, Richard was excited to be going to New York for the show, and especially taken with the idea of seeing Dave play with the band.

But Kimberly . . . she remained the outlier. When Reagan had told her about the trip, Kimberly hadn't declined, but had rather smoothly accepted although with a touch of apprehensiveness. Reagan knew what she'd been thinking. Loud, messy rock concert with drunken, bumbling idiots spilling beer everywhere and mosh pits breaking out at the drop of a hat. She'd had to explain to her mother that this show would be different. Calmer. Something that Kimberly would definitely approve of.

So the tickets had been bought, work and school arrangements made, and now Reagan was preparing to board a flight with her whole family across the country in a matter of days.

In another version of her reality, it would have been fun. She would have been proud to show off Dave and his band to her family, if not only to do so as a means of saying 'look at this. Look how amazing and wonderful and talented my husband is.' But she couldn't anticipate that she'd be leading them into a pleasant scenario. With Kurt still on a downward spiral, there was no predicting how the atmosphere would be that night, and if he'd be sober enough to impress all the MTV executives that'd be watching.

Reagan didn't care if Kurt or any member of the Nirvana crew got Kimberly's approval, but she really didn't want to see the look on Kimberly's face if she happened to stumble upon a drugged-out Kurt, or even worse, an enraged Courtney.

"You're only furthering my point," Chris suddenly said, her lips twitching around a smile. "You're one lucky bitch."

"You think dragging my family — my family, mind you — to New York to see Dave play is lucky?"

"Not that part. I meant that you can just drop whatever you're doing and jet off to New York City. All the rest of us average citizens can't afford that. Ever heard of paid time off?"

"Everyone at Geffen is really understanding of my situation," Reagan said lamely. She lifted her thumbnail between her teeth.

"Sure," Chris said, drawling the word out. "It definitely doesn't have anything to do with your famous husband."

"Don't say that," Reagan abruptly snapped. She smacked her hand down onto her thigh, causing Chris to flinch. "Stop acting like I'm some kind of princess. I didn't ask for this. I wanted to marry this guy, and all the rest just happened, okay? I'm not asking for handouts or perks or any of that shit. And honestly, my job is hard, so it's not like I'm getting any hall passes there."

Chris sat stunned in the passenger seat, leaning away from Reagan and her random outburst. She blinked before frowning, the motion carving deep lines into her cheeks.

"Sorry, Reags. I didn't mean it that way. I'm . . . I'm happy for you. I really am."

"No, I'm sorry," Reagan sighed, clawing her fingers back through her hair and letting what was left of her bangs flop into her eyes. "I shouldn't have freaked out like that."

"It's okay. You're probably tired of hearing how lucky you are."

"It's not even that I hear it a lot. It's knowing that I should feel lucky, which I do, sometimes, but . . ."

"But what?"

Reagan let her chest swell up with another gust of air, sealing her lips and blocking the explanation sitting on the tip of her tongue. How many times was she going to lament over this, as if it were really a problem? As if she shouldn't have been grateful for what she had, rightfully bound to shut the hell up and enjoy it?

"It's like I'm in a tug of war," she finally exhaled. "A part of me is so happy with it all. I'm happy with Dave, with Gracie, happy that Dave gets to do what he loves. But then the other part of me . . . the other part misses him. I never wanted normal, and I don't take that back, but it sucks going to sleep at night knowing he's not there. And everything that's going on with the band stresses me out by default."

"You mean . . .?" Chris said, fencing around what Reagan already knew she was going to say.

"You can say it," Reagan said bluntly. "I know you know. Anyone who gives a shit about music knows. Kurt's fucked up on drugs."

"Yeah, I've heard the rumors," Chris said. She sat back and flexed her arms outwards, stretching them down to her fingers.

"Well, take it from me, it's true. Maybe not all of them. But some. He's a mess."

"Not to sound like a total bitch, but is it really your problem?"

Reagan felt her mouth pop open in surprise. Of all the reactions she had expected out of Chris, indifference hadn't been one of them.

"It's Kurt," Reagan said, speaking as if it were obvious. "I can't sit by and watch him do this, can I?"

"It's not Dave, though. It's not your husband, or your family or any of the above. If it were Dave or Robbie, sure. But why stress yourself out?"

"He's like my brother, Chris. He's one of Dave's closest friends. There's a history there."

"Do you think that history means anything to an addict? If he's in too deep, then he's in too deep, Reags. I've seen you do some crazy shit, but turning an addict straight doesn't work like magic."

Reagan spread her thumb and forefinger across her head, pressing each into her temples and squeezing her eyes shut. Chris sounded like Dave. Trilling at her like an alarm clock, presenting themselves as a constant reminder that she was powerless. She couldn't scoop up the broken pieces of a person and put them back together when parts were missing.

"It's still my business," Reagan maintained. "It's Dave's band, too. It's his life."

Chris shook her head determinedly. "Don't start with that excuse. Dave's life is not the band, and even I know that. His life is you and Gracie. I see you guys maybe twice a month and I still know that. If Nirvana broke up, don't pretend like he'd be all tears and heartache. He'd have you."

Reagan nearly asserted that Chris didn't know what she was talking about. You don't get it because you're not in a band like theirs, she wanted to say. She stopped herself though, knowing that would be taking it a step too far.

"Just admit that you're only worried because of Kurt," Chris said gently. "First step to getting better is acceptance, you know."

"You're right," Reagan began. Chris nodded sagely, until Reagan continued.

"It's not my job to worry," she went on. "I should focus on my own life. I've been stupid, thinking we'd all be one happy family like it was before."

"Reagan . . ." Chris hedged.

"No, it's the truth. It's nothing but that," Reagan said firmly.

"So it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that when you look at Kurt, you see Robbie? Or Kody?"

Reagan's chest promptly constricted. "No. It doesn't. I'm too old to be someone's babysitter again."

"Jeez, I said acceptance, not cruelty. You're allowed to care. All I was saying is, don't let it control your life. Enjoy yourself a bit."

"I am going to enjoy myself," Reagan said, enunciating each word with a mental promise to herself to do just that. "I'm going to go to New York and have a good time. It will be nice."

"It would be more nice if you'd invited me," Chris said with a teasing grin.

"Don't speak so soon. If I called Dave up right now, I'm sure he'd book your flight for you."

"Nah. I can't. I've got to get my shit together back home. But take lots of pictures for me. I want to hear all about it."

"I will. I promise."

Reagan's promise was a double-sided one, though Chris knew nothing of the other meaning. That promise was more than an assurance that she'd deliver a retelling of the time to Chris. She was going to have fun, damn it, and she wasn't going to let anything stop her from doing so. For now, or possibly in permanence, she would devote herself to appreciating all that she had, including Dave.

Once she stopped trying so fruitlessly to fix things, then maybe she would finally start to sleep better at night.