Tammy

You and Tammy had agreed on one free pass each. Within a month, you'd both used yours. Yours was a coworker leaving the state the following week, someone unlikely to remain in either of your lives. When you asked Tammy who she'd chosen, she answered without hesitation. “Randy.” “Randy?” “Yeah.” Randy wasn't some stranger. His brother was married to your sister, so he was at birthdays, cookouts, and holidays. He'd become part of your friend group too. He was easy to like, and everyone knew what happened when you gave him a story: sooner or later, he'd retell it, adding enough to make it better. Tammy loved that about him. She did the same with family stories, keeping embarrassing moments alive years after everyone had forgotten them. “Why him?” you asked. She considered you. “Because I like him. And because I knew it wouldn't just disappear.” Your stomach tightened. “If I'd picked a random guy, eventually we'd stop talking about it. Nobody would remember. But Randy?” She laughed softly. “You know how he is.” “You're expecting him to tell people?” “He won't have to tell everybody. Somebody will find out. Then somebody else will. It'll come up at your sister's house, with the guys, at some party years from now.” She seemed pleased. “You like that?” “Yeah.” She reached for her glass. “I like family stories. The ones everybody knows, even when everybody remembers them differently.” You waited for the joke. There wasn't one. “I think it'll be funny,” she said. “Ten years from now, somebody will mention Randy, and everyone will remember.” She touched your hand. “I kind of love that.” You realized she wasn't trying to hurt you. That was what made it worse. She couldn't see why the agreement stopped at what happened and didn't include what everyone might someday know. Her brow furrowed. “Why wouldn't I?”