25. Property of Abbi and Weston

CHAPTER 25

PROPERTY OF ABBI AND WESTON

WESTON

I wake up in an empty bed. Rolling over, I look around for Abbi. But she's not here.

Her phone is, though. In fact, I think her ringing phone is what just woke me up. When I grab it off the bedside table, the screen says: Caller is DALTON .

Even though the call has already gone to voicemail, I decide that it could be important. So I heave my groggy self into an upright position and don the Westie pants Abbi gave me for Christmas. Then I start looking for her.

It's just after seven a.m., so the house is quiet. Abbi is the only one awake. She's seated herself at the kitchen table, where the last two remaining slices of cake are positioned with a card I’d printed before going to bed last night: PROPERTY OF ABBI AND WESTON. DO NOT EAT UNDER PENALTY Of DEATH.

"Cake for breakfast, huh?"

She startles. "I didn't hear you come downstairs." And when she meets my gaze, her eyes are red-rimmed.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Of course.”

Hmm . “Your eyes are red.”

“That happens sometimes. I made coffee. I hope that's okay. ”

“Of course it’s okay.” I put her phone on the table. “This says that Dalton called.”

“Oh! Sorry. Hope it wasn’t too loud.”

“It's fine, baby.” She seems a little brittle, but I can’t quite put my finger on why.

“I'll check to see if the coffee is done. Here’s a fork.” She positions the cake plate between us.

“Thank you.”

Then she takes the phone and heads to the other end of the big kitchen, tapping the phone to make a call as she goes. "Hi Dalton," she says in a hushed voice. “Sorry I missed your call."

Her polite tone tears at me in a way that's hard to explain. Dalton is the only family she has left, but she speaks to him like he’s the school principal. I’m sorry I missed your call . It’s not even eight o’clock, for chrissakes.

"Noon. Sure. Thank you. I'll be ready. What’s that?” Her eyes cut to mine. "I'm ninety percent sure he has class. But I'll double check. Of course." She reaches for two coffee mugs in the drying rack. “Thank you. Lunch is fine, really. I have to work at dinnertime. See you soon."

She hangs up the call and pours two cups of coffee. I'm watching her, trying to decide if I should ask her what that's all about, when I realize I'm letting her serve me a drink in my own damn home.

I leap up and grab the milk out of the fridge. "Thank you for the coffee. Now come and sit with me."

Abbi returns to the table and takes a fortifying gulp of coffee. But she still doesn’t quite look like her normal, chipper self.

"Big plans with Dalton today?"

“I’m meeting him at noon,” she says in a flat voice.

"Special occasion?" I press.

She sighs. "It's the third anniversary of my mother's death. We go to the cemetery every year.”

My heart drops. "Oh Abbi, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, uh, thanks. It's just a shitty day. We get through it."

“Should I come along?" I hear myself ask. Because I'm pretty sure I heard Dalton make that invitation.

"No," she says quickly. “It's not fun. ”

"Well of course it isn't," I agree. “But neither was watching my family implode over Christmas.”

Her eyes search me without really seeing me. “Dalton is taking me to lunch after. But you must have class today,” she points out. "And then practice."

"Well, yeah,” I admit. “And I have to get fitted for a tuxedo before my sister murders me.”

She flashes me a quick smile. “Weston, you're busy. It's okay. Really." Then she ducks behind her coffee cup.

I feel uneasy. This is, to be fair, the kind of quandary that ride-or-die single guys avoid. I honestly don't know whether I'm supposed to insist on being there for Abbi, or not. “What about Price?" I ask. "Will you have to duck him today?"

Abbi shakes her head vigorously. “Price wouldn’t dream of showing up to a cemetery. You don't have to do the fake boyfriend thing today.”

Well, ouch. Because I guess I’m not showing up to one either. I really do have class, and it’s a review session for a test I’m taking in two days.

“Okay,” I say quietly. I pick up the fork and take a bite of cake. “This is really good stuff.”

Abbi’s smile is a flash, and then it’s gone. “Thanks.”

“It’s awesome that you have her recipe.”

“Yeah.” Abbi picks up her fork and looks at the cake. But then she puts the fork down again. “I’m not, uh, hungry. You can finish this. Actually, I’ve got to run.”

“But…”

Before I even manage to finish that sentence, she’s on her way out of the kitchen.

Five minutes later she reappears with her backpack. She gives me a kiss on the cheek and reaches for her coffee mug. “I’ll wash this before I head out.”

I clamp down on her hand. “Leave it, Abbi. I can wash the damn mug.”

“Okay,” she says quickly, her eyes flashing with an emotion I can’t quite read. “ Later.”

And then she’s gone, and I’m sitting here feeling unsettled.

“Someone’s an early riser,” mutters Tate as he shuffles into the kitchen. “Your girl get you up early for sexy times?”

“No.” I let out a sigh. “I might have screwed up with her.”

“Might have?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure.”

“Hmm.” Tate points at the cake. “You eating all that?”

I pass him Abbi’s clean fork. “We can go halfsies. She ran out of here without eating it.”

“Hmm.” He takes a bite. “You two have a fight?”

I shake my head. “I just don’t know where the boundary lines are, you know? Abbi doesn’t have an easy life.”

“Do any of us?” Tate asks.

I know for a fact that Tate’s family farm is struggling, and he somehow does chores there, works an extra job, and still makes it to hockey practice.

So the man has a point. “I guess everybody has their moments. But this is a bad moment for Abbi, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“I thought it was casual with you two.”

“It is,” I insist.

“Then what are you worried about?”

“I’m not sure,” I lie, and then I shove another bite of cake into my mouth. “Honestly, I’m starting to feel like Abbi deserves better than me. I’m a commitmentphobe with a busy schedule. She needs a guy who wants to go the distance. A real partner.”

“She seems like a great girl,” Tate says. “But she’s graduating, right?”

“Right.” I feel relief just saying it. “I won’t let Abbi down, and she won’t let me down. We’ll just go our separate ways.”

Tate’s eyebrows lift. “Hang on, though. Did Abbi say she wants more from you?”

“Well…” I try to think. “No, she never said so. It’s just a feeling I have.” Don’t most women want more of me?

Christ, maybe I’m just an egomaniac.

“See, you don’t actually know.” My friend shrugs. “She might not even be looking for a long-term thing. Maybe she’s just as relieved as you are that it’s off the table.”

“Hmm.” I sit with this idea for a moment. But it doesn’t quite feel right. “Abbi keeps her cards pretty close to her chest. But I get the feeling she can’t let herself expect more from anyone in her life. She’s really alone in the world.”

“Like how alone?”

“An orphan. She has a stepdad, but he remarried. And there’s a new step-stepbrother who sexually harasses her.”

“Wait—that bouncer at the Biscuit?” Tate asks.

“That’s the guy.”

Tate makes a face like he’s tasted something foul. “That guy is a tool.”

“Yeah, and he’s the reason she can’t even live in her stepfather’s home. She’s got a lot on her plate. And life has already disappointed her so brutally…”

“You don’t want to be the next thing that goes wrong for her,” Tate suggests.

“Exactly.”

He shakes his head. “That’s tricky. Because you got your issues, but Abbi’s got more. She’s not a starter girlfriend.”

“A what? ”

“She needs a pro, right? Not someone who gets itchy about commitment.”

“Right,” I agree.

“Hmm,” Tate says. “Did you end up inviting her to your sister’s wedding in May?”

“No, I didn’t,” I say slowly. “I doubt Abbi will still be around by then.”

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Tate says. “It sends a whole other message, you know? Weddings make people crazy.”

“Yeah? I’m pretty sure marriage makes people crazy. But weddings just make people drunk and horny.”

“I dunno, man.” Tate grins. “Be careful who you take to a wedding. All that devotion and commitment is, like, contagious. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But you gotta be ready to receive that pass when the winger sends it. ”

“Yeah. Thanks for the advice.” I drain my coffee. Devotion and commitment are not a good look on me. Sad but true.

Does that make me an asshole for spending time with Abbi?

I only wish I knew.