Sweeter Than Fiction

Chapter Twenty-five

Don

“Hi, Jill,” I answer the video call from my sister.

“Hey, baby brother?”

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that? I’m close to a foot taller than you?”

“Exactly. It’s the only leverage I have over you anymore. Now, what are you doing?”

“Just got home from work and showered. Getting ready to head over to Abby’s.”

She gives me the biggest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen. “Oh, yeah? And how’s that going?”

I roll my eyes and sigh. “I told her how I feel about her. We’ve been together ever since.”

“Yay!” Her cheering prompts Kaylee to come over to see what’s going on.

“Momma?” She asks.

“Sorry, sweetie. I’m just happy Uncle D finally got his head out of his ass.”

“Ass,” she says with a giggle.

Jill groans. “Paul is going to kill me. The other day, she heard me talking to my friend and picked up on a naughty word used for male genitals.”

She tells her daughter to go play before getting back to our conversation. “So, how are things going with Abby?”

I can’t help but smile. “Amazing.”

“Aw, look at you! You’re just so cute!”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up, Jill. Did you need something? Because I need to get going.”

“Yes. I wanted to talk to you about Thanksgiving.”

“What about it?”

“Are you coming home?” She asks.

“I don’t know. I didn’t plan on it. I just got back to New York after my little impromptu trip.”

“Any chance I could change your mind?”

“Do you need me to come home?”

“Need is a strong word. I just think it would be nice if you did.”

I sigh. “Jill, why don’t you spit it out? I don’t have all night.”

“I’m worried about Mom.”

“Why? She seemed okay the other day when I was there.”

She runs her fingers through her hair as if trying to decide exactly where to begin. “I think she’s lonely. Lonelier than we thought. Donovan, she’s over here every single day—which is fine. I love her. But she’s now talking about online dating.”

“What?”

“Yes. Our mother is thinking about getting onto the interweb, as she calls it, and finding herself a man to keep her company. I think she just misses you. And the other day, she was talking about how we never get together for holidays anymore. This year, we are going to Disneyworld for Christmas. I invited her to come with us, but now, I need you to step up and come home for Thanksgiving. Either that or invite her up there for a trip.”

“Jill, you know she probably wouldn’t come. This place freaks her out. When I told her I was moving here, I thought she was going to worry herself into a heart attack.”

“I guess that means you’re going to come home then?” She asks it like it’s a question, but really, I know she’s not giving me much of a choice.

To sweeten the deal, she adds, “Why don’t you bring Abby?”

“What?”

“Yeah! You could bring Abby home! You know how happy it would make Mom to know that you have finally found a good girl?”

I squeeze the space between my eyes where a headache is starting to form. “Is this all some sort of master plan for you to get to meet my girlfriend?”

“Donovan, Mom needs you! Do I want to meet your girlfriend? Yes. But I think it would be better for Mom to meet her. She will get so excited that she gets to cook for everyone again, and she will be thrilled she gets to see her baby boy so happy.”

“Look, I will bring up the idea to Abby, but she is a bit of an introvert. This whole boyfriend, girlfriend thing of ours is still pretty new. I don’t want to freak her out and make her run in the opposite direction.”

“Oh, we will behave.”

I doubt that.

“Like, I said, I’ll talk to her. But I’m not making any promises. Either way, I will try my best to come home even if Abby doesn’t want to come with.”

“Thanks, Donovan, I owe you one.”

“And believe me, Jill, one day I will collect.”

We hang up, and I head over to Abby’s. I’m not going to push the issue of her coming to Nebraska with me. I’ll feel her out on the subject, and if I get any hint of her being uncomfortable, I’m not going to take it any further.

I knock on her door, and much to my surprise, I hear, “Come in,” rather than her greeting me as usual.

As I walk inside, I say, “I may not have lived in New York all that long, but I know that leaving your door unlocked is a big no-no.”

I shut the door behind me and lock it before turning to see her lying on the couch curled up into a ball.

“Abs?”

“Hi,” she says in a soft whine.

“Are you okay?” I ask, walking over to her.

“Yeah, I just—don’t feel well.”

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick again?”

“No. It’s not that kind of not feeling well.”

Kneeling next to the couch, I push her hair out of her face. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Try me,” I prompt. “Is it your stomach? Did you have dairy?”

She shakes her head. “No. Not my stomach.”

“You’re freaking me out here, beautiful.”

She pauses a moment more as if deciding if she really wants to tell me. “I feel like my uterus is trying to kill me from the inside out.”

The lightbulb in my head comes on. “Ohhhh. It’s that kind of not feeling well.”

This time, she nods.

“Why would I not want to know that?”

“Because most guys think it’s gross.”

Just another example of how all the men that Abby has dated have been absolutely awful and give the rest of us good guys a bad name.

“Abby, I don’t think it’s gross... It’s natural.”

“I have endometriosis, too. Which makes things much, much worse.”

“What exactly does that mean?” I ask.

“I won’t bore you with the medical jargon. But pretty much, it’s just another way my body is revolting against me. And it’s painful.”

I make a mental note to look up more details on that later, but right now, I just want to take care of her.

“What can I do, Abs?”

“I’ll be alright. You being here helps.”

She reaches out from under the covers to hold my hand.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

That gets me another nod.

“What sounds good?”

She thinks for a moment. “Something comforting.”

“Something like pasta? Something like fried chicken? Or something sweet?’

“Yes.” She answers which gets a laugh out of me.

“Okay, let me see what I can do.”

Half an hour later, I have ordered us enough food to make a literal buffet. I have everything from sushi to fried chicken to three different kinds of pasta. Oh, and let’s not forget the dessert sampler platter I ordered from a local bakery.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Abby says as she goes straight for a piece of fudge-covered cake.

“Miss Jones, I think you know exactly where to start.”

She giggles. “Must. Have. Chocolate.”

“Hey, no judgment here. Dessert is clearly the best part of any meal.”

She eats a little bit of everything except for the sushi. When I ask her why she hasn’t touched it, she gives me a squeamish look.

“Never had it. Not sure if I’d like it. I’m sort of weird about textures.”

“Fair enough,” I say popping one of the rolls into my mouth.

“I’m a little surprised that Mr. Nebraska is eating raw fish.”

“When I first got to New York, the owner that I’m doing work for offered to take me to dinner. It caught me off guard when he took me to a sushi restaurant. I didn’t want to be rude and say I thought it was weird. So, I dove right in—never thought I’d actually like it.”

When Abby’s finished eating, she goes into the kitchen to warm up some kind of heating pad thing and grab a couple of ibuprofen.

“I could have gotten that for you,” I tell her.

“I know. Because you are quite literally perfect. But it’s good that I got up for a minute. I’ve been on that couch curled up into a ball all day. I didn’t even do any work.”

“When I texted you earlier, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well? I could have brought you something to help.”

As she sits back down, her shoulders shrug. “I didn’t want you to feel obligated or anything. Plus, I knew that me telling you that I’m curled up on the couch in a great amount of pain doesn’t exactly sound like a good time. It’s not like we are going to be getting into any of the fun stuff?”

“Abby, were you scared that I wouldn’t want to come over just because I wasn’t going to get laid?”

Her silence tells me everything I need to know. “I don’t give a shit about that. You and I hung out long before we were sleeping together. We don’t need to fuck every single time we spend any time together.” Leaning forward, I add, “And I’ll tell you right now, that if you were to say you still wanted it, there’s no way in hell a little bit of blood is going to stop me.”

I prompt her to sit up for a moment so that I can sit down and have Abby lay her head in my lap. My fingers run through her hair while I think of anything else I can do to help.

I look at the TV where she’s watching some sort of cooking competition. After watching for a couple of minutes, I notice something.

“Are all of these people really bad cooks instead of good?” I ask.

“Mm-hmm. They make me feel better about my own cooking skills.”

“Can you not cook?”

Her shoulders shrug. “I mean, I don’t starve. I can fend for myself alright, but everything I make is pretty comparable to what a ten-year-old would eat. Mac and cheese. Chicken nuggets. Ramen Noodles. Anything beyond that, I’m not great.”

She goes on, “My problem is that usually when I actually do take the time to make something decent, by the time I’ve finished cooking, I don’t want to eat it anymore. It’s like it won’t even sound good at that point. That’s why I get takeout so much.”

“Well, I guess sometimes, I’ll just have to cook for us.” I lean down to kiss her on the cheek.

“You’re amazing.”

“Oh, I’m not that great. You’ve just dated a bunch of assholes. The bare minimum would seem like a lot to you.”

“That’s probably true. But that doesn’t alter the fact that I think you’re pretty wonderful.”

“Back at you, baby.”

This may not be the best time to bring this up, but I’m going to feel her out anyway.

“Hey, Abs. What do you normally do for Thanksgiving?”

“Usually, I go to my parents’ house to eat. This year, they asked if we could do it on Wednesday instead of Thursday. One of my brothers has plans, I guess. Why?”

“Well, Jill called me earlier to see if I could come home to see our mom. I guess she’s been lonely.”

“Oh.” I swear I think I hear her voice fall a little. “That should be fun.”

“I actually wanted to see if you wanted to come with me.”

She turns so that she’s looking up at me. “You want me to come to Nebraska?”

“Don’t feel like you have to say yes. I won’t be mad if you think it’s too soon. I just thought it might be fun. And I’ll pay for your ticket.”

I watch her process what I just asked. Now, I am fairly sure I’ve freaked her out.

“I have one condition,” she says.

“Hit me with it.”

“You have to come to my Thanksgiving too. I could use a buffer.”

That gets an instant smile from me. “You’ve got yourself a deal, beautiful.”

I add, “You know, I would have gone with you regardless of if you went with me.”

“I know. But yours will probably be much more pleasant than mine. I’m just warning you now.”

“Oh, I can handle it.”

We go back to watching the show, sitting in a comfortable silence as I play with her hair.

We don’t speak until she asks, “Do you want to stay tonight?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes, but only if you want.”

“I’d love to.”

“Thank you for dinner,” she says. “You didn’t have to buy so much, but I love that you did. This time of the month, I swear I want to eat everything in sight.”

“Then, I guess we will just have to do this every month.”