Chapter 25 The Pickup
Chapter25 The Pickup
The Mother of the Groom
Abigail had not stopped talking to George since the minute he picked her up from the airport in the old Mercedes. Abigail
missed the smell of Ricky’s new Lexus, but she was glad to see her husband, if only to have a new set of ears. Sarah had proven
to be a terrible travel companion, alternating between sleeping and ignoring her on the five-hour flight home. But George
was eager to hear the many details about the Montecito trip, as if he had really missed his wife and found her to be the most
interesting woman in the world, asking follow-up questions to all her commentary. The conversation started and ended with
the shocking news about the wedding, of course.
“And we were right in the middle of celebrating when Penny called and dropped the bomb! Well, Alexa immediately went into the other room to speak privately, but you know, my good hearing. I heard Penny say that Alexa had been a terrible role model for her. Didn’t I, Sarah?” Abigail looked to her daughter for confirmation. She was in the back seat, earbuds in and texting furiously, presumably to Lloyd or about Lloyd. “Have you heard from Chase? I spoke to him a few days ago but he was in the middle of work and, well, you know how that goes with him.”
“I haven’t. I’m sure this is a simple misunderstanding, and they’ll get it sorted out,” George replied, not taking his eyes
off the road. Driving through Stamford on I-95 at rush hour was his personal Le Mans. “It’s a shame. I secured a good deal
on a tent rental with a company out of Ventura. Hate for that discount to go to waste.”
“You didn’t...”
“I did. You know Antonio who runs the pro shop at the club? His cousin lives out there. Works for a big events company, if
you can believe that. He said he’d set me up a tent at half price. See? I told you it was no big deal.”
Abigail shot him a look. He did one thing and expected praise after all she’d done to hold their lives together? “Well, Alexa
said we should keep moving forward with plans. No cancellations, so don’t give Antonio’s cousin the bad news yet.”
“Sounds like you and Alexa reached a détente.”
“Not a détente. That would imply there was hostility, and there wasn’t. We didn’t know each other, that was all. The assumption
that two women should automatically become friends simply because they share gender is outdated, George. But now that I know
her a bit better, I like her. A lot. There’s a lot to admire in her. We work well together.”
George sniffed a bit. “I apologize for bringing the assumptions of the patriarchy down on you.”
Abigail laughed. She did enjoy his stuffy sense of humor, even after all these years. And his command of language. He may
not have been the financial superstar spouse that other women possessed, but his manners and charm occasionally won the day.
Her time in California had convinced her of one thing: She had to come clean with George about everything, from her fear about their financial future to the truth about her gig at the senior center, a job that she discovered she loved once she was away from it for a few days. After watching how the Widows connected with one another and how quickly Sarah and Lloyd had bonded, Abigail was inspired to be more open in her relationships. Full disclosure was her new personal motto. Tiny resentments had compounded to create major stumbling blocks in Abigail’s life. But no more! She wanted to make their next few decades a model marriage and vowed to recommit to her George. Balding, bridge-playing George. Maybe she’d even reintroduce the scented candles.
Staring at him now, she even felt a touch of warmth throughout her whole body. How could that be? Spontaneous desire rarely
made an appearance these days. Maybe the wine on the plane, she thought. She hoped Sarah would head straight to bed with her
heartache and headphones. Maybe she and George could do the same minus the heartache. “Apology accepted.” She gave his thigh
a light squeeze while tossing him her sauciest look. He took his eyes off the road for a few seconds to take her in with enthusiasm.
All of a sudden, Alexa popped into her head. Strong, lonely Alexa. Abigail knew in that instant that she wouldn’t trade George
for all the independence in the world. (If there was such a metric.) She couldn’t imagine navigating the last third of her
time on this earth on her own, and she certainly didn’t want to face her remaining days as a singleton. He wasn’t perfect,
but he was hers. She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Alexa in Ming’s living room about schedules and obligations.
Sure, she loved it when George went away, but she should have added that she loved when he came home. Or, in this case, when
she came home. They might not have known the essence of each other when they married, but they did now.
She thought about the picket fence they had built along the front of their house on Water Street shortly after they moved in, their first expenditure from the house maintenance trust. George said he wanted a proper entrance to their home, a statement that you were entering the Blakeman domain. George spent hours talking to woodworkers and driving all over the state taking photos in pursuit of designing a historically accurate fence with the correct finials to adorn the posts. Abigail was mostly concerned that the fence would be sturdy and stay true to form so she could grow roses along the top rail. When the work was done, they both got what they wanted, a handsome historically accurate fence that supported the blooms and created a grand entrance. Abigail ensured the posts were indestructible by sourcing galvanized steel that mimicked wood. George found a master craftsman to create the finials of his dreams.
And that was them, really. Abigail was the solid foundation and George was the decorative finish. She needed to talk to him
about their future. But first, she’d light that candle in the bedroom and see what happened.