7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Abby
F inishing this story has given me exactly what I need lately. Burying myself in the words, separating from real life, it's sedative.
At the same time, I know it’s just a matter of time before everything picks up speed. The past two days have been a waiting game to make sure the protective order goes through correctly. Once it does, the rest should start to fall into place. At least that’s what Trisha told me before we left the conference room. I want to believe her. But it’s a little hard to do that when life, or Sam in this case, keeps hitting you when you’re down. Literally. I know it’s something I need to do. Something I want to do. But it’s the single scariest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.
So, while everyone around me keeps moving on with their life, I feel like I’m stuck until something else happens. Something other than my writing. Getting accepted into the LAO is a big deal, and one I am so grateful for, but if I’m being honest with myself, it’s intimidating.
I scribble another note onto an increasingly jumbled piece of paper about a line I need to adjust, the ink in my pen somehow still holding up. It’s a wonder my hand hasn’t cramped up yet. I set the pen down on the library study table to splay my fingers wide before returning my attention to my laptop.
“Abby?” The voice pulls me from my computer screen, eyes straining to focus on the person standing before me. Meredith leans into her hip, clutching the leather strap of her purse. “Uh, hey,” she says hesitantly.
It takes me a moment to find my words. I haven’t seen her since the day she called the cops. I haven’t wanted to. But something in me starts to cry. It starts to beg, pushing me toward her. I think deep down, I do want my best friend back. But I don’t know how to go back to what we were. Or if that’s even possible.
“Can I sit?” she asks, even though I haven’t greeted her yet. I nod, leaning back in my chair. Her long curly brown hair is pulled back into a low bun. She wears her usual light-wash denim overalls, a black crop top underneath, and brown strappy sandals. She hangs her purse over the back of the chair before taking a seat across from me. She stares at all the papers around me, smiling a little brighter with each passing moment.
“You’re still writing.”
Little does she know that I stopped for almost three weeks. Not that I wanted to, but I couldn’t focus. Every time I tried starting again, I would zone out and have to pull myself back to reality by finding something else to do to keep me from going back to … that place.
I nod again, watching her intently. She scans the papers a moment longer before finally making eye contact with me. Her smile fades to a slight frown. The air between us is heavy, thick with the unspoken words both of us surely want to say. But how do we say them? And do we even want to say them? I do. At least I think I do. But I don’t know how to begin.
Meredith starts before me. “I’m sorry,” she says. And I know she means it.
“Me, too,” I say quickly, voice almost cracking. A second later we’re both standing and hugging in the middle of the library. I fight back the tears enough to only let one escape, but Meredith has caved to her emotions, her tears falling quickly. She stays quiet, but I can feel them coating the top of my shoulder.
She starts to giggle, pulling away and wiping tears from her cheeks. She wipes at my damp shoulder. “Sorry,” she says with another giggle.
“It’s okay.” We sit back down, both of us now presenting faint smiles. “I’ve missed you,” I say. It’s the truth. I’ve missed having a best friend. My best friend. I didn’t know just how much until a minute ago. So much so that I can look past the whole reason I cut her off in the first place. And now, I’m not so sure I’m mad about it anymore.
“I’m sorry,” she says again.
“It’s okay, really.”
“No. I need to say this. I need to get this off my chest. And then you can decide.”
I nod, settling into my seat.
“I’m sorry for the way things ended. I’m sorry for going about that in the way I did. I will say I’m not sorry for what I did. Just the way I went about it.” She pauses, likely to assess my reaction to that admission. When I don’t say anything, she continues. “I care about you, Abby. So much it hurts, because you can’t, or maybe you don’t want to see how amazing you are. I won't hesitate to call the cops again if something else happens, but I promise, I will let you know first, so you can at least prepare for it next time. You can be mad at me all you want every time, but I love you too much to see you hurt.”
I smile, taking in all that she said. I don’t hate her. I could never hate her. Friends fight. And I know she’s being honest. I know she cares about me. I know she loves me. Her previous actions prove that. “You won't have to do that anymore. At least I hope not.”
She looks confused, brows drawn tightly together. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m pressing charges, Mer.” She starts smiling, but I continue before she says anything. “I signed a protective order. He can’t come near me anymore.”
A tear escapes her again. She wipes it away quickly before standing and pulling me into another hug.
Rather than spending the day writing, Meredith and I sit in the library like we always used to, and catch each other up on everything. She tells me about getting accepted into the masters program here at Oxly to get her Masters of Arts in Arts Administration to which I had no idea she'd even applied last semester. She said she didn't say anything in case she didn't get in.
When we finally stop our giddy excitement about her news, I start on the recent events of my life. Every little detail since that day at the baseball field. She listens intently, asking questions as needed, and making fitting comments throughout the conversation. It’s this that I needed, that I didn’t realize would help me feel so much better about my decisions. I needed my best friend to help me through this. To bounce ideas off of. To get another outside perspective. I’m so in the middle of everything, as is Dallas in a lot of ways, that sometimes it feels like I’m not going to get genuine feedback on everything I’m dealing with. Meredith has always been the one to play devil's advocate when needed, even if I don’t want it. She’s always had my back.
When I finish updating her on the hospital stay and the start of court, she hugs me again. I don’t think she’d ever let go of me if I didn’t tell her I had to go. The boys' game would likely be over soon, and I have to meet them at the field. Meredith insists on walking with me, saying she needs to make up for lost time. I agree. It’s been far too long.
“So," she starts, poking my arm. "Things have been going well with you two?” Her steps are bouncy as she walks next to me through campus.
I can’t help the cheesy smile that breaks out on my face. “Yeah, I would say so.”
“Good. You deserve to be happy.”
“I’m trying.” I poke her back. “What about you? Any special ladies caught your eye yet?”
She shakes her head. “None worth mentioning. I’ve had a few one-night stands, but that’s as exciting as it’s gotten.”
“You’ll find someone.” As we walk, the sound of the baseball announcer echoes in the distance. The game is almost done. The speakers relay that it's the last inning but I don't catch the score. “Oh! Guess what!” I can’t believe I forgot to tell her about the crazy writing progress.
“You won a million dollars,” she jokes.
“God, I wish. But no. I got into the LAO.”
Meredith stops mid-step, mouth hanging open. “What?” she yells. “When? How? What?” she yells again.
I laugh, head falling back. “I just found out yesterday. I’ve been furiously writing to finish my short story. Dr. Kraus submitted it to the LAO a few weeks back, and I was nominated for an award and got accepted into the program. It’s like a dream come true.” Meredith has listened to me talk about this program since we met and has encouraged me more than once to apply.
“No kidding. Oh my God, Abby. I’m so excited for you.” She finally starts walking again. She grabs my hand, walking close next to me, swinging our arms in succession with our steps.
“Will you come with me to the awards ceremony? It’s in two weeks.” Having Meredith with me would truly make my day. She’s been supportive of my writing since the day we met, and I cannot bear to keep her out of my life any longer.
“A thousand times yes!” She squeezes my hand tighter, practically skipping her way to the field. “What’s the dress code?”
“God, don’t remind me. It’s black-tie. What the hell am I supposed to wear to a black-tie event?” My closet is filled with black clothes, sure, but nothing is nice enough for a black-tie event. “I’ll probably just wear one of my nicer summer dresses.”
“A summer dress? Absolutely not.” She stops again, this time standing in front of me. “You know what this calls for.” She grins wildly, drumming her hands on the nearby bench. “A shopping spree,” she sings.
I roll my eyes at the idea. “Mer, no. I don’t need to buy anything for this.”
She cocks her head to the side. “Oh, come on.” The puppy dog eyes are in full swing. “You have to. And it’s been far too long since we’ve gone shopping together. Don’t get me wrong, I love hanging out in the library with you, but it would be nice to get out a little more.”
I sigh knowing she’s not going to let up. “All right, fine. We can go shopping. But I’m not buying anything unless I’m absolutely in love with it, because I’ll likely never wear it again.”
She shrieks with joy and grabs my hand again, skipping the rest of the way to the field with a grin so wide it's contagious.
Meredith insisted on going shopping as soon as possible. “Just in case we don’t find something on the first day,” she'd said. So now, a couple of days later, as I park my bike outside the mall to wait for her, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll need multiple trips to find something. I hate shopping. Unless it’s for something I’m excited about like books or candles, I tend to loathe most shopping experiences.
“Of course, you rode the bike. What happens if you find something big and poofy?” she asks, meeting me at the front doors.
“If I find something big and poofy, I’m going to need you to kill me on the spot.”
She laughs and holds the door open for me. The mall isn’t busy since it’s the middle of the week. Good. Fewer people will see me awkwardly try on dresses. Shops line both sides of the wide hall and sit mostly empty save for the employees and the occasional shopper. Loud music plays in the large open space that echoes through the building.
Meredith comes here more than I do, so I let her lead the way. I follow her past the food court, past a group of stalls selling phone cases and lotions in the middle of the hall. I politely decline when a lady offers to straighten my hair at her booth. No way am I letting some lice-ridden tool near my hair. Meredith leads me toward what appears to be a much fancier store than I can afford. And of course, that’s exactly where we’re headed.
“Mer, I can’t afford any of this,” I say, checking the price tag on a skirt and almost keeling over right then and there.
“Just humor me.” She wanders farther into the store, scanning the racks of dresses.
I pause for a few more seconds but ultimately decide it’s no use fighting this. I wouldn't put it past her to drag me kicking and screaming.
The store is suited for corporate and black-tie events. Men's suits line the walls on one side while women's suits, skirts, and dresses line the other. I imagine this is where Dallas’s mom shops for her wardrobe.
As I scan the racks, I try not to look at the price tags. I could try a few on, humor Meredith for a bit, and then leave to find something more affordable. So, that’s what I’ll do. I grab a dark, navy blue floor-length gown and a black one. Both will likely hug my curves far more than I’m used to. When I find Meredith, she’s already adopted the help of an employee to hold dresses. I hand over the two I found, and Meredith leads me to a full changing room. Multiple dresses hang on every hook, the inside mirror almost fully covered by every type of fabric.
I look at her with wide eyes, but she only smiles. “I said humor me.”
“Do we plan on being here until close? Because I’m pretty sure you crammed the whole store in there.” She bats her eyelashes, hands pressed together like she’s praying. “Fine,” I say, caving to her wishes.
The first dress I try on is an immediate no and I almost refuse to come out of the changing room, but Meredith insists. She fights the laughter when I step out, immediately forcing me back in. The next one is off-white, and I decided it looks too bridal. Meredith agrees. The third could be a contender although the price tag begs to differ.
“I like that one,” Meredith says, as I walk out in a dark forest green dress.
It falls straight, bunching at the floor. A slit rises at the front of my right thigh, stopping in the middle where my serpent tattoo starts to peek out. With how short I am, it would need to be hemmed. That is if the rich version of me were standing here and not the broke, jobless college student. The fabric is tight, hugging my curves, but being velvet, it’s soft enough that it flows freely with my movements. I don’t feel too constricted.
“Do you like the neckline?” Meredith asks, standing up. She eyes me up and down before starting to round the short pedestal I’m standing on.
I look down. The V-neck dips low, revealing a good amount of cleavage but not so much that I feel like my boobs are going to fall out. “What am I supposed to do with these?” I ask, shrugging my shoulders at the tight strips of fabric that hug my biceps.
“It’s called ‘off the shoulder.’ You don’t do anything with them. It’s supposed to be like that.” The store associate who’s been helping us stifles a laugh. Meredith approaches the front of me again to get a better look. “We can always find one without sleeves if you don’t like them. Come on, try this one on. This one’s sleeveless.” She pulls the skirt of another dress out of the changing room just far enough for me to see the fluffy red fabric covered in sparkles.
I raise a brow at her. “I’m vetoing that one.”
“You haven’t even tried it on.”
“Nope, and I’m not 'humoring you’ on this one.”
She takes another look at it before sighing and handing it to the associate to put back. “Fine. One more, though, please?”
“One more. Then I need food.”
She claps her hands quickly. “Yay! Okay, there’s a black one in there. You can’t decide it’s your favorite just because it's black, but I do think you’ll like it.”
I disappear into the changing room to find said dress. It hangs at the back of the stack. There’s more tulle than I would prefer, but on the hanger, it is gorgeous. As I step into the lace at the top, the rest of the dress bunches on the floor. The skirt reveals large lace florals scattered across the tulle. Two slits stop high on my thighs. The V-neck dips low, almost to my belly button while the spaghetti straps cross my back to leave the rest open. The waistline hugs tighter the further I pull the zipper up the small of my back and the boning in the torso helps keep everything in place.
When I step out, Meredith shields what I assume is a wide-open mouth with her hands. Her eyes crinkle at the corners. She likes this one. Even the store associate has a large smile on her face.
“Abby, that is beautiful on you. Please tell me you like it.” She’s standing now, hands on her cheeks.
I turn to the mirror to get a better look. It is beautiful. I feel pretty in this one. And not just because it’s black. I’ve never been a fan of anything too floral, but I think this one has just the right amount without going overboard. There’s even a hint of sparkle in the skirt. And it’s comfier than the green dress. I feel like I can move in this one without having to keep my arms pinned at my sides.
“I think this one is my favorite. But I haven’t checked the price tag.” It hangs from the zipper at my butt. When I finally see the number, my mouth drops. “Mer, I cannot afford this. We’ve got to go somewhere else.” The store associate offers a small smile, taking a step back from fluffing the skirt of the dress.
Meredith comes up and checks the tag but only smiles at me. “It’s not that bad.”
“I have other things to pay for that are more important than this dress.”
She sighs. “Can I at least get a picture first?”
Once she takes her picture and we leave the unruly expensive store, I finally relax as I eat the burrito I ordered. No way could I ever convince myself to spend that much money on a single dress.
After we finish eating, she leads me into a much more reasonably priced store, and I manage to find a simple, black floor-length dress with a halter top.
“Thank you for humoring me,” Meredith says as we walk back to the parking lot. I shove my new dress into my backpack when I reach my bike. “Please hang that up when you get home. That fabric wrinkles easily.”
“Yes, Mom,” I joke.
She smiles, giving me a goodbye hug. “Ride safe. Let me know when you get home.”
“I will.” I pull out of the parking lot, enjoying the newfound excitement for the ceremony.