Chapter Five
Five
Abby
I try to do my homework on Ian and Lila’s coffee table, but my neck is starting to hurt from being hunched over. I turned in my paper last week, at least, and I think it was decent, so that’s one less thing to worry about.
Lila is humming from the kitchen as she makes dinner, and I watch out of the corner of my eye as Ian sneaks up behind her, throwing his arms around her waist and leaning down to whisper something in her ear that makes her giggle.
They’re adorable, really, but it sort of makes me nauseous to watch them, if only because what they have is something I don’t think is ever in the cards for me.
I’m too wary, too mistrusting, too…irritable, really, to find someone who would look at me like that.
Ian notices me at the coffee table when he turns back toward the living room, grinning.
“Working hard?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Trying to.”
“How’s school, anyway?”
“It’s going,” I tell him. “I’m ready to be done, that’s for sure.”
“Big fancy psychologist,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice.
Lila chuckles from the kitchen, turning to look over her shoulder. “Maybe she can help Jack.”
I tense at the mention of his name, thinking of Jack’s offer last week. I’ve been trying not to, but it’s hard, considering a room to myself is incredibly tempting.
I shake it off.
“I don’t think a team of psychologists can fix Jack,” I snark.
“He’s all bluster,” Lila says, wiping her hands on a towel before putting her dish in the oven. “Besides, he had plenty of that when we were kids. Didn’t exactly take to them.”
This gives me pause. “Jack’s been in therapy?”
“Child therapy,” she amends. “We both were. After…”
I wince, suddenly feeling like shit. I know Jack and Lila lost their parents when Jack was twelve and Lila was seven, and even knowing what a dirtbag my dad turned out to be, at least I still had my mom for most of my childhood. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for them.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
“It’s fine.” She waves me off. “It was a long time ago.”
Ian drops down on the end of the couch opposite me. “Is Jack coming to dinner?”
“I invited him,” she says, “but he said something about getting some practice in.”
Ian shakes his head. “He’s going to fuck his arm up even more.”
“I told you that we should have said something to Coach,” she says sternly.
Ian throws up his hands. “And have him hate us both for God knows how long? You heard him. He’s adamant about continuing to play.”
“He could really mess up his arm if he keeps this up,” Lila points out.
Ian nods. “But he’s an adult. We can’t make those decisions for him.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Lila mutters.
“I know,” Ian sighs, letting his head thump against the back of the couch. “But he’s a big boy. He has to make those decisions for himself.”
“You’re right,” Lila agrees, not sounding happy about it. “Even if he acts like a teenager, he is an adult.”
I watch all this curiously. I’ve noticed that everyone in Jack’s life seems to regard him with the same level of fond exasperation, like there’s truly no one in his life who thinks he can take care of himself.
It’s odd, what that thought does to me. I don’t have any particular love for Jack, and he really can be an idiot sometimes, but he’s still managed to make it this far.
Maybe it’s my own irritability over constantly being handled like I’m made of glass that has me feeling sympathetic.
“Why do you think he’s so hell-bent on continuing to play?” I ask.
Lila frowns, leaning against the counter in her kitchen.
“Hockey has always been a big part of his life. Our dad was the one that got him into it. Or at least, that’s what he told me.
I was too young to remember all that. It’s just important to him, and I get that, but I still don’t think it’s worth him practically losing an arm over. ”
I shrug, remembering that I had decided none of this was my business.
I think the only reason I am still thinking of it is because of Jack’s offer.
It still sounds like the worst idea I’ve ever heard, but sitting here on this couch that has been my bed for three weeks now, trying to fit into this dynamic that I feel like I don’t belong in…
I can’t pretend I haven’t been thinking about it.
It’s not as if I ever have to interact with him if I don’t want to.
I would have the privacy of my own room, after all.
But do we really think that Jack and I could cohabitate without one of us (probably me) strangling the other? The odds are decidedly slim.
The oven dings from beside Lila, and she quickly dons her oven mitts to take her casserole out, placing it on top of the oven and grinning back at Ian and me.
“Who’s hungry?”
“I should probably finish this…” I protest weakly, my stomach already growling.
Ian squeezes my shoulder. “Come on, it’ll be there when you’re done.”
I eye the cheesy goodness that peeks up from over the rim of the casserole dish on the counter, my mouth watering.
“I guess it can wait a little bit.”
Dinner consists of the same thing it usually does—Ian and Lila chat and laugh around me, trying to include me in the conversation, with me doing my best to be a part of things without feeling awkward about it all.
I still don’t love the idea of taking their charity, so every night that Lila feeds me and refuses to let me help or pitch in, I feel a little more uncomfortable about it all.
Not that they ever make me feel that way—no, they’re perfect, and I know they truly don’t mind that I’m here… it’s me who’s the problem.
“So have you heard any news about your apartment?” Ian asks, as if reading my thoughts.
I huff out a sigh. “Now they’re having to replace all the flooring. They found mold there too. It could put them another month behind.”
“Well, fuck,” Ian says sympathetically.
Lila points her fork at me. “Well you know you’re welcome to the couch for as long as you need. I just wish I had another bedroom for you. I doubt it’s the most comfortable.”
“It’s fine,” I say hurriedly. “I really appreciate you guys letting me stay.”
“We want you here,” Ian says warmly. “Of course we do.”
My phone buzzes against the table then and I pick it up, wincing when I see the name and immediately placing it back face down. Ian notices all of this, frowning.
“Is it him again?”
I nod. “Yep.”
“I think we should get you a restraining order,” he says.
I shake my head. “That seems drastic.”
“He’s harassing you!” Ian scoffs. “He has no business contacting you at all.”
I know he’s right, I know that—but how can I tell him that there is still some pathetic part of me that craves the attention? Even if it’s not exactly positive, at least he’s still talking to me.
God, that really does sound pathetic, even in my head.
“I’m really sorry that you’re still dealing with it,” Lila says with sympathy in her tone.
“It’s fine, really,” I assure her. “I can handle it.”
“I could talk to him,” Ian offers. “Get him to leave you alone.”
“No, no, really. It’s nothing for you guys to worry about. I can handle it, seriously.”
“Abby…” Ian sighs. “You shouldn’t have to handle it. You’ve already been through so much. You don’t need Dad’s continued bullshit on top of everything else.”
I feel myself tense under the weight of their pitying stares, feeling that creeping sense of unease settle under my skin.
It’s like when they look at me, all they see is everything I’ve been through.
Never mind that Ian has been through just as much—or even Lila, for that matter.
Why is it me who has to be the winner of the sympathy championship?
“I said I’m fine,” I say, just a little more harshly than I mean to.
Ian and Lila exchange a look, having a conversation without words.
I know that later, they’ll most likely talk about this conversation, about poor, pitiful Abby and everything she’s still dealing with.
It makes me want to go somewhere and hide, but there’s nowhere to hide.
Not here. Not when I’m trapped on their couch with no space for myself.
I wipe my mouth with my napkin. “I’m going to go to the bathroom.”
“Sure,” Ian says with a nod.
I can see that same pity in his eyes, like he’s worried about me. And I’m grateful for him, I really am. I’m happy that he cares. It’s just that it feels so stifling sometimes. It’s like he still thinks I’m a kid who needs saving. Like I’m not capable of taking care of myself.
And maybe that’s the result of his own guilt. Maybe because of all the years we lost when I was younger, Ian thinks he has to try twice as hard now to protect me. I love him for that, I really do, but I don’t need him to be my parent. I just need him to be my brother.
It makes me feel like I can’t fucking breathe sometimes.
I close the door behind me in the bathroom—Lila and Ian’s bathroom, because they don’t even have a spare—gripping the edge of the sink as I heave a sigh.
The thoughts going through my head are irrational and probably not at all smart, but the idea of sitting through another dinner where my brother and his girlfriend look at me like I’m made of glass makes my skin crawl, as ungrateful as that makes me sound.
The alternative is a very stupid idea, most likely, but given that I can’t exactly afford a whole new place while I wait for mine to be fixed… I don’t have a lot of other options.
Before I can change my mind, I pull out my phone, searching for a contact whose number I’ve never used.
Me: did you mean what you said about Ian’s old room?
I stare at the message thread for an entire minute before I see that he’s replying, holding my breath as I wait for his answer to come through.
Idiot: it’s yours if you want it
I peer up in the mirror at my dark circles and the weary set of my mouth, thinking about how hurt Ian and Lila will be if I tell them I’m going to stay somewhere else. Then I think about the way they look at me when they think I don’t notice, like I’m a sad puppy they want to take care of.
I’m probably really going to regret this before it’s all over.
Me: how soon can I move in?