CHAPTER FIVE ~ GRAEME ~ FOURTEEN YEARS AGO #2
“Would you believe that after Tripp broke up with me, he asked if I wanted to stay and eat with him?” Abby says. “His exact words were, ‘How about one last dinner and then one last night together?’”
I make an indignant sound as that filmy red coats my vision once more.
I keep my mouth clamped shut since I don’t know how she’d feel about me bad-mouthing Tripp.
I can’t imagine she’d get back together with him after what happened tonight, but if she did, I wouldn’t want things to be weird between us because I’d slagged him off.
“He was paying, so I was tempted to order the most expensive things on the menu,” she says. “Appetizer, main course, dessert. Fancy cocktails I’d tell the waitress to keep bringing the second I finished one. But the thought of sitting there with him zapped my appetite.”
“And now it’s back with a vengeance?” I ask, motioning toward her stomach.
“Apparently. I ate lunch early because I was so excited about trying a new restaurant, and wanted to be good and hungry when the time came.” She lets out a wistful sigh.
Her eyes grow hazy, and I wonder if she’s thinking about the numpty who broke up with her or the meal she missed out on.
The girl does love to eat; it’s one of the things I’ve always liked most about her.
“Do you want me to call Drew and see if she’s free to come meet you?” I ask.
“She and Brodie are in Ottawa for a few days on a romantic getaway,” she says.
Shit, I’d forgotten. Brodie spends more time at the girls’ place than he does at ours, so it’s not unusual to go days without seeing him. We keep in touch daily via texts and phone calls, but seeing Abby in distress has messed with my head.
“And Fern is away with Alejandro, isn’t she?” I say. “Well, I guess you’re stuck with me then.”
There’s that half smile again. “You’re the best, but I’d be shitty company. I’ve already cried on you, whined at you, and made you think I was going to barf on you.” She rubs a spot on my jacket, and I drop my gaze to see a wet blotch on the shoulder.
“That’s what friends are for,” I say. “Why don’t we grab some dinner and head back to your place?
We can talk or sit in silence. Watch a movie or blast some music.
Whatever you like. And, hell, if you really want to be alone, at least let me buy you dinner and walk you home.
That way, at least I’ll know you’ve eaten more than instant noodles or whatever rubbish you’d have for dinner when you’re at home alone. ”
I expect her to laugh—I want her to laugh, want to see the light return to her eyes, and that tiny dimple in her right cheek—but she only studies me with a serious, unreadable expression.
For a moment, I wonder if my mask has slipped and my feelings are painted across my face.
It wouldn’t be the first time. There have even been instances where she’s looked at me with what seems to be more than friendly interest, although that might be wishful thinking on my part.
“Can we go to your place instead?” she asks. “And maybe order pizza or something when we get there? These boots are pinching my toes, and I’m dying to take them off.”
“Sure, we can go to mine. Want me to give you a collie bucky?”
Now she does laugh, and the sound is better than all of my favourite songs combined. Who knew all it would take was using one of the many Scottish terms for what she knows as a piggyback. “I don’t think I’m quite at that stage, but I reserve the right to change my mind once we start walking.”
* * *
“Maybe we should have gone back to my place after all. I’m desperate to get out of these clothes.”
Abby’s statement sends my mind straight into the gutter. I always do my best to avoid sexualizing her, but I’m only human. A twenty-five-year-old male of the species at that. One who happens to be hopelessly, irrevocably in love with his best friend.
“You can wear something of mine,” I tell her, aiming the remote at the TV so I don’t have to look at her. “Anything you like. Help yourself.”
She disappears down the hall. After a few minutes of flipping aimlessly through the channels, I drop the remote and go to the kitchen to retrieve the package that arrived yesterday from Scotland.
Our food should be here soon; I called in the order when we were partway home since Abby’s stomach continued to protest loudly.
When I return to the living room, she’s sitting on the couch, wrapped in the tartan blanket I keep on the foot of my bed.
“What did you choose?” I ask.
She pulls the edges of the blanket back, flasher style, to reveal a blue Queen’s University sweatshirt and matching joggers. Both are far too big for her, making her appear tiny...and making me feel oddly possessive at the sight of her in my clothes.
Abby’s eyes light up when she sees what I’m holding. “Is that what I think it is?”
“If you think it’s a care package from my mum and dad, then aye.” I sit on the couch and place the large box between us. “Have at it.”
With Brodie out of town, I made the executive decision to open the box yesterday so I could call our parents to thank them. I was going to put everything away, but something told me to hold off. Now, watching Abby’s smile grow as she digs through the contents, I’m glad I did.
She hands me each item until my lap is overflowing with packages of Scottish tablet, Tunnocks Tea Cakes, Mackie’s crisps, Edinburgh Rock, and more.
“Aww, you each get your own little tin of goodies too,” she says. “Oh, and there’s one for Drew! That’s so sw—” The words die as she comes to the final item in the box. “This one has my name on it.”
“Huh, would you look at that? Good thing I didn’t eat it then, eh?”
She smiles and rolls her eyes as she pries the lid off the thistle-patterned tin. Her chin wobbles as she pulls back the parchment paper to reveal a selection of home-baked goods, courtesy of my mum.
I swallow thickly at the way her chin continues to tremble. I’m not sure if I can handle seeing her cry again today. “I’ve told her your favourites over the years. I don’t think I got a single piece of the millionaire’s shortbread she sent last time.”
The smile Abby gives me is likely meant to be contrite, but the gleam in her eyes tells me she’s not remotely sorry. What she doesn’t know is that I’d hand over the entire contents of the care package if it would make her happy.
“Well, you won’t have to share yours this time,” she says, inspecting the contents of the container.
“Mmm, Scottish rocky road and raspberry snow cakes too. It was so sweet of Morna to think of me.” She counts on her fingers, and I know she’s doing some time zone math.
“It’s after midnight in Scotland, otherwise I’d suggest calling her.
Will you thank her for me the next time you talk to her? ”
“Of course.” My parents love Abby and Drew. Every time they call Brodie or me and we’re with one or both of the girls, they insist on being put on speaker or switching to video.
The doorbell rings, and I leave the room to get our food. I return a minute later, balancing a stack of boxes, along with a bottle of root beer tucked into my elbow. “Your feast, my lady.”
Abby jumps up to help me. Knowing she’d crave comfort food on a night like tonight, I told her the sky was the limit, and she’d taken me seriously.
We have pepperoni and mushroom pizza, breaded chicken bites, garlic knots, and cinnamon twists, plus the pop.
While she spreads everything out on the coffee table, I grab plates and glasses from the kitchen.
“I bet your parents are excited you’re moving back to Scotland soon,” she says once we’re settled with overflowing plates of food. This is how things have always been with us: dropping and picking up conversations naturally, sometimes even days later.
“Mm, they are,” I mumble around a mouthful of pizza.
Abby looks at me expectantly, then laughs when I raise my eyebrows in return. “Give me more than that, Graeme! Or better yet, tell me how you feel about moving back home.”
Home. It’s strange to hear Scotland referred to that way.
I love the country down to my very bones and always knew I’d return someday, but I’ve been away for years, and so much has happened during that time.
It’s only now occurred to me how much I consider Kingston home too.
And perhaps, more than that, I’ve come to think of being with Brodie, Abby, Drew, and Fern as home.
“I’ve got mixed feelings,” I admit. “It’s the end of an era, isn’t it? I never expected to stay in Kingston this long, but then Brodie moved in with me, and we met you girls, and...it felt like I had a reason to stay beyond just my job.”
Abby lays a hand over her heart and gives me the sweetest smile.
This is as close as I ever come to admitting my feelings for her.
It’s safe territory; a friend can say that to another friend without any romantic feelings behind it, right?
What I don’t tell her is that it felt as if my life truly began when she came along.
I enjoyed attending Queen’s, and I liked the job I got as a real estate agent after I graduated, but it was a quiet, somewhat lonely life.
When Brodie announced he’d been accepted at Queen’s, my parents advocated for him to live with me rather than in the dorms. He’d lived a somewhat sheltered life until that point; he was poorly a lot as a child, so our parents had a tendency to coddle him.
I told Brodie the decision was ultimately his, and I was secretly pleased when he decided to move in with me.
After finishing his second year, he asked if his friend Brent could rent the second spare room, and I agreed since Brent already spent a fair bit of time at the house anyway.