CHAPTER THIRTEEN ~ ABBY ~ NOW
“If fifteen-year-old Drew and Abby could see us now...” Drew’s tone is wistful, and her smile holds a bittersweet twist.
“They wouldn’t believe their eyes,” I say.
It’s late afternoon, and we’re having a snack break in a pub in Old Town.
Graeme and Brodie are spending time with their parents, and Fern is visiting a friend she met online last year, so Drew and I decided to explore the colourful shops on Victoria Street.
We were lingering outside a coffee shop, breathing in the sweet scents of baked goods and warm drinks, when Drew said she had a craving for sticky toffee pudding.
We were close to one of our favourite pubs—a place we discovered on our first trip to Scotland, that had incredible food, including some of the best desserts—so we headed there.
I hold up my glass of Thistly Cross cider, and Drew taps it with her smaller glass of Drambuie. The fruity flavour of the cider blends with the raspberry and honey whisky of the cranachan I ordered as my mid-afternoon treat.
“When we met in the group home, did you ever think we’d stay friends?” Drew asks.
“I didn’t let myself think about it,” I say. “I liked you immediately and wanted to be your friend, but I didn’t trust it would last. At that point, it felt like nothing ever lasted.”
When my grandma died, I was placed in emergency foster care while Children’s Aid attempted to track down my parents.
The couple I was placed with had been fostering for decades, but had recently decided to retire from that life and move across the country to be closer to their grandchildren.
They were happy to take me in, but we all knew it was temporary.
As a traumatized eleven-year-old, I tried my hardest not to be a burden to my foster parents.
I kept my room clean and did chores around the house without being asked.
I maintained my perfect attendance at school and worked hard, even though I ended up hiding in the library or bathroom each day to cry.
I hoped if I was good enough, smart enough, and helpful enough, they’d grow to love me and would decide to keep me.
My already-shattered heart broke a little more the day they told me their house had sold and they would be moving without me.
There are gaps in my memory when it comes to my second foster family, but I remember the next one vividly.
My foster parents were a couple in their mid-thirties who made it clear from the beginning they wanted me to consider them family.
They got me into therapy and enrolled me in a photography class for teens when they learned I used to enjoy taking pictures.
Despite my best efforts to keep distance between us, I grew to love Liza and Darren, although I had trouble making friends after having to change schools twice.
I didn’t have the words for it then, but I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop...
which it did when Darren had a massive heart attack and died.
Liza did her best to keep it together, but the grief was too much for her.
She and Darren had been so in love, and she struggled to navigate life without him.
I’m not sure which one of us cried harder when she told me she didn’t think she was capable of being the kind of parent I deserved anymore.
I begged her to let me stay, promised to take care of her, to pick up the slack around the house, to be small and helpful and good, but none of that penetrated her grief fog.
From there, I was sent to live in the group home. I’m not sure if I believe everything happens for a reason, but I do believe Drew was my reward for the hell I went through in the first fifteen years of my life.
“I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but I didn’t want to be friends with you at first,” Drew says. “I had zero intention of even being nice to you, let alone befriending you.”
I sputter over the bite of sticky toffee pudding I just stole from Drew’s plate. “What? Why?”
“You were so pathetic,” she says, her eyes dancing with mirth at my indignant squawk.
“I’d watch you from my side of the room and think about how you looked like a dejected puppy.
You never smiled, and your eyes were always red from crying.
The minute you got back from school, you’d curl up in your bed, facing the wall.
You always had a book with you, but it seemed like you were doing more crying than reading. ”
“To be fair, I was doing both,” I tell her.
She chuckles. “I’d soon learn you were an excellent multitasker.
Anyway, I remember being irritated that you were so sad.
I didn’t know your full story, but I knew you’d come from a foster home.
I’d been in the group home for ages and felt like a pound puppy nobody wanted.
All I could think was, ‘at least someone wanted you enough to take you in, even if it was only temporary’. ”
Drew’s parents were addicts who ran away from home at seventeen.
She said the only reason they kept her as long as they did was because of the monthly government assistance cheques they received.
Other than the bare necessities she needed to survive, the rest of their money was spent on drugs.
She learned to take care of herself from a young age, and relied on the kindness of neighbours, teachers, and her parents’ more coherent friends.
After being left on her own for a few days when she was ten, her neighbours notified Children’s Aid, and she was taken into custody.
Due to a shortage of available foster homes, she was sent to a group home, and that’s where she remained until she turned eighteen.
“Do you remember the day we became friends?” Drew asks.
“I’ll never forget it,” I say, my voice wobbling. “I obviously didn’t know it then, but looking back, it was the beginning of a whole new life for me.”
Drew fans her face, laughing and rolling her eyes.
“Ugh, stop it, I’ve managed to get this far without crying.
” She gulps down some of her liqueur, then blows out a loud breath after she swallows.
“So you remember I’d had the shittiest day ever at school.
Some kids had been assholes to me, and even though I didn’t usually let it bother me, it got under my skin that day.
You were already in bed when I got to our room, and I started stomping around, slamming drawers and muttering to myself, trying hard not to break down.
You sat up and looked at me, and I told you—”
“To fuck off and stop looking at you with pity in my eyes,” I say.
She laughs again. “Right. I was hoping to scare you off, but you just sat there and stared at me with tears streaming down your face. Somehow I knew they were different from your normal tears, like you could see my pain, and it hurt you too. And when I finally broke down, you calmly got up and hugged me.”
“You fought me at first,” I remind her. “You shoved me away, and I thought you were going to punch me in the face.” It was one of the scariest, most vulnerable moments of my life.
Other than Liza and Darren, I’d kept everyone at a distance for years.
It had been weeks since I’d had an ounce of physical affection, and something in me told me Drew could use it as much as I could.
That was confirmed when she collapsed against me, and we both sobbed and clung to each other like our lives depended on it. In that moment, maybe they did.
Drew swipes a rogue tear from her cheek now as she stuffs a bite of pudding in her mouth. I finish my cranachan, scraping up every last bit of whipped cream along the edges of the dish. Drew pushes her plate so it sits between us, jerking her chin to indicate for me to help her finish.
“I remember thinking, ‘this girl needs me, and, hell, maybe I need her too’,” she says. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”
Tears swim in my eyes, making everything around me waver.
“Those fifteen-year-old versions of us would be astounded if they knew everything we’ve accomplished,” she says. “That’s something to be proud of, you know.”
I make a non-committal sound. Six months ago, I would have agreed with her. Now, I’m not so sure. “You’ve certainly made it. You’ve got your dream career, and you’re married to the love of your life. You’re a homeowner, and you’re well-travelled.”
Drew tilts her head, her eyes narrowing as she studies my face.
“I know the last few months have been hard for you, but you still deserve to be proud of all you’ve accomplished.
It’s never too late to start over, Abs. To try something new and unexpected, pick a new path.
” Her gaze shifts over my shoulder, going out of focus.
A strange little half-smile flits over her face.
Before I can ask what she’s thinking, her gaze snaps back to mine. “Regardless, those fifteen-year-old versions of us would be impressed if they could see how far we’ve come. And they would love that we’re in our mid-thirties and still doing things like having slumber parties.”
I laugh. Graeme and Brodie have arranged for Drew, Fern, and me to have a sleepover at Graeme’s place tonight since we’ve been separated because of the leak in the MacKinlays’ guest room.
Back in university, we used to have slumber parties at least once a month; we’d haul Fern’s mattress out to the living room since it was the biggest, and spend the night watching movies, eating copious amounts of junk food, and talking late into the night.
Those nights are among my favourite memories from the years we lived together, and I was both excited and touched when Graeme mentioned hosting one for us.
Even after all this time and the distance between us—both physically and emotionally—he still knows exactly what I need.
* * *
My arm is numb all the way to the tips of my fingers. Drew fell asleep with her head on my shoulder about twenty minutes ago, and her body has been getting heavier by the minute.