6. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Dallas
M y mom called a little after I got home from work. She said she had something important to discuss. The location of choice is her office, which struck me as odd. She doesn’t like hosting meetings in her office. She likes keeping it a drama-free zone. So, when she told me to go straight to her office, I tried not to think much of it. I figure it will either be family-related or something with Abby. The latter is thrown out the window when I arrive to see Rose sitting in a chair in front of a large wooden desk, opposite our mom, who rests in her mesh swivel chair. Rose looks at me with worry in her eyes. I take a seat in the other chair next to Rose.
“Thank you, guys, for coming on such short notice,” Mom says. Her tone is formal like she’s trying to mask her true feelings. Her face remains neutral. She shows no hint of emotion, the lawyer side of her coming through.
“What’s going on?” Rose asks, looking from Mom to me.
She takes a long deep breath, her gaze passing between us before speaking. “Before I say anything, I, we, your father and I, want you both to know we love you very much and what I’m about to share is no fault of either of you.”
I look at Rose, who also looks at me, before returning my attention to my mom. I feel like I should be more nervous than I am, but for some reason, I’m not. “Okay?” I say, drawing out the word.
Mom swallows. “Your father and I have been talking. We decided this would be better coming from me. That is why he isn’t here right now. But we’ve been talking and … we’ve decided to get a divorce.”
She watches us curiously, waiting for our reactions. Within seconds, a few tears trail down Rose’s cheeks. To my surprise, I’m not shocked by this news. I’m still furious with my father, but I had a feeling this was coming. Maybe it came a little sooner than I expected, but deep down, I was preparing for it. I’m not sure if he’s still seeing the other woman, but I don’t think it matters. If I were in Mom’s position, I wouldn’t want to stay married to him either.
“Okay,” I say. My fists grip the leather seat beneath me so hard I could rip a hole through it. I take a deep breath to keep myself from speaking ill of him. More for my mom's sake than my dad's.
I stand to hug her, pulling Rose with me, and we all wrap our arms around each other as if we can keep each other from falling apart. This shouldn’t be the reason we stand here embracing. It shouldn’t be the reason we had to gather in the first place. Leave it to my dad to ruin everything. If it’s just the three of us now, I won’t take that for granted. I should have figured that out sooner after Cole died, but I was far too caught up in my anger and sadness to think clearly.
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I’m sorry he’s such a dick,” I mumble into my mom's hair.
To my delight, she chuckles. “Me, too.”
Rose laughs, too, and for a moment, the news doesn’t feel so heavy. I know this is what’s best for everyone, my mom especially. She deserves to move on from this if that’s what she wants. Find some peace after a terrible year. I suppose we all do.
Abby spent all afternoon and night in bed. I’m not exactly sure what she was doing, but she said she wanted to be alone. So, I let her. Logan and I spent the night watching a baseball rerun. With our second game tomorrow, I could only stay away for so long. Since she’s in my bed, I suppose I could sleep on the couch. But I want the closeness of her mind and body next to me. I want to feel her arm brush mine when she changes positions. To feel her breath on my skin when she cuddles into me.
I push open my bedroom door to see her sound asleep, curled into a ball under her favorite purple blanket. I change quickly before climbing in beside her. The TV plays an episode of some bad reality show, so I pull the comforter over her shoulders before clicking it off.
She barely moves when I pull myself out of bed in the morning. I trudge toward the kitchen to make some coffee and leave to check the mail. As I flip through it, most of it being junk, I stop on a thick envelope addressed to Abby. She doesn’t get much mail, especially something like this. All of her mail still has the yellow forwarding stickers on it from her old apartment. She hasn’t changed her address on anything yet. The return address is from Oxly University. So, I set it on the counter until she’s awake.
An hour passes and she finally makes her way out of the bedroom, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders with her hair pulled into a bun atop her head. She joins me on the couch with a mug of coffee and I kiss the top of her head as she leans into my shoulder.
“Morning,” she says, taking a long sip of coffee.
“Morning. How’d you sleep?”
“Meh,” is all she says.
I don’t blame her. Yesterday was a lot. So, I’m not surprised she didn’t sleep well. “How are you feeling about yesterday? A lot happened in a very short time frame.”
She seems to chew on this question for a while before adjusting her position on the couch and answering. “I’m not sure. My mind is so all over the place.”
“Makes sense. You got hit from every direction yesterday. I’d be surprised if you weren’t feeling a little muddled.”
She mumbles, “Mhmm,” before cozying into me even further. “Maybe ask me about it on a different day. When I’ve had some time for it to settle in. The wound is too fresh.”
“Of course. You know I’m here for you though if you decide you want to talk about it. Or cry about it. Or scream about it.”
She laughs a little but says, “I might need to take you up on the screaming piece.”
We settle into the quiet morning until I remember the mail she got. “Oh, something came for you,” I say, jumping up from the couch. She watches me as I grab it from the counter and return to my spot next to her. She takes the thick envelope with her brows drawn together. She looks up at me like I might have some insight as to what it could be, but I shrug.
She rips the top open to reveal a handwritten letter and another envelope inside, a fancier one with gold embossing along the back flap and a gold flying dove. She unfolds the letter and holds it in front of us to allow me to read it as well.
Abigail,
I hope this finds you well. I’m sorry I missed you yesterday but wanted to get this invitation to you as soon as possible. I hope you don’t mind, but the day you brought in one of your short stories for me to read over, you forgot to grab the notebook. I finished reading it. I loved it and thought others would, too. I know it isn’t finished, but I submitted it anyway. I think you’ll like what you see in that envelope.
All the best,
Dr. Charles Kraus
She looks back at me, still confused. I shrug again. I know the day he’s talking about. It’s the day I found out she worked for him. I remember being so furious. More so because she hadn’t told me than because it was him. But I’ve gotten over it. She told me how much she likes working for him, how good he is to her, and how supportive he is of her writing. I’m glad she has someone in the literature field who can support that dream so fully. I sure as hell know nothing about writing, especially anything more than the normal college paper.
She examines the other envelope. The only writing on the front is in black calligraphy and reads “Oxly University Literature Department.” She opens the back of this one a little more carefully than the other, trying to preserve the elegant gold foiling. She pulls out a piece of cardstock paper and four smaller, thinner pieces. The front of the cardstock reads:
Congratulations!
Your recent entry has been reviewed by the Literature Department.
You have been selected as a finalist for Oxly University’s Literature Department’s Literary Ambassador Award.
That’s a mouthful.
Abby drops her hands, the announcement still clutched tightly. I can’t quite tell if she’s excited, shocked, upset, or any combination of the three. Even with everything going on with my father, he truly seems to be dedicated to his students and mentees even if he’s not dedicated to his family anymore.
“He got me in?” She slowly turns her head toward me, eyes wide. “He got me in.” It seems realization is slowly setting in. She quickly turns back to the invite to keep reading, flipping the piece of cardstock over.
With this nomination, you’ve also been accepted into the Literary Ambassador Organization for your senior year.
We hope to see you on July 1st at 5:30 PM for a complimentary dinner and award ceremony. Your invitation includes three extra tickets for you to distribute at your discretion.
Further information about the event is listed at the bottom. She throws the cardstock down on the couch cushion before jumping up and down excitedly, small shrieks of joy seeping from the wide smile on her face. When she stops, she stares at the tickets splayed out in her hands.
“Do you know how hard it is to get into the LAO? They seldom accept undergrads. I can’t believe he got me in.” She sighs. I haven’t seen a smile that big on her face in a very long time, if ever.
“ You did that Abby. Your writing got you in.”
Her smile fades into a much softer, more sincere one, her eyes drifting back to me. “Yeah, but I don’t think I would have ever applied by myself. That must have been what he wanted me to submit to a few weeks ago. I totally forgot about that. Say what you want about your dad, but he really is a good man sometimes.”
I nod. “I know.” He is a good man, just not to his family.
She drops her hands and fully faces me. “You have to come with me,” she says sternly.
I stand and bow, holding out a hand like a regal prince. “It would be my pleasure, madame.”
She laughs but takes my hand. I spin her around once before pulling her body into mine. The crinkle of her eyes at the corners makes my heart happy. “I’m proud of you, you know?”
Her smile softens as she rises to her tiptoes to give me a quick peck. “Thank you.” She pulls away again, staring at the tickets in her hand. Something like shock washes over her features as her eyes go wide, her mouth drops open, and her head whips toward her backpack sitting by the front door. “Oh, God. That means I have to finish that story. What’s the date?” She checks her phone. “Two weeks? I only have two weeks to finish it?” She runs to her room, grabbing her backpack on the way, and returns with her notebook and laptop before setting herself up at the dining room table, already enveloped in whatever words race out of her fingertips.
I laugh, watching her frantic excitement blend with the understandable nerves about this whole situation. I’m curious what her story is about. I know how faithful she is to that bundle of bound paper. It’s like a lifeline. She takes it with her almost everywhere. She’s never allowed me a peek at those words, and I haven’t tried to steal any glances at them, just in case she’d find that a breach of confidentiality. But I do wonder what captures her attention every time I notice she has a lightbulb moment, or when she scribbles something out and rewrites it.
I had to coax Abby to bed last night with a promise that made her toes curl. Today, she barely moves from her spot at the table. Loose papers scatter the wooden top, but her trusty notebook sits open next to her. She’s going to need a new one soon with how quickly she’s filling it up now. She bites a pen between her teeth as her fingers move at lightning speed across the keyboard.
“Can you drop me off at the library before you go to the game? I think I’m going to spend the day there.” Her gaze never breaks from the screen.
“Don’t you think a break might be in order, so you don’t burn yourself out?” I ask, tying my shoes.
“This is only a rough draft. I have to finish this before I can edit it.” She furiously scribbles something onto a nearby piece of paper.
I sigh. “All right. Pack up your stuff. We’re heading out in a few minutes.”
Once Abby disappears through the library's front doors, I head off toward the field.
“So, how’s all the legal stuff going?” Logan asks from the passenger seat.
I shrug. “A little slow, but that’s to be expected. Legal stuff always takes a while, especially this kind.”
He stares out the side window for a moment. “Do you think she’ll win?”
I tap the steering wheel to the faint beat of the radio. “Yeah. I don’t think there’s much, if any, evidence to say otherwise. I think the hardest part will be the sentencing. It’s rarely long enough or strict enough. Especially with domestic stuff.”
He turns to look at me this time. "How are you doing with all of it?"
I shake my head as I think. "I wish I could do more."
"It's not your job," he says, not missing a beat.
I tip my head toward him, shooting him a look that I hope he reads as you know what I mean.
"I just don't want you losing yourself in this. I have no problems with Abby. But you know your tendencies when things get hard. I don't want you going back to that."
"I'm not, and I wont," I say, gripping the steering wheel harder.
He sighs, but doesn't press further. "Any word on Sam yet?" he asks instead.
"Nothing. I'm not sure if I'd rather he stay away for Abby's sake or if I want him to come back to get his ass handed to him."
"You can want both."
I haven’t talked to my mom since the first meeting. Neither has Abby that I know of. Mom said she’d be in contact as things started moving forward. So, I’ve done everything in my willpower not to constantly call or text her to ask where things sit right now. As much as I want to help, I know there is very little I can do other than simply be there for Abby through the process. And Abby needs to have somewhere she can detach from everything. She needs a safe space. Home is the most natural place for it, and she has been comfortable there. Ruining that peace could be detrimental.