CHAPTER FOUR ~ ABBY ~ NOW
Considering the big deal Drew made about tonight, I assumed we were going out for a night on the town.
Now, as I pass the dining room, I pause when I see it’s decked out in balloons and streamers, with Drew and Brodie’s best dishes laid out on the table.
I laugh when I spot the chair at the far end; it’s covered in gauzy red material, with a garland of colourful flowers draped over it, and a glittering plastic tiara dangling from one side.
Classic Drew. There wasn’t a lot of room for anything whimsical in our lives as children, so she’s fully embraced the whimsy now.
Tied in with that is the fact she’s a self-proclaimed maximalist, which is evident in every room of the home she and Brodie have created.
Framed photos and artwork adorn the walls, knick-knacks and collectibles are on display in every room, and the couches and chairs in the living room have enough cozy throws and decorative cushions to fill a small department store.
There’s colour and life and love in every inch of this house.
The sound of Brodie’s voice, followed by Drew’s laughter, draws me toward the kitchen. Music plays from Drew’s phone, and I’m not at all surprised to find the two of them holding each other close and swaying, as if the song were a ballad instead of an upbeat pop tune.
Knowing they’re prone to random makeout sessions, even after all these years together, I should probably announce my presence, and yet, I find myself leaning in the doorway and watching them.
I didn’t have many examples of healthy relationships growing up.
My parents had a toxic on-again, off-again relationship that was rife with manipulation and borderline abuse.
By the time I went to live with my grandma when I was five, she’d been a widow for well over a decade and had zero interest in dating.
The way Drew and Brodie love each other is like something out of a storybook.
I still remember all those years ago when Drew confessed she was waiting for the other shoe to drop where Brodie was concerned.
It never did. Their relationship isn’t perfect, of course; they drive each other nuts occasionally and have disagreements, but they’re committed to making things work.
In the three months I’ve been staying with them, witnessing their love firsthand again after years of short visits has filled me with joy.
Although I’m not proud of it, there’s some envy mixed in there too, especially as my thirty-fifth birthday approaches.
Life isn’t what I thought it would be at this age.
Just like I’ve always known I didn’t want kids, I’ve also always had the desire to find my own version of what Drew and Brodie have.
For a while, I thought I had it with Rodger.
Another secret shame of mine is that as much as I loved him, there was always something missing.
I could never quite put my finger on what it was.
Or maybe, more accurately, I was afraid to examine it too closely because I knew it would lead to a certain blue-eyed Scot who owns a piece of my heart, no matter how hard I try to deny it.
A different Scot spies me now from across the room. With a wink and a devilish grin, Brodie spins Drew and releases her in my direction. She and I laugh as we collide and wrap our arms around each other.
The doorbell rings, and Brodie offers to go. Drew disentangles herself from me and crosses the room to check on something in the oven. “Now that Fern is here, I can tell you the surprise is a pre-birthday party.”
“A pre-birthday party,” I repeat. “Are we not celebrating my actual birthday in two weeks?”
“Of course we are, but we thought you could use a little pick-me-up,” she says. “We also have an early gift for you. Something that can’t wait.”
“Plus, you know Drew will use any excuse to have a dinner party,” Brodie says, coming back into the kitchen with Fern by his side.
“And we’ll take any excuse for the MacKinlays to feed us, right, Abs?” Fern says, laughing as she greets me with a hug.
It’s true. Starting with that first Thanksgiving together sixteen years ago, Brodie and Graeme taught the three of us how to cook, and Drew discovered she had an aptitude for it.
She even briefly toyed with the idea of abandoning her path to becoming a teacher in favour of becoming a chef.
The days of living on instant noodles, Kraft Dinner, and lacklustre sandwiches seem like a lifetime ago now.
Drew shoos us out of the kitchen and tells us to go sit at the table.
When we enter the dining room, I notice something I missed before: a fifth place setting.
Hope surges inside me as I wonder if part of the surprise and the reason for celebrating early is that Graeme is here.
He hasn’t been back to visit since Drew and Brodie’s wedding four years ago, but maybe they arranged for him to come for my thirty-fifth birthday.
Just as I’m thinking that, Brodie makes a quiet sound of dismay and swoops in to remove the extra place setting, shooting Fern a sympathetic smile.
“Lacey and I broke up this afternoon,” Fern explains, referring to the woman she’d been seeing for the last couple of months. “We just weren’t on the same wavelength, so it was inevitable. It’s better it happened now, especially with the four of us—”
“Back together in the city,” Brodie cuts in smoothly.
Fern’s eyes go wide as her gaze darts in my direction. “Right, yes, with the four of us being back together, and here to celebrate Abby.”
Before I can question what just happened, Drew bustles into the room, carrying a giant platter. Based on the savoury scents wafting from the oven, I suspected what was on the menu for tonight, and my suspicions are confirmed when she sets the platter in the centre of the table.
“Sunday roast, just like Mum makes,” Drew says, referring to Brodie and Graeme’s mother, Morna, who she’s called Mum since long before she and Brodie got married.
She ushers me toward the decorated chair and settles the tiara on my head once I’m seated.
I didn’t see Brodie leave, but he reenters the room now with a serving dish in each hand.
My mouth waters as I survey the feast laid out before me: roast beef, crispy potatoes, carrots, parsnips, Yorkshire pudding, and gravy.
“It may be just like Mum makes it, but I doubt anyone has ever cried over hers,” Brodie says with a gentle smile.
I glance around the table and realize everyone is looking at me. I blink, causing tears to slip down my cheeks. “Well, that’s embarrassing,” I murmur, swiping at my face.
“Brought to tears by a roast dinner.” Drew chuckles, but the way she eyes me, steady and knowing, tells me she understands.
When The Crew visited Scotland, we dined out most of the time, but Morna insisted on feeding us several meals, including a traditional Sunday roast. Drew and I had grown accustomed to being loved and cared for by the MacKinlay brothers, but there was something about the seven of us crowding around the table, laughter and voices mingling in the air with the savoury scents of a homemade meal, that made both of us emotional.
All we ever wanted was to have a family we belonged to, and being in Scotland drove home the fact we’d finally found it.
But then there’s something Drew doesn’t know: I had a chance to be part of the MacKinlay family in the same way she was, but I let it slip through my fingers.
Brodie carves the roast, and the four of us fill our plates.
As we eat, Fern tells us about the latest classes she’s been taking, including hot yoga and tarot reading, and then Drew shares about a social studies project she has her sixth-grade students working on.
I’m happy to sit back, stuff my face, and listen since I don’t have much to contribute to the conversation.
After dinner, Brodie insists on clearing the table while Drew pours glasses of Drambuie. She hands me one with an enigmatic smile, and taps her glass against mine. “Slàinte.”
I echo the Gaelic toast. Our eyes stay locked as we take our first sips of the sweet and spicy whisky liqueur.
In our university days, we were all about cheap liquor, but Brodie and Graeme introduced us to whisky on our trip to Scotland.
None of us particularly liked it until we tried Drambuie.
Brodie kept introducing us to different whiskies over the years, and while Fern still isn’t a fan, Drew and I have refined our palettes.
Still, the smooth, honeyed flavour of this liqueur is a mutual favourite.
“That was hands-down the best meal I’ve had in ages, but please tell me it’s time for presents now,” Fern says.
Drew glances toward the door, then to the small pile of beautifully-wrapped gifts on the sideboard.
The sight of them has been taunting me since we sat down for dinner.
Drew said we were celebrating tonight because their gift was something I needed to have before my actual birthday, but there are three gifts in that pile.
Birthdays have always been a big deal for The Crew.
We celebrate each year, whether it’s a ‘big’ birthday or not, but we’ve gone all out for the milestone years.
For Drew’s thirty-fifth in December, we spent a long weekend in Quebec City, sightseeing and visiting Christmas markets.
Fern’s thirtieth aligned with a masquerade ball she wanted to attend, so we got tickets and lived out our Cinderella dreams in the most gorgeous ball gowns.
One of the wrapped boxes is long and flat, which makes me wonder if it contains a fancy dress.
Drew has just finished moving the gifts to the table when Brodie appears in the doorway holding a cake. “Okay, ladies, do we want dessert now or later?”
“Later,” Fern says immediately, eyeing the presents in front of me. She’s always been the type who will buy or make someone a gift and want to give it to them immediately, even if it was meant for an occasion that was weeks away.