3. Abby #2
I want to say yes. They seem very sincere in wanting to help.
But every warning I’ve ever heard about getting into a car with strangers runs through my head.
Being risk-averse serves me well in the right moments.
“No, thank you,” I say firmly, shoving open the metal door to the parking lot.
Cool October rain hits me in the face.
When the hell did it start raining?
Some time when I was losing my grip on reality inside the ice rink, obviously.
“It’s raining,” Dash points out. “You don’t want to walk in this.”
Glancing back, I almost cave. Kane and Dash both look genuinely concerned.
But then I lock eyes with Benjamin. It might be my imagination, but I swear he gives a slight nod to me. An acknowledgment that I’m being smart. “Just walk her to the bus stop, boys, so she’s safe. Then let the lady go home.”
“Thank you,” I mutter.
I can’t decide if this is a victory or not as I stalwartly march into the steady rain, my hair instantly sticking to my face.
Kane and Dash silently flank me on either side.
Fortunately, the bus stop is at the edge of the parking lot. If it were longer, I’m not sure I’d be able to resist another offer of a ride. As it is, I’m struggling not to visibly shiver. The day was much warmer when I left home.
I notice Benjamin has retreated back into the building with a wave.
He’s clearly the wisest one of all of us.
Much to my relief, the bus is actually pulling up as we reach the sign indicating the bus stop. I start jogging toward it, trying to outrun the rain even though I’m already soaked through my pink sweater.
“Thank you both so much!” I say. “I really appreciate it!”
I’m not even sure what I’m thanking them for. The very brief tour? The exposure to the fun of being on ice? Walking me to the bus stop?
Or a sexual awakening I didn’t know I needed?
Maybe all of the above.
I wave maniacally and jump on the first step the second the driver opens the doors.
“Abby, wait.” Kane takes a step toward me.
He’s going to get on the bus.
Dash grabs his arm. “Kane,” he says firmly. “No.”
Kane sighs but he says to me, “We’ll see you soon.”
It’s not a request.
It’s clearly a promise.
Goosebumps trail up my arms.
I nod, because I want to see them again too.
“You getting on?” the driver asks.
Kane shakes his head no.
The door snaps shut unceremoniously.
I fish my phone out and scan my bus pass. I almost topple over when the bus starts rolling down the street, but I grab the pole and hang on.
Kane and Dash are watching me.
Then they turn, and a minute later I see them get into an SUV that pulled up.
With a sigh of either relief or disappointment, I’m not sure, I sink down into the nearest seat and drag in a deep breath.
At times like this, I wish I could reach out to my sister, Emily. I don’t because if I did, she wouldn’t even respond.
We used to be close, before my cancer. Then all of our parents' attention was on me, and Emily felt neglected, which was true, honestly. She was left to her own devices for the first few years of high school. She resents me for it, and I don’t know how to fix that or explain that Mom and Dad were just trying to do the best they could in difficult circumstances.
That none of us wanted to go through any of that.
Just like Mom and Dad didn’t want to have to file medical bankruptcy either, something I still feel guilty about to this day.
But while I don’t have my sister in my life, I do have Sadie, my roommate at Children’s Hospital, and fellow ALL survivor. She’s been a sister to me in every sense of the word.
I swipe on my phone and text her.
Do you like hockey?
I like boys. Is that good enough?
Yes. Want to go to a Mutts game this weekend?
Sure, I’m in.
I don’t tell her why. It feels too new and fresh and…unbelievable to even explain it.
Instead, I spend the short bus ride looking up Kane and Dash on the official Mutts team website and on the team’s social media accounts.
They’re both star players. They’re both twenty-three. They’re both expected to get called up at some point this season if they perform as they have in the past.
I try to look up Benjamin Meyer, but I don’t find anything about him at all.
At my stop, I shove my phone back into my pocket and pull out my keys.
It’s only a block to my building but the rain makes it a miserable walk.
I regret not turning the heat on today. I had a battle with myself and my budget over turning the heat on too early in the year.
I’m holding out for November first. Working for a non-profit is rewarding but the pay isn’t exactly amazing.
My apartment is a tiny box that has seen better days. It’s also on the third floor and there’s no elevator, so I trudge up the steps, reminding myself this is a great free workout.
My neighbor’s door pops open. It’s Mrs. Litwinski, who has lived here since the early seventies. “Your ceiling leaking?” she asks me, her hair in curlers, a cigarette dangling from her fingertips.
“I don’t know, I haven’t been home.”
“Bet it is. Mine is. Damn cheap-ass corporate motherfuckers. This roof should have been replaced twenty years ago. Twenty-five-year-old shingles done in ‘77. You do the math.”
I don’t do the math. I trust her. I eye the hallway ceiling warily. “Should we call someone?”
“Who the hell are we going to call? Ever since they made us install that maintenance app they can just ignore us. No way to reach any of those motherfuckers in person. It’s bullshit.” Mrs. Litwinski nods to me. “Mark my words. You’re leaking too.”
Then she slams her door shut again.
We are on the top floor. A leaking roof could do a lot of damage to my apartment.
While the apartment itself would be no great loss, everything I own is inside.
When I go in, I turn on the lights and look up.
Oh, no. It’s leaking all right. There’s a big bubble forming in the ceiling plaster.
Warily, I eye it before going to the window and drawing the curtains closed.
When I turn back, the bubble is bigger.
“Okay, that’s going to be a problem,” I say to the empty room. “It looks like it’s going to—”
The ceiling falls down right in front of my eyes.
It just…lets go.
I scream as plaster and water rain down on my sofa and the snake plant that I stole from my parents and I’ve been nurturing back to life.
Yanking open my door I see Mrs. Litwinski opens hers simultaneously.
She eyes me, standing there soaking wet with plaster dust clinging to every inch of me. She glances behind me.
“Motherfuckers.”
I nod, my teeth chattering. “Mother. Fuckers.”