Unmarried at Their New Place

1. Abbot

ABBOT

January’s early sunset sends a riot of gold and pink across the sky above Callahan’s campus, and Abbot ducks his chin into his coat collar as he walks to the faculty parking lot.

He knows it’s too early to go home. If he retreats to his house now, the evening will stretch, a dinner by himself the only interruption as he waits for time to pass until it’s a reasonable hour to go to bed.

Still, he’s tired. The time change from Geneva to Portland is part of it, but it’s also that this entire month has plodded by so slowly.

Hurry, he wants to tell the tick of his watch, the turn of the calendar, but he can’t rush the day along any more than he’s been able to these last weeks, and so he has to simply wait for the relief the weekend will bring.

Ned. Two whole days with him, after a month apart. Three days, counting Friday evening when Abbot drives down to Boston, through to Sunday night when he’ll have to leave again.

A month sounded so reasonable when he’d bought his tickets to Switzerland for the winter holiday break, but now the length of time drags at him, reminding him every day that this is the longest he and Ned have spent apart in their year and a half together.

If Ned had come for part of the trip…well. He didn’t. He couldn’t, with his work and with Peggy’s school schedule and her days with Jen. But it’s created a veritable eternity since Abbot has seen him, and the two days until Friday feel so very long.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he retrieves it with fingers that are cold even inside his gloves. The chill is worse when he tugs one off to unlock his phone. Come to the cafe, Pat has texted.

Abbot immediately turns to the path that cuts across campus towards Pat’s. Once, he would have prevaricated, but he’s learned to accept these invitations from Pat, letting him be a stand-in for Ned when they’re apart.

No, not just a stand-in. A friend in his own right. Someone with whom to share the silent acknowledgement that Ned is not here, and they’d very much like him to be. To while away hours together so time moves faster—not fast, but more quickly than it does when Abbot’s alone.

Before he can text back, an email alert appears: Meeting NOW, Chris has titled it, and across campus, every other faculty member in the sociology department is likely groaning too.

It fills Abbot’s evening further, delaying unlocking his front door to a lonely house. Abbot can go to this meeting, and then eat dinner at Pat’s café, and return home late enough that the day will be nearly over.

He walks more quickly back toward the department building, making his way upstream against the crowd of students leaving their classes. I’ll be there in a bit, he texts Pat.

Before he can replace his glove, a reply appears. No, no, no, you have to come right now, Pat writes and immediately another message follows it: Like five minutes ago, actually, please.

I have a meeting.

Skip it.

I can’t.

Then come AS SOON as its over.

Abbot debates for a moment, and then writes *it’s.

UGH, Pat sends.

Abbot smiles. I’ll be there as soon as I can. He checks to see if Ned’s returned his earlier message—How was your class? Ned must be busy picking Peggy up, because there’s nothing.

Abbot tucks his phone away as he climbs the steps to the department building.

At the top of the stairs, Lee lets out a loudly exaggerated sigh. “This sucks,” she says with none of her usual energy. “Hi. Happy first day back after break. Is Chris joking?”

“I suppose last semester’s volunteering competition wasn’t enough to satisfy him for the rest of the academic year,” Abbot says as he opens the door for her.

“I cleaned up so much trash,” she says as she removes her hat and arranges her short hair into her usual sideswept pouf. “Which great, happy to do it, felt good to help, but can’t he give us a break?”

“You should have walked dogs.”

“Tragically, I’m not as smart as you are, out there with all those shelter puppies,” she says. “I don’t know how you didn’t adopt one by accident.”

Abbot already has a dog, or as good as. He’s missed Baxter too over this long month. Baxter and Peggy and Dan and Cheryl and the warm embrace of life in the Coppola house. He’ll be there so soon, and that somehow makes it all the harder to wait.

“I’d never live it down,” he says instead of sharing any of that, and she laughs.

Yes. He’s getting better at conversation.

Making himself actually try, and finding that each time he does, the effort is a little easier.

Shaking off the years of holding everyone at arm’s length and learning that it eases his time in Portland, this city he moved to because he knew virtually no one, and where he spent so long keeping it that way.

Chris and Susan had been Abbot’s sole contacts here.

He waves now as Abbot and Lee walk into the conference room. “Welcome, welcome,” he says, beaming around the room as Abbot joins the other faculty in finding a seat.

Abbot is as trepidatious as any of them tonight.

Last semester, Chris sprang on them a challenge of who could contribute the most volunteer hours, and the previous spring he’d made them commit to hydration goals.

Abbot had given his Callahan-branded water bottle to Peggy, and last he’d seen it, it had been filled with balled-up socks he was informed were soon-to-hatch dinosaur eggs.

Today will be more of the same, he’s sure, but at least it will eat into his evening.

Aliyah holds the sweep of her long braids in one hand as she leans across the table to address Chris. “I have to be home in a half hour. This meeting was not on the calendar.”

“I’m so happy to see everyone,” Chris says. “We haven’t been together yet this semester.”

“Because it started today,” Aliyah says. “We’ve barely been back.”

Chris smiles around the room. “Hello to you all. How was winter break?”

The murmur of a dozen voices circles the room, and Chris cups his hand around his ear. “What was that?”

“It was great,” Lee says loudly. “We were so very much on vacation. Just really gone from here. Away from work. No meetings, you know?”

“I do know, because I missed you all,” Chris says. “Thank you so much for being here. What did we all get up to these last few weeks? Let’s share.”

“Sat down with the family to have dinner every night, on time,” Aliyah says. “New Year’s resolution is to keep that up.”

“What a great thing to commit to,” Chris says.

“It starts in twenty-nine minutes,” Aliyah says.

“And what else?” Chris asks. “Henry, how was your trip home? You get some good family time?”

Yes, Abbot had taken a job at this university all those years ago because of Chris Hausman, but it’s had drawbacks.

He so wants to sidestep the attention turning toward him, because it’s one thing to make himself chat more often with his colleagues, and another to actually share anything with them. “Fine,” he says. “How was your break?”

“It was great,” Chris says, but he’s never been easily dissuaded. “How’s Liesl? When is she coming to visit us?”

“Soon,” Abbot says. Now would be her preference; he’d made a show of checking that she hadn’t climbed into his suitcase when he’d left for the airport.

Abbot’s preference would be for this conversation to end, but Chris asks, “And how’s your dad?”

Wanting to talk. Leaving Abbot feeling like he was being followed from room to room over the past month, his father constantly on the edge of conversation as Abbot counted the days until he could leave. But he won’t share that with Chris, or with the room at large. “He’s well.”

“Aaaaand,” Lee says. “How’s our Ned?”

Absent. So very missed. Not here in this room like he used to be. He used to sit right there and roll his chair back and forth and pretend to pay attention while checking his email.

Abbot had been as preoccupied with the thought of him then as he is now, fighting constantly against the automatic surge of attraction at his presence, and oh so careful to not let himself look.

Not that much has changed; even at the mention of Ned, Abbot wants to check his phone for a new text from him.

Or Abbot could text him again. Did he have time to pick up his dry cleaning between getting Peggy to school and his meeting this morning?

Has he had word yet on his final class rosters?

Which students is he excited to teach? Does he know when he’s free on Friday?

Because perhaps Abbot could leave Portland earlier than planned, just to see him a few hours sooner—

“Henry,” Lee says, her voice loud.

“Yes?” Oh. He hasn’t answered. And Lee is smirking at him.

Liesl had done the same this past month. Is that Ned on the phone? she’d taken to asking in a singsong voice, sometimes clutching her chest and flopping dramatically back on the couch.

No feet on the furniture, their father would’ve said if it was Abbot propping his ankles on the arm of the sofa. He did say that to Abbot when Abbot was Liesl’s age and she wasn’t even a conversation to be had yet.

Of course she wasn’t. When Abbot was thirteen, Mom had been…

“Ned’s fine,” Abbot says more curtly than he’d intended.

He’s tired, clearly, from the day of travel yesterday.

The strain of a month in his father’s company.

The lack of himself that he’s felt the last few weeks, like he’s floundering without Ned’s presence to anchor him.

Lee frowns, clearly put off by his tone. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Of course not,” Abbot says shortly and pulls out his laptop.

“Twenty-seven minutes,” Aliyah says.

“Well, I do want to hear about everyone’s vacations.” Chris glances at his watch, then the door. “But we have a special guest joining us in just a moment, and before that, I want to talk about something exciting happening this semester.”

“Oh no,” Lee whispers.

Aliyah sets her palms on the table as if to stand. “I should just go now.”

“I am pleased to announce,” Chris says, drawing the words out in a bold, loud voice. “The Callahan Sociology Department Faculty Book Club!”

How is this man possibly friends with Abbot’s father? Bouncing on his toes with delight, and cheerful expectation on his face as he looks around the room. Even the blank stares he gets don’t dim his smile.

“I got funding,” Chris wheedles, and as one, the room relaxes a fraction. He hauls an absolutely massive box up onto the chair next to him, straining with the weight. “First meeting is at the end of February.”

“You want us to read this whole thing?” Lee asks as Chris starts passing thick, hardcover books around.

“We have classes to teach,” Aliya says. “Research. Papers. Conferences. Our work.”

“I’ll email some discussion questions ahead of time,” Chris promises. “And you’ll love this book. It’s a classic.”

“It’s so long,” Lee murmurs.

“What does this possibly have to do with sociology?” Aliyah asks.

Abbot lets Lee deposit a book next to his laptop. He doesn’t bother to pick it up as he types in his password. The recipe for a griesskopfli is still up in his browser. He’s never made the pudding, but Peggy had seen a picture and insisted it be their next baking venture.

He switches to his calendar as if obediently creating a reading schedule, but instead scans the weekends to come.

He’ll be in Boston this weekend, and Ned will come up here the next.

Then another weekend before Liesl’s visit that they haven’t made plans for yet.

They could go somewhere. Take Chris up on his offer to use his house up on the coast, or—but no, Ned will have Peggy.

Perhaps he could bring her and they could do something more suited for a six-year-old’s interest than watching the water and enjoying the silence.

Drive to the mountains, maybe, for sledding and skiing.

Abbot could find them a house for the weekend.

One with a fireplace, and a yard for Baxter and building snowmen.

The image coalesces in his mind so quickly that he’s ready now to step into a reality of hot chocolate and Baxter sprawled in front of the fire, he and Peggy making Basler L?ckerli in an unfamiliar kitchen while Ned tries to steal a bite.

He blinks. Chris is passing out books, and Abbot is alone in Portland, and Ned is down in Boston, too many hours and miles away.

So he has to wait. For the weekend, and the next after that, and the next and the next, each week capped by the promise of Ned, and each week spent silently urging time onward.