9. Abbot
ABBOT
Abbot turns on his blinker to change lanes. “Patrick. You’re not answering my questions.”
“Oh, full-naming me, are we?” Pat asks from the passenger seat. He twists around, watching the snarl of Friday-evening traffic around them. “Well, Doctor Henry—yeah, you can go, that guy’s going to let you in. Oh, never mind, he isn’t.”
“You’re being evasive.”
“You’re not being nearly aggressive enough. Step on the gas, would you?”
“You’re also in a rush, apparently.”
“I’m just helping you out.”
“Ned gave me specific instructions.”
“Ned can mind his own beeswax. You gotta just go for it.”
“That seems incredibly dangerous.”
“He won’t hit you. I mean, probably.”
“Probably,” Abbot echoes and turns the wheel, presses the gas, and cuts off the minivan to a blare of its horn and a gesture from the driver. “Taking the other route to Ned’s house is much safer, it turns out.”
“Yeah, but aren’t you so glad you get to drop me off?” Pat cheerfully waves at the driver. “Nice one. You’re totally ready for a big move to Boston if you’ve learned to drive like this.”
“You’re coming down to see Claire. You can just say so. I already know.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“Ned told me, and I quote: ‘Pat tells me everything, and now one night with this Claire and Pat isn’t saying a damn word.’”
“That’s actually a pretty good Ned impression.”
“Which lane do I want to be in here?” Abbot asks as he slows for the exit ramp.
“Far right lane to go left.”
This makes no sense whatsoever, but Pat is directing him to a part of Boston Abbot knows little about, so he eases into the right lane and puts his left turn signal on.
“It begs the question of what, exactly, happened with her, why you’re happy being dropped off ‘wherever’ but actually on a very specific corner, and most importantly, how I can get Ned to stop asking me questions about your life.”
“Riddle me this, first,” Pat says. “Why the hell did people as supposedly smart as you university types decide you can just tack on a spouse to a hiring process?”
Abbot dares to take his eyes from the road to glance at Pat. “What did Ned say to you?”
“Say to me about what?”
“About a spousal hire?”
“That academics in STEM always get whatever they want.”
“Oh.” The light turns and immediately the car behind him starts honking. “His friend Steve, you mean?”
“I am his friend.” Pat taps his chest. “You can go, you know.”
“I can’t move. There’s a car ahead of me.”
“It’ll move. Yeah, Steve. But I’d say he’s more of an acquaintance to Ned. At most. Do you think they hang out a lot? Be honest.”
“I have no idea. I’m up in Portland with you.”
“But does Ned talk about him?”
“Occasionally.”
“What does that mean?”
“Sometimes?”
“Oh, you’re no help.” Pat slouches in his seat. “And spousal hires sound weird as hell, if you’re asking.”
“I wasn’t,” Abbot says. “But with Steve leaving Adams—well. I wondered if Ned said anything about how I’ve been thinking of moving down there.
” And if Ned had been as blindly enthusiastic about it as Abbot?
Amazing, Ned had said, but he’d been distracted and Abbot so wants him to join in this desperate dash his thoughts have become, planning the timing of a move, what classes Abbot might teach, what the shape of their days and weeks could look like.
And—and where he might live. Where they might live, even, and his hands curl around the wheel as the light turns, eager to press the car forward.
“No, you can’t leave me too.”
“It’s just an idea,” he says as if he feels at all that casual about the thought. Excitement thrums in him now, imagining his car packed and a last, final drive south.
“Just an idea? How bad did Ned panic?”
“Panic over what?”
“It’s Ned,” Pat says. “He didn’t say anything to me about it. Ergo, he’s panicking.”
“He isn’t. We talked about it the other day and he was fine.”
“Of course he’s panicking. He was complaining about how this woman in biochem just shows up to Callahan and is like hey, thanks for the job offer, now hire my husband too, please?
And he doesn’t mention you moving or changing jobs too?
That’s classic Ned panic right there. If he’s not freaking out yet, he will soon. ”
“He won’t,” Abbot says. “But what you’re telling me is that you did talk to him. Ned implied that you have steadfastly refused to communicate.”
“No, he talked, and I was very polite and demure. He’s mad this Steve is leaving him, and clearly forgetting I’m his real friend.”
The car beside them lays on their horn in a long, unending blare. Abbot glances around, but the noise is clearly intended for him, and he can’t pretend it’s directed at anyone else.
“Must be turning right,” Pat says. “Shut up, asshole!”
“He’s not really going to—”
“Oh yeah he is,” Pat says and they watch as the driver swerves around them to the left, cuts in front, and makes a right turn. “Watch out; the guy behind him is totally going to do the same thing.”
“Now I can’t even go,” Abbot says when the second car threads in front of him and then gets stuck in the traffic crossing the intersection so neither of them can move.
That car at least gets honked at by a bus lumbering past, but now the car and the bus form a gridlock, blocking the intersection entirely, so they’ll have to remain here through another light cycle.
Abbot sighs, sits back in his seat, and glances at the clock.
He won’t be late to Ned’s by the time he’s dropped Pat off, but he won’t be early, either.
At least they had the other night together. He tries to console himself with this as each minute ticks into the countdown before Abbot has to leave on Sunday.
Though it does give him more time to pry into Pat’s life, like he promised Ned he would.
“You’re changing the subject,” Abbot says.
“I have been told to tell you that, and again I quote, ‘Pat’s being an obstinate asshole.’ I’ve also been told to threaten you with repeated wrong turns so you’re late to wherever you’re rushing to. ”
“Ned is way too nosy.”
“He said he just wants to know why the original plan was for Claire to see Baxter this weekend, and instead you’re haring off to—”
“And now he’s got you on this as well.”
“Ah, he said that when you raised that point to remind you of your own, as he said, atrociously brilliant idea last fall and to—”
“She broke my brain, okay?” Pat throws his hands up. “It was one night. I don’t even know her last name. She’s gorgeous and smart and interesting and it was the most fun I’ve ever had with someone, and you can tell Ned he’s included on that list.”
“I won’t.”
“And yes, I told her Baxter was busy. But I just wanted to see her alone again, so I made up a ridiculous lie about why he and Ned couldn’t come, but I was already coming down to the city anyway, and—look, it’s a mess, I get that, but Abbot, I’ve got to see her.”
“It was Baxter who was busy?”
“I know, I know.”
“Does he have a part-time job on the weekends?”
Pat tips his head back and groans. “I’m down bad, man.”
Abbot, who has always been in complete control of himself, of course never repeatedly visited Pat’s cafe solely because he knew it was where Ned spent so much of his time.
And if he knew Ned’s schedule by happenstance, and could predict with some accuracy when he would be there, it wasn’t that he was actively seeking him out, it was just convenient circumstance.
Though he had taken care to never speak to Ned, keeping him instead at a firm and careful distance, like that could quench his unwanted attraction.
Ned had been his student. And he was married.
And once he was no longer a student, and certainly no longer married, Abbot kept up that detachment as a means of self-preservation.
There’s something admirable in Pat simply rushing forward with his desire to see this woman, and Abbot certainly understands that desire for soon to be now.
“I hope today goes well,” Abbot says.
“This shirt isn’t horrible, is it?”
“You look very nice.”
Pat slumps in his seat. “You’re just being polite.”
“What are you two planning to do?”
“I have no idea. I’m not good at this shit. I know, okay, I should have just asked Ned, but I’m telling you, I can barely think.”
“Given how Ned and I got together, you may want to take a simpler approach. And not ask his advice to begin with.”
“Fair. And her being a vet, I’m not sure I could use Ned’s plan of being stupidly confused about statistics until you two admitted you were it for each other.
Which leaves me with boring shit to do, like—like I don’t even know.
It’s such crappy weather, we can’t go for a walk, so it’s just like getting a cup of coffee or something. ”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s not special.”
Abbot casts him a quick look as he pulls onto the street Pat directs him down.
Pat is serious about Claire. Ned guessed they spent the rest of their night together in the privacy of Pat’s apartment, and he’d joked since then that Pat is simply desperate to sleep with her a second time.
But this is more. Abbot can hear it in the plaintiveness of that comment, and he remembers a long-ago afternoon spent searching the beer lists of every restaurant in Portland, certain he could land upon the absolutely perfect place to take Ned to dinner if he simply compiled all available options.
And he’d still been unsure, up until they were well into their drinks and their appetizers, and he’d forgotten to worry entirely while this man sat across from him, a grin on his face, their feet resting together beneath the table.
Abbot pulls into a loading area that Pat directs him to, and gets out of the car, motioning for him to wait as he sorts through his overnight bag in the trunk. “Give her this,” he says, holding out one of the small, flat boxes he’d brought back from Switzerland.
“Chocolate?”
“If you invite her for a coffee, it could be a nice touch. And perhaps you can impress her with your knowledge of how the use of fresh, local Swiss milk impacts the flavor profile.”
“Are you not only a genius at stats, but also a connoisseur of chocolates?”
Abbot points to the two paragraphs on the label, one in German and one in French. “No, it’s what the back of the box says.”
“Will this work?”
“I have no idea.”
“Better than anything I’ve come up with.” Pat slips the box into his jacket pocket. He hugs Abbot, slapping his back as if he were Ned. “Tell everyone I say hi, okay?”
“Good luck.”
“I don’t even need it. I’ve got chocolate from Sprüngli.”
Abbot tries to not visibly wince. “Sprüngli,” he corrects, emphasizing how short the first syllable is.
“Right. Sprüngli.”
“Close enough.”
“Hey.”
“It’s just that reading it makes it seem like it’s a ‘you’ sound, when it’s really more of—”
“No, no, I just want to say it takes Ned seven to ten business days to process anything. Our dude does not move quickly.”
“What?”
“You coming down to Boston.”
“He said he was excited.”
“Of course he is. And next he’s going to be terrified. It’s Ned. If there’s one thing we have in common, it’s being absolutely and entirely calm about relationship shit.” Pat claps his arm. “I’m sweating. Is it hot out? No, it’s January. I might die. Sprüngli. Okay, bye.”
“Sprüngli,” Abbot calls after him. “Bye.”
Ned’s not panicking. He really was enthusiastic about the idea of Abbot moving closer. If he’s worried about anything, it’s the future of Adams.
Right?
He pushes that thought aside. His first dinner in a month at the Coppolas is waiting for him, and then an entire weekend with Ned.