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Cara didn’t reply, and Abby rushed on, filling the silence. “I start thinking I could get used to it, but then Dylan isn’t there and I see the way Scott looks at me, and I’m not stupid. Iknowhe wants this to be more, and I...” She trailed off, swallowing. Her words caught in her throat when she spoke again, strained and strangled. “I’m scared.”
Abby stared at the small pile of fluffy crumbs she’d managed to herd across her plate, then shook it, scattering them again.
“I think you get to be scared.” The words were slow, deliberate. Out of character for Cara, who tended to poke and prod Abby forward rather than let her dwell in the past.
Abby raised her eyes to her friend’s, her voice small. “Ireallylike him. But I don’t know if I can do this...” She waved her hand and Cara nodded in understanding. “And it’s not only about me and Scott. There’s Dylan to think about, too. He’d be crushed if this went sideways.”
“What about being friends? No risk there.”
“What if friends isn’t enough for Scott?” Abby wet a fingertip and pressed it to the pile of crumbs she’d gathered up again, then popped them into her mouth, chewing as she thought.
“Then at least you know. Either way, if friendship is all you can do right now, he deserves to know, to decide for himself if he can live with what you’re willing to give or not.”
Abby studied her friend. “That’s actually... really wise.”
Cara slid Abby’s plate under her own, then tossed their used napkins on top. “I know you think I’m flighty, and yes, I like to have fun, but I also know what I’m looking for. So, if I go on a first date and I can immediately see it isn’t what I want, then I say so. I’m not going to fight for love of it doesn’t feel right. But I don’t know until I give it a try. Saying yes to one date doesn’t mean I’m going to marry the guy.”
“So, you think I should go on a date with Scott?”
“I think you should decide what you want and then see how Scott fits into your vision.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Abby ran a fingernail across the table’s rough surface, the heavy weight of Gen’s head on her foot a gentle counterpoint of comfort. “What then?”
“Then, amazing as he is, he’s not the right one for you. And that’s okay. See, the great part of knowing what you’re looking for is it’s easier to say no to what you aren’t.”
“I guess.”
Cara leaned forward, elbows on the table. “And hey, don’t think I haven’t noticed a couple months ago you told me you wouldn’t go on a date to save your life, and now here we are, discussing this like you might be considering it. That’s progress.”
Abby’s throat tightened at Cara’s words. This was the other piece, of course. The piece she didn’t want to face, yet. “Do you think...” She trailed off, unable to finish.
Cara reached across the table and squeezed Abby’s hand. “I think he’d want you to be happy. And if you can’t trust that, then maybe you could think about what you’d want for him, if the roles were reversed. If you could see him struggling like you’re struggling, what would you say to him?”
Abby turned Cara’s observations over in her head, her own guilt warring against what her heart already knew. She surged to her feet and swiped the empty plates off the table. “We should get back upstairs. C’mon, Gen. Heel.” The dog rose and shook, collar jingling, then took up her position beside Abby.
Cara’s question remained unanswered.
Abby swept the sponge across the counter in long strokes, cleaning up the last few splatters and crumbs from dinner. Her near-obsessive compulsion for cleanliness had its roots deep in her psyche from years of working as an EMT, from being married to a doctor, from being in a hospital...from controlling her environment to make up for not being able to control her experiences. Ingrained in her nature, she struggled with Scott’s tendency to “leave it.”
She smiled at Gen’s command not to go after something she wanted to chase.
Not that Scott didn’t have a good reason. He prized his time with Dylan, and if it meant extra work to clean up after his son had gone to bed, Abby could easily understand the trade. The nanny spent weekdays with Scott and Dylan, cleaning, cooking, and ferrying Dylan to school or his activities on Scott’s busy days. Lauren didn’t come by on the weekends, though, at least not during the off-season. “The boys” were on their own from Friday night to early Monday morning, and Scott kept things as clean and organized as he’d claimed. He hadn’t even been joking when he told her he folded laundry.
She swept the last few crumbs into the sink, rinsed the sponge, and set it to dry beside the faucet. Turning on the water, she filled the coffee carafe and poured it into the coffeemaker.
Her coffeemaker at home—a wedding gift—had faithfully brewed their fix through many late nights, early mornings, graveyard shifts, and hours of test-cramming. Old and decrepit now, the finicky buttons had gone sticky with age. Scott’s coffeemaker, a high-tech miracle of modern engineering, needed only the press of a button and away it went. If she wanted something special—espresso, or a latte—a whole screen of options would grind, tamp, steam, and froth it for her.
The coffeemaker whirred and hummed as it measured and ground the beans, then popped and hissed as it heated the water and began brewing. Abby leaned back against the kitchen island while the carafe filled. She had come over often enough in the evenings they had developed a kind of schedule. Scott would take Dylan up to bed and tuck him in while Abby cleaned the kitchen and brewed the coffee.
Gen always followed them up the stairs but never came back down with Scott. Abby suspected Dylan let her sleep on the bed. She also suspected he had a secret stash of dog treats hidden somewhere; why else would Gen be turning her nose up at her food so often lately? Then, she and Scott would settle on the couch, drink their coffee, and talk. Later, Gen would wander in and lay her head in Abby’s lap, tail low and wagging, a gentle reminder they had things to do in the morning.
Abby’s musings were interrupted as Scott entered the kitchen. He folded his arms and scowled at her in mock anger. “I told you to leave it. I’ll clean it up later.”
Abby smiled in return. “Sorry, I can’t help it. Besides, it passes the time while you put Dylan to bed.”
A little musical tune announced the coffee had finished, and Abby turned to get a pair of mugs from the cabinet. Scott moved behind her and she turned, passing him the white porcelain mug with a maroon and black rooster—his college mascot—and “National Champions” emblazoned across it. Her own thick, heavy mug had water-colored tulips painted on the outside. There were other mugs in the cabinet, but these two had become “theirs.”
“I have a surprise for you.”