Page 13

Part F

“That’s What Friends Are For”

May

Isaac wasn’t available to help me move the rest of my stuff out of Suz’s, but Nate and Abby could come, so we head over there on Tuesday during the day to get it over with. Both Nate and Abby drove so we’d have plenty of room for everything. Abby’s little Mini won’t hold furniture, but Nate’s SUV can hold a ton.

When I walk in, everything looks the same with one big difference: all my stuff is piled neatly in the corner next to the front door—with the exception of the aforementioned “godawful chair.” The chair that was my mother’s and was the one she rocked me to sleep in as a child. Yes, it’s a little worn, but I could never part with it.

“Well, that’s convenient,” Abby says, taking in the boxes labelled “Clare’s stuff.”

“Yeah, I guess she really didn’t want us going through her things,” I say. I’m not surprised and a little bit miffed that she packed up all my stuff like this. Is this just because she didn’t care or because she doesn’t like people going through her stuff? Or was she trying to make it faster for us?

“Alright,” Nate begins, “let’s get the furniture out of the way first, then we can put the boxes wherever else there’s space.”

We work quickly and efficiently, packing Nate’s SUV to the hilt, then putting the remaining few boxes in Abby’s car. Thankfully, the landlord fixed the elevator since I’ve been gone so we didn’t have to cart everything up and down stairs.

When the last box is packed into the cars, I go back to the apartment I shared with Suz one last time. I walk through each room one by one, place the check and my key on the kitchen counter as requested, lock the bottom lock from the inside, and exit for the last time.

* * *

“Are you sure I look okay?” Abby asks for the hundredth time, smoothing her black pencil skirt and picking invisible lint off her floral blouse. We’re standing about a block down the street from the French bistro—Jolie—her parents chose for this evening’s festivities. Abby wanted to wait until she saw her parents arrive at the restaurant before we went in, and she wanted time to calm her nerves as well. Frankly, I think we should go in first so her parents would see she was early, but this is Abby’s call.

I take Abby’s hands and attempt to relax them down by her sides. “You look wonderful.” And she does. Some might say radiant, but I’m not sure if that comment would be helpful at this exact moment as Abby is too nervous about dealing with her parents to deal with any of my mixed-up feelings. Not to mention the fact that I haven’t decided if and when I will ever say anything to her in the first place. “Tonight is going to go just fine. And I’m here if you need anything.”

She gives me a half-hearted smile. “Thanks. I am so glad you came with me. I don’t think I could stand to face them otherwise.”

“Oh, you’re much stronger than you—” I stop speaking as my eyes catch sight of Suz striding down the street toward us. She’s looking at something on her phone, so I don’t think she’s seen us.

“What?” Abby asks, turning around so she can see what I’m reacting to. “Oh. Has she seen us? Do you want to hide?”

I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. We can stay here.” I haven’t seen Suz since the breakup and, though I think I would like to hide, my feet feel rooted to the spot. I can feel my pulse racing and my palms are starting to sweat. Deep breaths, Clare.

Suz comes closer and finally spots us, putting her phone in her pocket. “Hey, Clare.”

My mouth feels like I just ate a handful of sand, but I manage to croak out, “Hey.”

“We’re having dinner with my parents,” Abby puts in helpfully.

Suz nods. “Great.”

I nod as well because no words will come out.

“I see you got your stuff out today,” Suz says matter-of-factly.

Abby answers because I can still only nod. “Yep. No problems there.”

“Okay, well,” Suz says. “I’m on my way home and I want to get logged in before everyone else. Have fun at dinner.” She walks on by as if she’d never stopped.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, I fold forward and wrap my arms around the backs of my legs. With all the blood whooshing in my ears, I breathe deeply in and out. Slowly, the panic subsides and I’m able to stand back up again, slowly.

“Feeling better?” Abby asks. She’s been with me through enough panic attacks to know that this was a relatively mild one. She rubs my back just the same and a shiver runs down my spine that I don’t think has anything to do with the panic attack.

“Yeah,” I reply weakly. “I just…it was the first time I’ve seen her since the breakup and…I just didn’t expect that kind of reaction.”

Abby tilts her head to one side in a look of understanding. “You know this is only a chapter, right?”

“What?” I ask, feeling a sense that I’ve heard those words somewhere before, but uncertain as to where.

“This is only a chapter,” she says again. “It’s not your whole story. You’ll get past this Suz thing, and the next chapter will begin.”

Even though I’m racking my brain trying to figure out when or where I’ve heard that before, I’m feeling more relaxed than I have in days.

“Thanks,” I say, giving Abby’s hand a squeeze. “Now, let’s go tackle this dinner.”

* * *

The restaurant is decorated beautifully in a classic bistro style with white tablecloths, black chairs, and hints of blue all around to complement the white. The mirrors on the wall give the illusion that the room is larger than it is, and the kitchen is right behind the bar so you can smell all the wonderful dishes being prepared.

It’s not too busy since it’s a Tuesday night. The host seats us at a table for four near the back next to a wall with navy blue and white floral wallpaper. The Cassidys take the bench side, leaving Abby and I with the chairs. Abby’s father, Jack, is over six feet tall and combined with his broad shoulders, he cuts an imposing figure. On the other hand, Lynnette, Abby’s mom, is shorter than her husband by nearly a foot, but her icy stare has a commanding presence all its own.

Picking up his menu, Jack says, “So, Clare, are you still in the travel game?”

I am barely able to keep from rolling my eyes, but I reply, “I am still a travel agent, yes, sir.” Even though I’ve known the man for years upon years, he has never allowed me to refer to him as anything other than “sir” or “Mr. Cassidy.”

Lynnette looks up from her menu and asks, “And is that going well? Do people still use travel agents?”

Abby pats my thigh under the table and a shiver runs up my spine. While she knows how much I loathe this question about my line of work, she doesn’t know how it feels when she touches me. At least, I don’t think she does. Shrugging that off, I reply, “Yes, many people still use travel agents because we provide personalized services that online companies don’t give you. We can customize your itinerary to your needs, and we’re there for you if something goes wrong. The internet guys just send you to a call center. Our clients really value our services, and we have a lot of repeat clients.”

Lynnette looks slightly abashed. “Oh. Well, that’s wonderful. I’m sure your parents would be very proud.”

At the mention of my parents, my face flushes. Though Abby and I have been friends for years, our parents weren’t the best of friends. They were friendly since their girls were friends, but they didn’t socialize or really talk much unless the two of us were around. Abby would be the first to admit that my parents were much more down to earth than hers. Still, Lynnette and Jack were very kind to me when they died and hosted the funeral luncheon. “Thank you, Mrs. Cassidy.”

The server comes over to take our orders and Jack speaks first, in his boisterous baritone, “Yes, we’re actually ready to order. We’d like to get a charcuterie board and the steamed mussels for the table. Then I’ll have the steak frites, medium well. My wife will have the trout almondine, and my daughter will have the poulet roti.”

Abby shakes her head. “Um…” she begins meekly. “Actually, I’d like to have the crispy eggplant, please.”

I silently applaud her for standing up for herself, even a tiny bit. I add, “Make that two crispy eggplants, please.”

Jack grimaces. “I stand corrected.”

The server furiously scribbles everything down, and Jack lets us all make our own drink orders, thankfully, or we’d all be forced to drink some ridiculously expensive wine he’d order “for the table.” Every time I dine with him, I have to remind him, rather forcefully sometimes, that I neither eat meat nor drink alcohol. Two facts he cannot understand or respect. I have been at plenty of dinners at their house when I could only have bread, salad and water, and was chastised for not eating enough of their delicious food. If we’re dining elsewhere, I’m darn well ordering something I can eat, and I’ll just pick cheese off the charcuterie board.

Abby isn’t a vegetarian, but she hates it when her father presumes to order for her, so I think she ordered the eggplant just to spite him. Or maybe she really did want it. She does love the ratatouille I make.

There’s not a lot of conversation until the hors d’oeuvres come, at which point Lynnette starts telling us all about their recent trip to France and how much better the food was there. I’m sure the entire restaurant can hear her since her volume is akin to her husband’s. Abby and I grin and try to engage with them, but anyone could tell we don’t really care about their opinions of France or the food. But the food I’m eating must be different from what they’re having on the other side of the table, because I think it’s delicious—what I can eat of the charcuterie board, anyway.

Once the entrees arrive, Jack clears his throat as he cuts into his steak. “So, Abigail, when are you going to buckle down and go back to school for your law degree?”

“Dad, I…uh…” Abby stutters.

“‘Dad, I…uh,’ what?” Jack mimics. “You’re forty-one years old. Enough of this property management bullshit. Excuse my French,” he says this last part to me as if I’m the one he needs to apologize to. “We want you to make something of yourself. You’ve spent too long dilly-dallying and wasting your life. Enough, already.”

I really want to punch his lights out for speaking that way to my best friend, but I want to give her a chance to stand up for herself first. She only asked me here for moral support, not to assault her father—and it’s doubtful I could take him anyway—so I don’t want to overstep.

Abby looks to her mother. “Mom, do you feel this way too?”

Lynnette looks at her trout like she’s never seen a fish before. Her nod is infinitesimal, but it’s there. “We only want the best for our little girl,” she almost whispers.

“I really like my job, and I think I’m doing pretty well for myself,” Abby replies in that weak tone of voice she only uses for her parents.

“All the money we wasted sending you to college,” Jack mumbles under his breath.

I think about trying to change the subject, but Lynnette beats me to it, unfortunately. “Do you have a new boyfr—oops! Sorry, sweetheart—girlfriend we should know about? How did things go with Lily?”

Abby quickly darts her eyes to look at me, eyes wide with fear, then looks down at the table. She whispers, “No. No one. Lily and I didn’t really hit it off.”

“Didn’t hit it off? What is that supposed to mean?” Jack scoffs.

Abby wrings her napkin nervously in her lap. “We didn’t have much in common. She wouldn’t even talk to me—”

“When the hell are you going to settle down?” Jack shouts and there’s a rattle of cutlery around the tiny restaurant as everyone stops to stare at our table.

Lynnette puts her hand on his arm. “Jack, please, lower your voice.”

He has the decency to look apologetically around the room and gestures for everyone to continue on with their meals. But he doesn’t apologize to his daughter. “Abigail, your mother and I want to see you settled down with a good job and a family. You aren’t getting any younger and if you intend on having children—with invitro, adoption, what have you—you need to get on it or else you’re going to be eighty at your kid’s graduation.”

“I have a good job,” Abby replies, meekly.

“She does, sir,” I interject.

“Not good enough,” Jack says, taking a swig of his wine. “Nowhere near good enough.”

* * *

Back at Abby’s, we’re drowning our sorrows in crackers and spray cheese.

“I just cannot believe them. I’m over forty and they’re still treating me like I’m fourteen.” Abby pops a cracker particularly loaded with the orange goo into her mouth. She immediately grabs another cracker and squirts a big dollop of the processed cheese on top.

I pick up my own cracker piled with the stuff, and we knock them together like we’re clinking champagne flutes. “I know. I completely understand why you spent so much time at my house growing up. Not that my parents were perfect.”

“They were pretty darn close,” Abby replies around a mouthful of cracker. “At least they supported you no matter what and didn’t try to press their agenda on you.”

I nod, tears pricking my eyes. “I miss them so much.”

She puts her arm around my back, and I lean my head on her shoulder. “I miss them too.”

We sit like that for a while, and somehow, I manage not to cry. There’s a level of comfort only a best friend can give you, and I hope Abby feels the same way about me, even if she doesn’t think of me romantically.

I sit back up and drink some water. “So, if your parents had no say and left you alone, where would you see yourself in five years?”

She thinks about this for a moment while she twirls a cracker around in her hands. “Theoretically, I’d like to still be working for Marshall Realty, unless some other amazing job came along. I could see myself still living here because I don’t want to have to maintain a yard and all that, plus I love being so close to the shopping center and downtown.” She bites her lower lip. “I guess all of that is the same as what I have now. So, what I think I’d like most of all is to be married or in a relationship with someone I truly love who loves me for who I am and not who they want me to be.”

“You deserve all that and more,” I say.

“Oh, and absolutely no kids,” she adds.

I laugh. “Duly noted.”

“What about you? Where do you see yourself in five years?”

I don’t even have to think about it. “I want to keep working at Nerds on a Plane, but I want to have actually seen some of these places I book. More than that though, I want someone to share my life and my travels with. Someone to share the ups and downs with. Someone who feels like home.”

“Mmm. That sounds lovely.” There’s a glint in Abby’s eye, and I can’t tell if it’s the light or if she’s responding to what I just said. I think about how comfortable it felt with my head on her shoulder earlier, and I think about how nice it would be to snuggle with her again.

“Clare?” Abby says, bringing me out of my daydream.

“Yeah, sorry, what did you say?”

“Do you remember that time we played Girl Talk until two in the morning? Your dad had to come in and tell us to quiet down twice before we finally went to sleep.”

I giggle. “Oh my gosh. Yes! He was so annoyed with us that night, but we were having so much fun.”

We spend the rest of the evening reminiscing about the fun times we had growing up until there isn’t a bit of spray cheese left in the can.