“Thanks for everything,” she says. “You’ve done so much for me today and yesterday that I’m afraid I’ve forgotten something.”
“Everything works.” I need to say something to her. Something that’s been on my mind since last night. “I’m so sorry, Abby. I had no idea your family is so…”
“Horrible?”
“Yes, but there’s a long list of other adjectives that describe them.” Some I wouldn’t say in front of her.
Her breath fogs the window. “It’s always been this way. Rachel’s the star, and I’m the understudy. I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to be used to it. You deserve so much better.”
Abby turns to me, her eyes shimmering. “Your family is different. So warm and accepting. I was more at home there in one day than I ever have been with my own family.”
My heart aches, and I smooth her hair. “You’re always welcome to be with us. My grandmother would officially adopt you if she could.”
Abby laughs. “I might take her up on that.”
We sit in comfortable silence. Powerfluff yowls, reminding us of her presence.
I laugh at the cat. “Someone’s ready to be home.”
“Do you want to come in?” Abby asks, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.
I grin, already unbuckling my seat belt. “I’d love to.”
As we make our way up to Abby’s apartment, I carry Powerfluff’s crate. This feels so right. The stress and tension from the short visit to her parents’ house is already fading, replaced by a sense of comfort and belonging.
Abby unlocks the door and then opens it. The dark apartment is cold, but she flips a light on.
Powerfluff makes a beeline for the overstuffed couch that looks comfy, curling up with a contented purr. Abby shakes her head. “She’s happy to be home.”
Abby turns more lamps on and adjusts the thermostat. Everything in her apartment is eclectic but pure Abby.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Abby calls over her shoulder as she heads to the kitchen. “I can make us something warm to drink.”
I shrug my coat off and settle onto the couch in the spot next to Powerfluff, who cracks one eye open to stare at me. I notice a white bookcase full of hardcover books. The only photos are of the cat. None of Abby and her family.
Abby returns carrying two steaming cups. This is the woman I know from the office—confident, capable, and caring.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say, accepting the drink. “Just thinking about how amazing you are.”
Abby blushes, squeezing in next to me on the couch. “Flatterer. You’re just saying that because I’m letting you warm up here.”
I take a sip. Peppermint tea. It hits the spot. “That’s not why I’m saying it. Do you know how strong you are? After everything with your family, you’re here and smiling and making me something to drink.”
She stares into her cup. “I don’t always feel strong.”
I set my cup on the coffee table and face her. “But you are. You’ve built a life for yourself and a career. You haven’t let yourfamily’s treatment define you, even though it’s affected you. That takes incredible strength.”
Abby’s gaze is a mix of gratitude and vulnerability. “Thank you. For seeing me. Really seeing me.”
I press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Always.”
As we drink our tea, Powerfluff stirs, stretching languidly before sauntering over to investigate what’s in our cups.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Abby gently shoos her away. “You’ve got your own water bowl.”
