When we get outside to the terrace, the early summer breeze hits us with much-needed relief to perhaps cool down our emotions.
Abby grabs my arm. “Speak to me, Lucas, what’s in your head?”
I turn to her, and I can’t figure out where the surge in me comes from, but I know something is boiling.
“Abby, I want to be so damn selfish. I want to hear that you couldn’t possibly consider being away from me. Screw video calls and perhaps a visit here or there. You and I are going to be apart for a year. I think I waited a long time to have something great, and now that I have it, you have it too. You are putting a pause on it… on us.” I’m normally a collected guy, but right now I may seem like I’m losing my cool.
She looks taken aback and parts her lips. But after a few beats, her hands find her hips and she breathes in a deep inhalation. She lets loose. “Lucas, I am not putting a pause on us and that isn’t fair. And if this is the way you always felt then why the hell did you tell me to go? You don’t always need to be the good guy. I would much rather hear the truth than have you pretend to feel or think something you don’t,” she snipes and almost growls. I’ve never seen her this feisty.
“I think I am being very real right now,” I challenge with a blank look as I lean against the railing of the terrace.
The air is thick between us as we both stare at each other with heaving chests.
“You know what? I need to get out of here. You and I never fight, but congratulations, you just ruined that record.” Abby pivots around and begins to walk away.
“Abby,” I call out as my hand finds my forehead to rub, but she is already on a steady stride forward and out of Matchbox.
* * *
The next day,I pace my kitchen with coffee in hand. Yesterday was not one of my finer days or hours. My rating for communication was downgraded, and even I know that Abby has a right to be pissed. I should have conveyed my real sentiments from the get-go, but I just don’t want to be that guy. I don’t want her to crush her dreams for me, but I don’t want her away either.
But wait a second.
Just wait a second.
It’s Abby.
She isn’t just some woman to try long-distance with. She is the one I love. The one that makes me laugh. The only one who I want in my bed. And I mean, the sex when you do see each other in a long-distance relationship must be off the charts. That is something to get excited about, right?
And I’ve heard good things about Alaska. It would be a great place to take Theo.
It’s not like we have to send letters by mail—there have been modern advancements that mean we can still talk every day.
Didn’t someone say absence makes the heart grow fonder? That’s a plus, right?
Fuck, I really needed to weigh the pros and cons more before my filter broke and I spoke yesterday.
I’ve told her my concerns, but now I need to re-assure her that we will be okay. Wewillbe okay.
Setting my coffee down, I quickly grab my keys and head to my car. Turning on my car, I throw on a good song and I pull out of the driveway. I consider where to stop by to collect some flowers for her as I need to throw on the charm and apologize. She deserves that.
Driving along the road, I sing to myself. A little “To Be With You” by Mr. Big is just one of those numbers that you need to belt out.
The morning is a little gray, but the roads are clear. It’ll probably rain later. Riding along the winding road, the nature around this place is spectacular.
Looking ahead, I barely have time to gasp. I quickly swerve to avoid the big blur in front of me. The screeching of tires becomes overbearing in my ear just before I crash into something else. I have no idea what the hell just happened, because suddenly I see shards of glass and I feel achy.
And as a doctor, I know that if you feel blood running down your skin… that it is not a good sign.
22
ABBY
It’s Monday and I feel numb. Arguing with Lucas is something that I hope is never repeated. I want to cry and scream all at the same time. But he has a right to feel the way he does. And to be honest, I was already feeling the same. Being apart for a year is hard work.
Walking into the exam room, I see a concerned middle-aged Ms. Beasley in her yoga pants looking at her beagle Luna. Then my eyes draw a line to the corner where I see middle-aged Mr. Smith with his cowboy look and hardened face as he holds his collie mix on a leash. My brow arches at this scene. I’m slightly confused, but then it all unravels.
“It was your hound that got frisky with Luna,” Ms. Beasley snipes.
