“Really?”
“Yes.” I have to bite my cheek to keep from adding the “sweetheart” onto my response that I really want to. “I’ll be there in five.”
Her exhale is audible through the line. “Thank you.”
She’s standing outside in her dark blue scrubs and tennis shoes when I pull the truck to a stop in front of her house. At least she has a pink long-sleeved T-shirt on under her scrub top.
“Still haven’t figured out how to wear a coat?” I ask when she climbs into the front seat. She uses her lunch box to smack my shoulder, but she’s smiling, and so am I.
“I thought I would be escaping into my toasty car within a few seconds, not standing outside for an extended period of time. I can’t be blamed for this one.”
“You’ve lived here your whole life. I really think you can be blamed for your coat problem.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’d hardly call it a problem,” she huffs. “It’s a quirk.”
Oliver laughs quietly in the backseat, which makes Abby spin around to face him.
“Oh… hey, Oliver. I was so busy bickering with your dad, I didn’t see you back there.”
Through the mirror, I see him give her a wave.
“Buckle up,” I tell her.
“Oh, right.” As she spins back around, she whacks me with her lunch box again. This time, it’s not intentional, but she doesn’t seem apologetic about it either.
As soon as the seatbelt clicks into place, I pull out onto the side street.
“Do you guys have any plans for today?” she asks.
I pause for a beat, giving Oliver the chance to answer if he wants to. “Oliver has a therapy appointment, and then we’ll get some ice cream.”
I don’t remember exactly how it became a tradition, but it’s kind of our thing now after his appointments. I think it helps him decompress after everything.
It’s also ice cream, and what eight-year-old doesn’t love that?
Therapy has never been something we have shamed or stigmatized in our family, so I know Oliver wouldn’t mind me mentioning it to Abby.
To us, it isn’t any different than going to a doctor if you have a sore throat or a broken bone. Your brain is a vital part of your body that needs to be taken care of just as much as the rest of you.
“That’s great,” she says with a warm smile. “I’ve seen a therapist before. I was really sad for a while after Maverick was born, and it really helped me.”
The way she’s opening up not only to me but also to my son to make him feel more seen is doing things to my heart that it really shouldn’t.
There isn’t an insincere bone in this woman’s body. She cares deeply about the people she lets into her life. And this is a problem because I don’t ever want to not be a part of her life.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Abby
For once,I’m glad Mav is with Cole tonight. My parents dropped him off with them after their little donut run this morning, so the house will be quiet.
Usually, I dread it, but after a shit show of a shift, I want nothing more than to take a hot shower and fall into bed. I don’t even feel hungry for dinner.
The day started with a bang when I found out my car wouldn’t start. Then, the hits kept coming all day at work, a string of difficult cases one after the next.
I can’t even think about my car right now. I have the next two days off, so that’s a problem for future Abby.
Becks taps my shoulder, making me realize she’s stopped at my house. It’s a short drive from the hospital, but I didn’t realize we were here already.
