"That's because I do the laundry," I point out.
"It's not my fault you run through your clothes faster than I do," she protests. "And it makes sense to throw the sheets in with your stuff, you have a smaller load of laundry than I do."
"That's because you wait until you don't have a single piece of clothing left to do laundry," I say. "If you did it more frequently, you wouldn't have so much. And I still think it's insane that you wash sheets and clothes together at the same time."
"Whatever," she grumbles. "I hate doing laundry."
"It's okay," I laugh, throwing a piece of popcorn back at her. "I know. I don't mind doing it."
The reunion ends with one of the blondes in tears and the other storming off the stage. Abby switches the channel over to a re-run of Friends, turning the volume down until it's just ambient background noise.
"This is so much better than the bar," I groan, standing up and stretching, checking the bed meticulously for any remaining popcorn crumbs.
"Was that an option?" she laughs. "I don't know how I'd do sitting on a barstool when I'm as big as a house."
"No," I say, grinning at that mental image. "Garrett and Tyler wanted me to come out tonight."
"Right," she says slowly. "Friday Beers. When's the last time you went to one of those?"
"I don't know," I shrug., "Probably seven or eight months ago?"
"You don't have to stay here every night, you know," she says, a strange look on her face. "I know you have a real bed at your apartment. I hate that you're wasting rent money on a place you basically never go to. You should at least makesomeof that money count."
"You know I barely pay rent, it's a perk of the job," I point out. "Is this your way of telling me I've overstayed my welcome?" I ask, my heart jumping to my throat.
Does she not want me here anymore?
"No, of course not," she says quickly. "I love having you here. I just feel bad."
"For what?" I ask, taken aback by the sudden mood shift.
"I feel like I've hijacked your life," she says, her expression morphing into a deep frown. "You don't do anything but go to work and take care of me. I'm sure this can't be what you imagined. You've gone from a bachelor pad to being fully domesticated. And it's not even your house."
"Bachelor pad is a stretch," I say, growing more concerned with every word coming out of her mouth. "You know I've never been big into partying."
"What about dating?" she asks, avoiding eye contact. "Can't exactly bring a girl home to a couch bed in a house with a pregnant widow."
"What girl would I be bringing home exactly?" I laugh.
"I don't know," she shrugs. "You could meet a girl at a bar, fall in love, be happy."
"Hey," I say softly, kneeling in front of where she sits on the edge of the bed. "Do I seem like I'm unhappy?"
"No," she admits. "Not yet, anyway."
"Not ever, Abby. There are only two girls on my mind right now," I say reassuringly, briefly resting a hand on her bump. "And there's no way I'm leaving them for a shitty apartment and a hypothetical girl at a hypothetical bar. You didn't hijack my life, you made it better. You don't need to worry about me."
"You're right," she says, forcing a small smile. "I think I'm just emotional from being so enormous and exhausted all the time. Maybe it's some bizarre version of nesting. I don't want you to go, I promise." In a much quieter voice, she adds, "That's the last thing I want."
"I'm not going anywhere," I say, running the backs of my fingers gently across her cheek. "This place feels more like home than that apartment ever did."
Her face twists into a tortured expression and she opens her mouth like she's going to argue, but she closes it again and stays quiet for a nerve-wracking amount of time.
"What's going on in that head of yours, pretty girl?" I murmur, lifting her chin until her eyes meet mine. I search her beautiful, but troubled green eyes for any hint of what might be causing her so much worry.
"Just thinking," she says, blinking rapidly and schooling her face back into something unconvincingly cheerful. "Thank you for helping build the rest of the furniture today. I really don't know what I'd do without you."
"Anytime," I say, silently battling to calm my nerves. "You'd be just fine without me, Abs. You're incredible. If anyone could do this on their own, it's you. But you don't need to worry about that, because you're not on your own. Not while I'm around. And I plan on being around for a very long time."
