CHAPTER ONE ~ ABBY ~ NOW
To-do list for today:
-Figure out what to wear to mystery dinner with Drew, Brodie, and Fern
-Scour job listings.Again.
-Stop bed rotting and go for a walk.It’s spring!You love spring, remember??
-Renew anxiety meds
-Avoid spiralling into an existential crisis
“Because who has time for that?”I mutter as I underline the last item on the list.
Tossing my pen aside, I glance around the room and wonder for the hundredth time how I got here.Notliterallyhere, in this magazine-worthy bedroom in a Victorian-era home in Kingston, Ontario.No,herein the figurative sense: about to turn thirty-five, unemployed, and living in my best friend’s spare bedroom.
And single.Can’t forget that.
A familiarrat-a-tat-tatknock sounds at the door, and I call for Drew to come in.As she breezes into the room, I’m tempted to tuck my pathetic list out of view, but there’s no hiding anything from Drew MacKinlay.
I move my legs out of the way a second before she hops on the bed.“Have I told you lately how freaking happy I am to have you just down the hall again after all these years?”she asks as she sprawls out beside me.“It feels like we’ve gone back in time to our university days.”
“Except back then, you and your icicle feet ended up in bed with me half the time,” I say.
“Aww, I can get in bed with you tonight if you want,” she says, nuzzling my shoulder.“Give Brodie a break from my cold feet.I don’t have nightmares anymore, so I probably won’t even kick you.”
“I’m not sure I’m willing to bet on ‘probably’,” I say.“Let’s not forget the summer I couldn’t wear shorts because of the bruises on my legs.”
Drew laughs and shifts on the bed, the movement catching my list and crinkling it under her arm.“What’s this?”
With a groan, I flick a hand toward the paper, signalling for her to read it.I watch her face, arching an eyebrow when she lets out a quiet hum.
“Good call on that last one,” she says.“Who has time for an existential crisis these days?”
It’s good to know four years of living in different cities hasn’t changed the best friend telepathy we developed in our teens.
“To be fair, I have nothingbuttime these days.”I take the pad from her and flip it upside down on the bed.“I don’t know why I even bother making lists anymore.It’s not like they’ve done me any good over the last few years.”
“Oh, goodie, it’s time for a pity party.We haven’t had one of those in a while.”Drew’s tone is even and her face is devoid of expression, but the gleam in her hazel eyes gives her away.I know what she’s going to say next before she opens her mouth again.“Should we go digging around in the past too?That always makes for an extra fun pity party.I’ll start: your parents abandoned you, the beautiful life you had with your grandmother was fleeting, you were in and out of foster homes until you turned eighteen...your turn.”
I flop facedown into my pillow, letting the plush material swallow the sound of my laughter.If anyone else heard what Drew just said, they’d likely think she was heartless.The fact is, when we met in foster care twenty years ago, our similar traumatic experiences bonded us for life.Making light of it became a coping mechanism.While it’s off limits to everyone else, we can joke about it the way I imagine many siblings from dysfunctional families do, as people who have been through different battles but the same war.
“You’re awful, you know that?”I say, my voice muffled by the pillow.
“I think you meanawfullyamazing.”
A rush of love courses through me, making my eyes tingle despite the levity of her statement.Drewisawfully amazing; she’s my best friend, my soul sister, and right now, the person who’s saving me from descending into the aforementioned existential crisis.
Not wanting to be accused of getting mushy on top of feeling sorry for myself, I sit up and place a noisy kiss on her cheek.“Can’t argue with that.”
She gives me an affectionate smile and picks up the list once more.“You’re entitled to the occasional pity party, by the way.Your whole life basically fell apart in the span of six months.”
She’s not exaggerating.It started with my long-term relationship ending last autumn.Rodger and I met through a mutual friend three years ago at a birthday party, and hit it off immediately.We seemed like a perfect match, and we were happy together...until we weren’t.Our undoing came down to one insurmountable issue: Rodger decided that after a lifetime of not wanting children, he did, in fact, want to be a parent.The problem?Having kids is a hard no for me.
Normally, I’m all about compromise, but in the case of having a baby, there was no meeting halfway without one or both of us ending up miserable and resenting the other.We tried to make things work for a while, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I was keeping him from finding the right person and the life he truly wanted.The break-up was very civil and amicable; there was no big battle, no cheating, and we didn’t even fall out of love with each other.We were just no longer compatible.
That didn’t stop my heart from breaking, though.Six months later, I’m still haunted by the pain in Rodger’s eyes as he watched me pack my belongings—all of which fit into two suitcases, since living in foster homes for seven years taught me not to accumulate much—and left our condo.A strange part of me wishes there’d been a blow-up of some sort, a reason to hate him that would have forced me to get over him more quickly.The way things ended tugged at my childhood abandonment wounds—the ones that made me feel like I was never enough, never worth keeping.I knew that wasn’t the truth, and it was far more complicated and nuanced than that, but it still hurt like hell.
