‘Rough night?’she says without looking up.
‘You could say that,’ I mutter, peeling off my sunglasses.‘June showed up.’
Abbey puts her phone down.‘JuneJune?’
‘No, the other June.’I scoff.‘The one who occasionally drinks kombucha and attends yoga without heckling the instructor.’I drop my bag onto the ground and slump against the wall of the café.‘Yes,myJune.’
‘What did she want this time?’
‘Who really knows?’A beat.Then I sigh.‘We fought.Big one.Door slamming, red wine and words we can’t take back.The works.’
Abbey’s face softens.She reaches across the table and touches my hand, just for a second.‘Good.’
That throws me.‘Good?’
‘I’m proud of you.’
I gape at her.‘I basically told my mother she wrecked me psychologically and that if I died alone with a vibrator and a house plant, it would still be a win compared to her.’
Abbey shrugs.‘Sounds cathartic.’
‘I feel awful.’
She sips her coffee.‘Of course you do.You were raised to believe boundaries are betrayal.That doesn’t mean they are.’
‘I hate it when you make sense.’
Abbey smiles and takes another sip while a warm breeze tangles with the first buds of purple blooming on a nearby jacaranda.
‘I shouldn’t have yelled,’ I add.
‘Maybe not,’ she says, ‘but I bet it felt fucking amazing to tell her how you really felt.’
I stare at her, then down at the flat white the barista slides onto the table.There’s a little heart in the foam.The barista either pities me or assumes I’m fragile today.Two things can be true.
Abbey takes a bite of her banana bread, chews thoughtfully, then says, ‘Guess who asked about you at run club?’
I lift an eyebrow.‘Let me guess.My chiropractor?The guy who told me I hold stress in my arse?’
Abbey grins.‘Tempting, but no.Tom.’
My face does something.I think it’s a smile.Or a grimace.Hard to tell.‘Tom?’
She nods.‘He asked how you were.Said you looked good.Also said he’s never seen anyone go beet red after five hundred metres quite like you.’
I groan.‘Tom is nice …’
‘But?’
‘But there’s no spark, you know?’I stir my coffee, watching the foam swirl.
Abbey nods knowingly.‘Say no more.’
‘He’s perfect, on paper.It’s all there.Good job.Kind.Emotionally available.Smells of cedarwood and home-loan pre-approval.’
She sips her latte while I mentally drift, unhelpfully, to the one person who’s ever made my heart feel like it was trying to claw its way out of my chest.
Abbey sets her mug down and smirks.‘So, basically, you want less golden retriever energy, more … shadow daddy?’
