Abby.

“How are things?” My mom asks the moment I pick up the phone.

I inhale a snort, how does she expect things to be? Is she mocking me because it's fun for her?

“Fine,” I say, walking to the refrigerator. I'm still wrapped up in my bathing towel and I don't mind walking around naked. Beth took the kids out to an amusement park. If I remember correctly, she forbade me from going with them because she believed the twins could only fully bond with her if I was not there to hinder the process.

I'm grateful; I didn't realize what I needed was some time alone from those two wonderful little monsters.

“How are my grandsons?”

I roll my eyes, popping the lid off a bottle of water. “What do you think? You left me to die by their hands.”

Mom laughs, her iconic, great, and carefree laughter. “We are having so much fun here with your Dad,” Mom says.

I nod. “Yeah? Well, you should have gotten the boys because I'm not having any fun here.” Simone's face pops up in my mind and a smile threatens to break on my lips.

Maybe I am having a little fun. But still, my parents deciding to ship me off to my sister, so they can go for vacation is the basic betrayal move. I don't hold it against them; they deserve to enjoy their lives without having to worry about me, but forcing me to stay with them while they're gone is not okay.

I'm not complaining; Beth is a good person, even a great Aunt, but there's so much she can do for us. I can't burden her with the responsibility of taking care of us all by herself.

“I should go,” she giggles, I can hear Dad's voice in the background. “It's starting.”

“What's starting?” My eyebrows knit.

“I will send pictures, bye sweetheart. Tell your sister I love you both.”  With that, the line dies.

I spend the next hour in my bathing towel, pounding about things I can do to help around the house. Like, to bring in some money too, I'm not sure how much a gym instructor gets paid, but Beth has her dreams to chase, and I shouldn't be the barrier.

I spot the vibrator in the drawer while grabbing a pen and paper. The need to finish what I had started last night somehow vanished with this morning's run, thanks to my sister who dragged me out of bed. I would be lying if I say, Simone's raw image from last night has completely disappeared from my head, but keeping busy somehow blocks the thoughts.

I scribble down some part-time jobs I can work through summer to keep busy as well as get groceries. I somehow lose track of time but when I'm finally back, the rough image staring back at me on my paper is Simone. The sketch of her from this morning, a robe around her body, a mug in one hand, and a magazine in the other. There is a smile on her face.

I'm not surprised that my subconscious chose to sketch her of all people and things, but I don't disregard it. I pull the paper from my notepad and stash it in my drawer.

The next thirty to forty minutes I spend battling with my mind on whether I should or should not go to her. But I find myself knocking on her door. I guess the other side won.

The door opens to reveal Simone spotting black leggings and a man's navy blue button-down shirt. She is holding a pair of scissors in her right hand.

“I'm sorry to bother you,” I mutter, my finger tapping on the bowl of blueberry muffins.

Simone looks taken back for a moment, but she responds. “Oh, please, come in.”

I follow her into the Kitchen area and put the muffins on the island table. I make myself comfortable on the bar stool where I sat the first time I was in her home.

“So, how can I help you?” she asks, wiping down her hands with a towel.

I push the muffins to her. “I brought you these; Beth made them, of course.” I smile.

Simone lifts a brow but carefully picks a muffin and takes a calculated small bite off of it. She chews for a second and puts the muffins back.

“Beth doesn't disappoint.” She covers the bowl and pointedly looks at me. “What can I do for you?”

There is a tension that I can't quite put a finger on, but I'm guessing it has to be something about last night.

I pull out the paper from my pocket and lay it in front of her, relaxing in my chair.

“I want to start job hunting.”

She nods. “Okay?”

“And I don't know where to start,” I mutter, holding my chin in my palm.

“Did you have a particular type of job in mind?” Simone asks.

My eyes drop to the piece of paper on the table. Simone quietly picks it up and scans through it while my eyes dart to the sun shining directly into the kitchen windows; it lights Simone's face with so much warmth that it obscures her right side from view.

“Is this everything?” Simone pulls me back.

I nod, blinking slowly. “Do you know anyone who is hiring?”

She shakes her head, her dreadlocks escaping her ponytail. “There's a few restaurants in town, you could start there for the waitressing job. Then I know a bar but I'm not sure they're looking to hire at the moment.”

I nod, my hopes dashing out the window.

“Maybe try being open to other things that are not on the list. Virgin Creek is small but with lots of opportunities,” Simone notes, and once again, I can feel hope burning up in my chest.

“You think so?”

She nods. “Absolutely.” Then takes a sip out of her mug.

No way she is doing that again.

I point to the mug. “Please tell me it's coffee this time,” I mumble, laughter edging my voice.

Simone chuckles. “It's not what it looks like.”

Without thinking, I grab the mug and bring it to my lips. I don't care that she put her mouth on it; if anything, the thought of getting a taste of her mouth thrills the fuck out of me. It's clear to me that we won't talk about the other night. We will both just blame it on the booze and I have noticed just how much Simone likes to ignore things.

I take a sip, and I recognize the taste: a mixture of coke and tequila.

“Naughty,” I whisper, eyes squinting.

Simone lets out a chuckle, she can fool everyone with that but I know it doesn't reach her eyes. “Can you blame a lonely woman?”

I'm not so sure she meant for that to slip out and I don't think I should pursue the topic, but being the curious person I proclaim myself to be, when have I ever been stopped?

“Your husband's not home yet?” I ask when she is not laughing anymore.

Simone looks at me and smiles briefly. “He has this big project he is working on and it's keeping him busy,” she says. Something about her tone makes me wonder if she believes her own words.

I nod. I don't know what to say to her anymore. Drunk night told me something about her; she is scared to let go. And no amount of persuasion can change her mind.

Simone looks past me for a moment, over my shoulder, but appears to not be looking at anything in particular. Then she opens her mouth. “I've spent hours convincing myself that,” she says. “But, no matter how much I say those words, I don't think they're true.”

I nod, unsure of how to respond. I don't do too well with emotions either and if she wants advice, she is talking to the wrong person.

“But such is life.” She smiles. “You should try moving around town for jobs in salons, hotels, or whatever.”

I want to say something that isn't, “Thanks for your help.”

I want to tell her how sorry I am that she is lonely and depressed in her relationship. I want to give her some sort of consolation that things might be better in the future, but I don't think that is what she wants to hear. I think she has heard those things before and she just refuses to listen.

So, I slide out of my chair, and without another word, I leave.

+++

Umh.

Hi??

Happy reading.