I shot him a flirty grin. “Something like that.”
Then I kissed him. Right in front of everyone.
* * *
“Calvin Klein.Oh my God… he’s a dream.”
I smile at Lea Thompson’s words. This is my favorite scene fromBack to the Future, when Marty punches Biff in the face, and goes off on his skateboard, in his cool vintage jacket and black Converse sneakers. He manages to outrun them and they end up covered in manure.
Little Abe is cuddled close to me, twirling a strand of my long hair between his chubby little fingers.
“Leave her alone, Abe,” his mom scolds. “She’s trying to watch the movie.”
I smile down at him. “I don’t mind it. He’s sweet.”
Izzie’s hand is wrist deep in a bag of Doritos, and she’s completely focused on the screen. “I can’t believe his mom has the hots for him.” She laughs. “That is so messed up.”
“Yeah. Best movie ever.”
“Stop eating that junk, Izzie,” Adele scolds. “I’m making you your favorite.”
“Peanut butter banana sandwiches?” little Abe calls out.
“You bet.” She reaches and adjusts one of the tiger lilies in the arrangement on the counter. They’re her favorite flowers. Mine too.
He turns to me. “My mom is the best.”
I smile. “Yep… I agree.”
“And after lunch, I want you to leave the girls alone, and practice your piano,” Adele says, and suddenly the pink t-shirt and jeans shorts she’s wearing vanish into thin air. I blink and she’s wearing a long colorful skirt, the same one Claudia just bought. Her hair is flowing and she starts to dance. She takes my hand and pulls me from the sofa. We dance.
Before long, little Abe and Izzie join us. I’m filled with joy, with calm. I’m dancing on a cloud.
I wake with a start. My sheets are cool, and my skin is clammy. I’m breathless, struggling to get my bearings. It takes me a second or two to orient myself in the darkness of my bedroom. The digital clock on my bedside table flashes. The bright green letters indicate that it’s past three in the morning.
Another flashback.
But this one leaves me confused. It can’t be.
I bounce out of my bed, and fetch my slippers. I know he’s still there. He wasn’t meant to leave until the moving trucks came later today.
My pulse races as I storm out of my loft, not even bothering to lock the door. I stomp over to his door and ring the doorbell repeatedly.
When he finally opens the door, he’s sleepy and disheveled, in pajama pants and his Led Zeppelin t-shirt. He rubs at one eye, the other one is wide with surprise.
I barge in, and hurry right past him. He nips at my heels. “What’s going on, Abby?”
I practically run to his den, to the desk he so adamantly forbade me to get into. I pull the drawers open, but they’re empty. Everything in his apartment is bare, the tables, the built-in bookcases, the kitchen in the distance. Boxes are stacked everywhere. Of course…
He’s leaving.
I’m frantic as I dash to the stacked boxes.
“What the hell, Abby. Talk to me.”
I spot a box labeled OFFICE/DEN. I rip into it with the strength of three Portuguese men. I need to find what I’m looking for. He grabs my arm and pulls me back. I tear myself away, livid. “Don’t you dare touch me,” I snap.
He stands, motionless. I’m sure he thinks I’ve gone off the deep end. I rummage through stacks of work notes and music sheets, office supplies and correspondence.
Finally… I find what I’m looking for. A letter addressed to him.
I want the floor to swallow me whole when I see it right in front of me, in black and white.
Abraham Reed
I turn to him. “Little Abe?”
