Page 9 of Love Rewritten

“Do you think she’d talk to me? Do you think we could be friends again?” Her eyes are still fixed on something outside.

I finish chewing the bite I just took and swallow. “I think so. I think she misses having someone else to talk to, misses having a close girlfriend to bounce her crazy ideas off. Lord knows she’s got plenty of those.”

We both chuckle at that. Meredith looks at me again. “Do you think you can ask her to meet up with me?” She must sense my hesitation because she quickly follows up with, “She’s blocked me on everything. I have no way to contact her. I so badly want to apologize. Not for what I did. I won’t apologize for that. But I want to apologize for breaking her trust in the way I did. And I miss having her morbid sense of humor around. I miss her sass. I just … miss her.” Her shoulders sag with the final words.

“I’ll see what I can do.” The words leave my mouth before I process what I’m saying. But I do want them to be friends again. Having Meredith around would be good for her even if Abby doesn't think so right now.

“Thank you.” Another moment of silence passes before she checks her watch. “I should get back. Randy will start getting snippy if I don’t.” She stands, looking toward that closed office door. She holds her arms out, asking for another hug, so I oblige. “Thank you again. And thank you for not blowing me off.”

“Of course.”

She leaves me sitting alone at the back of the cafeteria to finish my sandwich in silence. And as I keep eating, bite after bite, it dawns on me that I now have two things I need to talk to Abby about. I have no clue how either of these conversations will go, or when to bring them up. I thought about talking to her today while we hang around campus, but at the same time, I don’t want to ruin the day. I’ve been telling myself I don’t want to ruin her day for days now, though, so something has to give sooner or later. And I fear that it may need to be sooner.

Abby and I meet outside my dad’s office to head to the library. I haven’t talked to my dad in person since I barged in on his and Abby’s meeting. I’m not mad anymore. I just don’t know what to say. I suppose I should apologize for the way I reacted, but that would imply I’m in the mood to talk to him. Which I most certainly am not. And I haven’t asked Abby how he’s doing. It's not her job to be the middle man in this. I’m not sure if they ever talk about their personal lives. And then it hits me. What if he’s been asking about us? I can’t imagine what she’d say. My only hope is that it would be short, simple answers, and that she’d keep larger details to herself. God, I hope she’s keeping us to herself.

I honestly don’t remember the last time I was in this library. I was never keen on spending time in the library while I was in school. I was a good student, but I only ventured in here when I needed a book for research. I can’t say I’ve ever spent a day here studying. So, as I follow Abby down the stairs to the basement level, I can’t help but watch her light up with every step. I knew books and writing were important to her, but I’ve never spent the time to get to know this side of her.

A slight smile sits on her lips. Her eyes dart from bookcase to bookcase. She rounds a corner to a row of small study rooms at the back wall. She reserved one for a few hours to get in some uninterrupted work time. The glass door glides open without so much as a whisper, revealing a small wooden table and a chair on either side. She clicks on the florescent lighting but it’s dim. I look up to see one of the bulbs has gone out.

“Mood lighting, I guess,” I say as she sets her backpack on the floor.

She turns to me with a pointed look before she takes a seat. “No funny business. I have shit to do.” She pulls her notebook and laptop out of her bag and settles in, already typing away.

I hadn’t thought much about what I would do today, especially now that I don’t have any coursework. So, I brought my laptop to review some notes for when I get summoned to start at the hospital. If baseball doesn’t pan out, I’m not due to start for another couple of months, but the woman I’m replacing has been kind enough to forward me the notes from her regular patients until I start.

I click into the first one that reads “Oxly Outpatient Physical Therapy Services” and scroll down to the first patient, a two-year-old boy who broke his leg a few months ago and needs a refresher on walking.

After an hour, I’ve finished reviewing the notes and I’m starting to get antsy. I don’t know how she can sit for hours reading and writing. My brain doesn’t sit still for that long, let alone my body. Slowly sliding my foot forward, I find where her foot rests on the floor. I tap it a few times, but she doesn’t respond. I swear I see the corner of her mouth twitch, but she doesn’t give anything more away. I tap her foot a few more times until she lifts her eyes looking at me through her lashes.

I smirk but I don’t say anything. I kick her foot again, and this time, she kicks me back. She tips her head up fully, maintaining the intensity of her stare. There’s something in those eyes. Something playful, teasing. But just as I’m about to kick her foot again, she stands up.

“I need to go find a book.” She grabs her phone and a slip of paper with some scribbling on it and heads out the door.

I follow behind her, eager for a change of scenery. “I’ll come with.” She doesn’t turn around, but I see her shake her head.

She starts up the stairs, and I thank whatever Gods might be listening that she decided to wear her best pair of skinny jeans today. We get to the second floor before she steps out from the staircase and wanders down a line of shelves. I check the label at the end of the bookcase to see “Literary Fiction.” The shelves tower over us and I look up to see that they’re anchored to the ceiling. They’re not messing around in here, though, I suppose the death of a student would be bad news for them.

She moves slowly, running her fingers lightly along the spines of the books. She stops almost at the end of the row and peers up, scanning the line of books above her.

She tips her head toward me and says, “I need a tall person.”

I pretend to look around, then shrug. “Wherever will we find one of those?”

She smacks me lightly on the arm before pointing toward the book she needs. “The one with the purple spine, smartass.”

I scrunch my eyes, shooting her a sly eye. She doesn’t look away as I take a step closer, now only a foot away from each other. When I grab the book, I hold it high. She starts to reach for it but drops her hand when she realizes the game I’m playing. She looks up at me, a playful annoyance in her eyes.

“I charge for my services.”

“Really. And what’s the cost of grabbing a book?” She asks, hands on her hips.

I press my lips together for a moment as I think. “One kiss.”

She rolls her eyes but stands on her toes. I lean in, kissing those soft lips, lingering to savor the moment.

Our relationship has been slow-moving since the hospital. Her pain has been a big piece of that, but she’s been somewhat reserved since we came home. I’ve let her do her thing, not wanting to push her until she’s ready, but I can’t lie and say I haven’t been itching to get closer again. I miss those few nights we spent together, so intimately connected. Abby still sleeps in my room, providing us both with the sense of security we desperately need.

“I lied. Two kisses,” I say, smirking with the book still held in the air.

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