Page 26 of Love Rewritten

“You have something to prop this up on? We’ll need to pop these bearings out to see if they look okay.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” I say, scouring the garage.

“You got two short two-by-fours? That would work fine.” She never looks up from the tire as she holds out a hand behind her for the rest of the tools I’m holding. I hand them off to her before searching through my dad’s scrap wood pile. It’s far too large, considering he doesn’t do any woodworking.

“Where did you learn to do all this?” I ask while Abby is elbow-deep in the repairs. This whole thing has completely caught me off guard. But I have to admit. It’s hot.

When she asked me for help with her bike, I fully expected we’d get here and she’d sit on the sidelines while I pulled everything apart. Time to check myself, I guess.

“My dad. He refused to fix anything on my bike unless I was there to help.” She never looks up from the tire. “Did you find something to prop the wheel on?”

Right. My job has turned into helping, not doing. Fine by me. I could watch her all day. “Sorry. Here.” I set the two pieces down and help her settle the tire over top of them.

“Where would I find the WD-40?”

So, I go find that. She rarely asks for help other than for new tools. I let her do her thing. She doesn’t talk much while she works. Only the occasional comment about what’s working and what’s not. It reminds me a lot of how Cole and I used to work on things. Granted, I was more involved in the process, but I don’t mind this at all. Cole and I used to give each other shit abouteverything.Much like Abby does with me. Maybe that’s why I like her so much. Because she’s so similar to Cole. I’ve never thought much about that until now. But it makes sense.

“Do you think the seals still look okay?” She asks, finally looking up at me.

A line of grease stains her forehead and right cheek. I can’t help but laugh.

“What?” she asks, a grin forming.

I stifle my laughing enough to respond. “You’re cute, that’s all.”

She cocks her head, a smile still sitting on her lips. She shakes her head. “The seals. How do they look?”

I take a step forward from where I was leaning against the bench and check the seals. “Yeah. They still look good.”

“Okay. Just wanted a second opinion before I put them back in.” And with that, she gets back to work.

“Tell me about your dad,” I find myself saying, half trying to make conversation, half genuinely curious.

She looks up, a small smile playing on her lips. “What do you want to know?”

I shrug. “Anything really. His favorite food, your best memory with him, his best dad joke. All of it. I have a feeling you’re a lot like him.”

“I like to think so.” She pauses, chewing on her lip while she thinks about what to say. “His favorite food was tacos, butnotwith sour cream. He hated that stuff. His best dad joke was ‘I don’t trust stairs. They’re always up to something.’” She pauses for me to react to the joke.

The grin I feel grow on my face is unavoidable. I snort, trying to hold back laughter, but that only makes Abby laugh, too.

Once the fits of laughter stop, she continues. “And my favorite memory with him? God, I don’t know. There are so many.”

“First one that comes to mind, then.”

She points to a towel, asking me to hand it to her. “Okay. First one I can think of is this time we went to this Mexican restaurant; he didn’t know a lick of Spanish. Never did. But he still always tried to pronounce everything when he was ordering. So, he ordered something, I don’t remember what it was, but in the process of trying to pronounce his food order, he must have said something either dirty or offensive because the waiter burst out laughing, like crying tears laughing, and no one had any idea what was so funny.” Her arms flail wildly around her as she describes the story to me. She’s so animated and the large smile on her face makes my heart swell. “Once the waiter stopped laughing, he told us what he had actually said in Spanish and then my dad burst out into a tearful laugh, too. It was so funny. Definitely one of those ‘you had to be there’ moments, but funny either way.”

She continues telling me bits about her father that sometimes make me laugh, and sometimes make me sad for her, but even during the sad moments, she keeps a hint of a smile.

I help her here and there, but the new bearings are in, and the tire is back on in no time. She hits the lug nuts one more time before she’s satisfied and sets all the tools back on the bench. She smiles up at me once the bike is back on the ground.

“Thank you,” she beams.

“For what? I think I helped with all of two steps in that whole process,” I chuckle.

She leans her butt against the seat of her bike and crosses her arms. “I’m serious. This felt good. I needed some mindless activity to keep me company for a while.”

“Mindless activity, huh?” I give her a sly smile and slowly step toward her. “I might have an idea.”

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