Page 3 of Maid For Each Other

“We finally met his girlfriend this morning,” my mom said to Warren, and it took me a minute to catch up.

What?

“You met his Abby?” Warren set down his cup and gave my mom a grin of commiseration. “I was starting to wonder if she’s real, because no one’s ever seen her.”

“Right?” My mom laughed in agreement.

What. The. Fuck?

Shewasn’treal.

Abby was the name I’d given to my nonexistent girlfriend.

So how had my mother met her?

For what it’s worth, I never meant to make up a girlfriend. I wasn’t some adolescent who was too scared of women to date, for God’s sake; I was actually a big fan. But I didn’t have any time to commit to all the bullshit that went along with relationships. Work was my focus for now, and I’d worry about things like settling down after I turned forty.

But when everyone in leadership had a significant other, well…desperate times called for desperate measures. I needed the powers that be to think I was settled and grounded and ready to lead the company, so when my personal life became a topic of conversation at the quarterly retreat, I might’ve offhandedly mentioned my down-to-earth-and-wanting-a-family-right-away angelic girlfriend.

Abby.

I’d literally looked at the server’s name tag—Abby—and named my imaginary girlfriend after her; not a lot of forethought went into it.

I hadn’t intended on keeping the Abby thing going, but it was convenient. It made my parents happy, my co-workers, my nana; everyone seemed to take comfort in the fact that I had an Abby in my life.

Only I didn’t.

She didn’t exist.

So what was my mother talking about?

“She’s coming to the party tonight,” my dad said to Warren, who’d become his pal over the past few years. “So you can meet her then.”

“She…,” I said, squeezing the bridge of my nose as my brain ran wild trying to figure out what the hell could be happening. “She, uh, told you she’s coming tonight?”

“Yes,” my mom said, turning in her seat to scrutinize me. “But she looked surprised to see us in the kitchen when she woke up, Dex; did you forget to tell her we’d be staying at your place?”

“Oh,” I managed, trying my best to not look shocked that a stranger had actually been in my apartment. “Ah, I didn’t think she’d be there last night. I thought she—”

“I’m so glad she was,” she continued, as if I hadn’t even spoken. “She’s the most adorable little redhead and she baked a kitchen full of muffins that were to die for.”

So this was real. Someone named Abby had slept in my apartment and made fucking muffins.

“Abby can cook, that’s for sure,” I muttered as my mindwhirled. What the hell was going on? I lived in a secured building with a doorman. I had locks on my doors and a security system.

How could this have happened?

Who the fuck was Abby?

“I haven’t had a good muffin since Ethel passed,” Warren murmured, setting down his coffee. “Have your little Abby bring one tonight, okay, Dex?”

“Of course,” I said, hearing a roaring in my ears as I gave him what I hoped was a casual smile. “Will you excuse me for a moment? I have to step out and make a call.”

“Calling Abby?” my mother asked in a singsong voice.

“I’m definitely going to try and track her down,” I said before turning away from the table full of watchful eyes and charging for the door. “Excuse me.”

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