Page 56 of This Kind of Forever
I made a mistake. I take back my friendship.
Delilah
Too late! You’re stuck with me now.
Clara
Trapped in a hell of my own making.
Please refrain from discussing my brothers and their…gentlemanly qualities. I’d rather not puke today.
But we’re just friends!
Delilah
He doesn’t look at you like just a friend.
I suck in a sharp breath.
Thankfully, the sound of the front door opening down on the main level gives me the perfect excuse to hide from this conversation. I toss my phone onto the bed and leave my room. Hopefully by the time I come back, the two of them will have moved on to a different topic.
As soon as I start walking down the stairs, Abbie comes stomping up them. She bypasses me entirely and heads straight to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Yikes.
When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I take in Gabe’s pinched expression. “That bad?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I don’t even know what happened. She seemed upset when I picked her up from school, but she won’t say why.”
I chew on my lower lip as I think. “I might have an idea, if that’s okay.”
He waves a hand toward the stairs. “Go ahead. I’m clearly not her favourite person right now anyway.”
My expression softens, and I close the distance between us, setting a hand on his arm. “She might be upset, but she still loves you. So much. And her expressing her feelings like this is a testament to how safe she feels with you.”
His lips quirk slightly up at that. “Luke said something similar a few months ago.”
It’s true. I was never comfortable enough with Amanda to be so free with my emotions, good or bad. I always felt like I was tiptoeing. Like even if I did express myself, I wouldn’t get the care I craved. Watching Gabe with his daughter is healing, in a way.
I give his arm a squeeze, then let go. “You’re a great dad, Gabe. Abbie is lucky to have you.”
I don’t go back upstairs right away. Instead, I head out to the guesthouse. Although I moved most of my belongings into the main house, I left my painting supplies out there. Once I gather what I need, I go find Abbie.
Knocking on her door, I call out, “Abbs? Can I come in?”
I hear a dejectedokay, so I step inside. Abbie’s room is something out of younger Hallie’s dreams. She has a shimmery green canopy that drapes around the head of her bed, and her comforter is pink and covered in flowers. Along one wall, she has shelves full of books and toys, and beside them, a large wooden dollhouse that has John and his craftsmanship written all over it. On the opposite side of the room, there’s a small table and set of chairs.
Abbie peers up at me from her spot in front of her dollhouse. Her usually carefree expression is guarded.
“I came to see if you wanted to paint with me,” I say, holding up the supplies.
That piques her interest. “I like to paint.”
I smile. “I had a feeling you might.” Setting everything on the table, I pull one of the chairs out and take a seat. “Come see what I have.”
Abbie’s dolls are forgotten then. She can’t resist the temptation. She quickly climbs into the chair opposite me and watches as I set out watercolour paints, brushes, a cup of water. Then I set a piece of watercolour paper in front of her.
“I have those colours in my paint set at Mommy’s house,” she says, pointing as I fill our palette with red and then blue.
