Page 17 of The Rebound
“What?” she asks. “Have you? Or did you just forget to tell us?”
“Would you be having it in the States or over here?” Pat asks.
“We don’t know yet,” I say, and there’s a slight edge to my words that shuts everyone up.
It’s Susan who saves me, changing the conversation to the new supermarket that’s opening two towns away. She somehow manages to make the topic last until the cheesecake, which is when Louise starts talking about the rise of plastic pollution in Malaysia and Pat talks about a documentary she recommended to him and still Luke won’t look at me. He doesn’t even acknowledge my presence, even though I’m sitting right beside him and all I want to do is tap him on the shoulder and say,Hang on a minute, buddy. Let’s rewind here. This is nothing but a big misunderstanding.
After what feels like hours, Pat and Susan make their excuses and get up to leave. Luke offers to bring everything to the sink and I volunteer to help as the others move to the porch with a chorus of goodbyes.
“Can we talk?” I ask as soon as they’re gone.
“About what?” He clears the table with the efficiency of someone who’s worked in the service industry, balancing the plates and cutlery with ease.
“About what Louise said. About Tyler.”
“Who?”
“My fiancé. Or my—”
“Right.”
I stiffen at the edge to his tone. “It’s not what you think.”
“I don’t think anything.”
“But you do,” I say. “And I—”
He turns abruptly, wiping his hand on a dishcloth. “Do you have a fiancé?”
“I…” What do I say?No, Luke! I don’t have a fiancé! He tossed me to the curb right before I fell off my pedestal. What I do have is an inferiority complex that makes me lie to my friends and family so they don’t think I’m more of a failure than I already am.
“Abby?”
“Yes,” I say. “I have a fiancé.” I cross my arms and immediately hear the coach at my women-in-business seminar screaming about how my posture is too defensive. But I can’t help it. I feel defensive. This feels like my last freaking defense right now.
“I don’t know what the big deal is,” I continue, regretting the words as soon as I say them. But before I can even begin to backtrack, he dumps the cloth on the countertop.
“No deal at all.”
“Luke—”
“Welcome home, Abby,” he says, walking past me into the hall. “Enjoy the cheesecake.”
4
Born a few months apart, Luke and I were friends for most of our early childhood. We didn’t really have a choice in the matter, the two of us forced together by sheer proximity. Both my parents worked and Louise and I were often deposited with Susan after school. Being that bit older, Louise would disappear to do her own thing while Luke and I watched television or ran around doing whatever it is seven-year-olds do. I don’t know when that stopped. Maybe when Louise became old enough to look after me in our own house. Maybe because that’s just what happens when you grow up. People change. And it takes more than living next door to someone to be friends with them. We grew apart and the only time I ever saw him was glimpses of him mowing the lawn in the summer. Honestly, between studying and navigating my own teenage drama, I rarely thought about him.
And now I can’t stop.
I exit Dessie’s store, picturing the tight look on his face as I unpack the suspiciously cheap Irish cell phone I just bought. It’s Tuesday. Three days since the lunch. Four days since I came home and I still haven’t told Louise the truth. To be fair, I was very tired for most of that time. Once the Baileys left I more or less collapsed back into bed, where I stayed for the rest of the afternoon and all of Sunday.
I woke in a panic yesterday and spent the morning applying for every job I could find back in New York and the afternoon making endless to-do lists of all the steps I’d need to take to get myself back to normal. As bizarre as it sounds, it made me feel a little better seeing my life broken out into color-coded sections and bullet points within bullet points. No more “get a well-paying position, pay off your debts, and move back to New York.” Now I dealt in the granular. Get up. Get dressed. Buy an Irish phone. Offer to help Louise make dinner. Smile pleasantly when she says no. Get a job here.
I wasn’t too sure about the last part. But I needed money and I wasn’t above taking grunt work to get it. But where? Clonard isn’t exactly full of opportunities at the best of times and during the off-season it’s even worse.
I stare down the town’s main street, trying to count the businesses that are still open. The Irish tricolor bunting and posters are still up from St. Patrick’s Day two weeks ago, making the town look cheery and welcoming and completely at odds with my sour mood. Without a car I can’t commute anywhere, but short of knocking on doors, I don’t know what else to do. I don’t even have my own computer to work remotely.
I watch a skinny tabby cat slink across the road, brooding as a phone starts to ring. It takes me few seconds before I realize it’s my American one, tucked into the pocket of my fleece. I answer it quickly in case it’s a recruiter.
