Finding Abigail (15 page)

I leaned up and
looked at him; his dark eyes were satisfied and dreamy. “What do you mean?”

His eyes
twinkled in the moonlight. “Let me move in.” He pulled me in for a hug. “We’ll
get my stuff tomorrow. Or is that too soon?”

I laughed,
surprised that his bossiness always seemed so endearing. “Of course not, we can
go now if you want.”

He nodded. “No,
tomorrow’s fine. Then maybe we can stop by my parents’ and tell them our news.”

“Sure.” I
snuggled into his chest as he wrapped his strong arm around me. I felt warm and
content.

Stranger

The next morning
while Nick was at his apartment packing, I called my mother and told her the
news. “Are you sure about this, honey?” That was the only response.

I paused, taken
aback by her question. “Why are you asking me that?”

“There’s just
something about him that bothers me. I can’t really put my finger on it, but
when he watches you, it seems a bit possessive.”

“Doesn’t that
mean he loves me?”

She paused. “I
think it’s more than that. I’ve seen that look before, and I don’t think it’s
love.”

I didn’t know
what to say. Her words were like a bucket of ice water dumped over me. I had
been so excited, and now she was ruining my mood. Frankly, I was a little
annoyed. “Mom, you’re just being overprotective. You bug me constantly to find
someone, and now you’re giving me grief. Why can’t you let me be happy?”

She sighed
heavily. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m happy if you’re happy. I just worry he’s…” She
clipped her words off, probably picking up on my growing agitation. Her voice
held a slight coolness now. Before I could question her, she began a story
about Justin joining a soccer team. She ended the call when there was a knock
at her door, she and hung up in a rush, without really saying goodbye. I sat
for a few seconds with the phone still in my hand and my mouth agape.

The next call I
made went a little differently. I had to pull the phone away from my ear while
Brenda screamed with delight. When she calmed down, I asked her, “Do you like
Nick, Brenda?”

There was a
short pause on the other end. “Of course I do. Why do you ask?”

I opened my
mouth to tell her what Mom had said and then changed my mind. This was a happy
day, and dwelling on my mother’s words would just ruin that. “No reason. Never
mind.”

The rest of the
conversation involved planning the wedding: the when, the who, the where, all
of which I didn’t know, since he had just asked me.

“Hold on,
Brenda,” I laughed into the phone when her voice started to hit a high decibel.
“It just happened, I don’t know anything yet. But you’ll be the first to know
when I do.” I hung up and made a similar call to Debbie. My ears were still
ringing when Nick called and told me to come and pick up some of his stuff. It
wouldn’t all fit in his car.

By the end of
the day my living room was covered in boxes, and my closet was full. Since
there wasn’t room for his furniture, he was putting the rest of his belongings
in storage. I was thankful for that, since I could barely move. It was okay
though; boxes could be unpacked and if we were really short on space, we could
use my office. I was just happy he was here.

“My mom asked
us to stop over tonight.” Nick was folding his sweats and stuffing them in an
old wooden dresser that was marked with both pen and the occasional scrapes in
the finish. It was old and had obviously been his as a child. It smelled of
dirty gym socks. Not that I was going to say that out loud. He didn’t seem to
notice and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. It was the only piece of
furniture that would fit in my room. “I told her we had some news, so she said
to drop in for dessert and a drink.” He paused as he closed the now full
drawer. “What did your mom say?” A small smile appeared on his face. He was
happy with our news and was excited to share it with his family. I couldn’t
wipe the look off his face with my mother’s reaction.

Placing the
hanger, holding one of his dress shirts in the closet, I peeked my head out.
“Um…she said she was happy for us, of course.”

He stepped up,
wrapping his arms around my waist. His hot breath tickled my neck. “Good. I
want everyone to be as happy as I am.” His voice was deep against my ear. “We
should hurry though, it’s almost six. Do you want to go through a drive-thru on
the way over?”

I closed the
closet door, feeling a sudden craving for tacos. “Sure.”

We changed our
clothes quickly and headed out. For some reason I was worried about his
parents’ reaction. Would they act as my mother had? Or my sister and friend?
Although I was hoping for the latter, I couldn’t get my mother’s response out
of my head.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you both,” his mother
gushed, clasping her hands to her face then clapping them together. “I knew
that’s what you were going to tell us when you called.”

The whole family
was there. Sofia must have been busy, making calls after she talked to Nick.

They were all
happy for us—well, except Heather, who sat in the corner of the room. While
everyone hugged us and patted Nick’s back, she just sat there looking down,
picking off imaginary lint from her navy blue pants. When everyone else started
to pour drinks for a toast, she lifted her head and gazed at me. Her face was
full of sadness. When I started to walk toward her, she stood up and headed
into the kitchen. I watched her go, wondering if I’d ever be able to win her
over.

Nick’s phone
rang, bringing me back to the celebration. “Excuse me, guys, I’ll take this
outside.”

While he was
gone, Tina pulled me onto the sofa next to her. “Are you sure about this?”

I didn’t
understand the question. Wasn’t she happy for us? “Yes, I am. I love him.”

She tucked her
light brown hair behind her ear and leaned forward until she was so close I
could smell her perfume. “If you ever need anything, you call me. Okay?”

I didn’t know
what to say, so I just nodded. Did she mean she wanted to help with the wedding
plans? She patted my leg as she stood up and wandered over to her mother, who
was holding a sleeping Hannah.

Nick slipped
back into the house. His face seemed cold, his jaw locked.

“What’s wrong?”
I asked him, touching his hand as he sat back down beside me where Tina had
been.

He pulled his
hand away. “Nothing.” His voice was as cold as his expression. My heart sank. I
hadn’t heard him speak to me this way since Jason’s visit.

“Abby, would
you like to wear my wedding dress? It’s upstairs in the attic. It would be
perfect for you,” Sofia said from where she sat across from me.

The ache in my
chest deepened as a memory popped into my mind. I was eight and used to love
exploring the attic. One day I found a large cedar chest. The wood gleamed,
almost beckoning me to open it. When I did, I gasped at the layers of white
chiffon. It was the most beautiful garment I had ever seen. In my childish mind
I imagined it was the dress for an angel or a princess. I pulled it out and
managed to get all the layers over my head. Of course it was too big, but as I
stared into the gilded mirror that leaned up against an old dresser, I couldn’t
help but imagine myself wearing it when I was old enough to marry.

When my
parents, who had been looking for me, found me wearing it, I thought I was in
trouble, but my mother only smiled. My father picked me up and told me I looked
like a princess. At the time, that was a true compliment, and my chest swelled
with pride.

“Abby, are you
okay?” Sofia asked, bringing me back to the present.

I shook away
the memory and replied, “That is such a sweet offer, Sophia, but I can’t. I’m
sorry.”

She waved her
hand in dismissal. “You’re right. I’m sure you want a more modern style. What
was I thinking?” She smiled. “Have you set a date?”

I glanced at
Nick for help; his face was even colder. I stared at him, waiting for an answer
but he wouldn’t look at me. The ache in my chest deepened. “We haven’t
discussed it yet,” I finally answered.

When Sofia went into the kitchen to bring out dessert, I followed her in. “I’m so sorry about
the dress, Sofia. I’m sure that it’s beautiful, but ever since I was little, I
wanted to wear my mother’s. Since my dad can’t be there, I thought that wearing
the same dress my mother wore when they got married would make me feel closer
to him.”

She set the
bottle of wine she was holding next to the apple crisp on the counter, and
touched her hand to her heart. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry he can’t be there for
you. You wear whatever you want. It’s your day.” She wrapped me in her arms for
a comforting hug. She smelled of cinnamon from the dessert.

On the way home Nick was silent, his
expression hard as stone. Every time I asked him what was wrong he would
respond curtly, “Nothing.”

The elevator
ride was extremely long, the silence in the small compartment deafening. When
the
ping
rang out at our floor, I sighed with relief.

I followed him
into the apartment, stepping over to lay my jacket on the chair. I took a deep
breath, preparing to speak, hoping I could make him smile. I hated when he was
in a bad mood. “Look, I know you’re upset,” I began, turning around. He was
standing with his back to me, facing the TV. “I’m sorry I told her no, but—” My
words fell away as he spun around so quickly I didn’t see his hand fly out. I
felt it, though, as it smacked across my face. A sharp searing pain spread
before I realized what had happened. I lifted my hand up to touch my cheek that
now felt like it was burning. “Did you just hit me?” I whispered, completely
stunned.

The expression
on his face could only be described as enraged. I had never seen him this angry
before. I thought I saw glimpses, but nothing compared to this. “You’re damned
right I did. You deserve it after the way you laughed in my mother’s face. She
was trying to do something nice for you and you basically spat at her.” His
words were spoken with venom. His tone of voice stung as much as the slap
itself.

I knew the
emotions that should have passed through me—sadness, fear, pain, considering
this man was supposed to love and support me. But they were not what I felt as
I stared at him, holding my now stinging hot cheek. I was…pissed, incensed,
infuriated, furious, irate. And all other angry words in the dictionary—they
all passed through my mind. How dare
he
, or
anyone,
put their
hands on me. “I did not. I wasn’t rude, I told her I couldn’t, and that I was
sorry. Then I explained to her in private why I couldn’t wear her dress. She
understood and gave me a hug. You might have noticed if you hadn’t been in such
a bad mood.”

Some of the
anger left his face. “What was the reason?” he asked, his voice softening as
well. The fact that his mood could change that instantly, after he had just
struck me, only added to my anger. It didn’t seem to bother him that he had
just slapped me. I saw no guilt on his face.

“Go to hell,” I
yelled, running into my room and locking it behind me. Even though the pain in
my cheek was subsiding, a burning started in my chest with the threat of tears.
My breathing turned to wheezing as I fought the feeling. I paced my bedroom,
feeling trapped in my own home.

He pounded on
the door. “Abby, come on. I’m sorry, okay.” He actually sounded sorry. Even
though his voice was muffled through the door, it held a touch of remorse, but
it had no effect on me. I was too angry to fall for that.

“Get out of my
house. I will not be with a man that hits a woman. I was not brought up that
way. Get out,” I screamed. My body was vibrating with furry; my throat ached
from the strain.

“Since you put
my ring on your finger, you’re mine and I love you. I’m sorry I hit you. I
didn’t know that you explained to my mother. But I’m not leaving. We belong
together.”

Backing up a
few steps, I asked, “So if I didn’t explain to her, you wouldn’t be sorry you
hit me?”

There was
silence for a few seconds before he spoke. “I didn’t say that.”

“But that’s
what you meant.”

“Come out and
we’ll talk about it. Please.” I heard his hand brush the door.

I sat on the
bed, prepared to stay there all night. I had never been hit by a man and I
wasn’t going to let it happen again. Even as a child, I was never spanked. My
parents never believed that raising a hand to others was the way to discipline.
And having my mom and dad as role models could not prepare me for this
situation. My father was the most caring man, and would never raise his hand to
my mother, or any woman for that matter.

“Open the door,
Abby,” Nick growled, obviously losing his patience.

I ignored him,
lying back on the bed, trying to focus on the cracks in the stucco, hoping to
tune out the man in the hall. My silence made him angrier. He slammed his fist
on the door, making the wood rattle. But I was too afraid too open it.