Chapter 8: See You Soon!

Abigail’s POV

“What’s gotten into you?” Momma asked as she walked toward the kitchen past my cleaning frenzy in the living room.

I stopped the vacuum. “What?” I asked.

“I said what’s gotten into you! With the cleaning?” She called.

I woke up extra early this warm Saturday morning to prepare for Elle. Momma hadn't the slightest clue. She could sleep through almost anything, except the vacuum cleaner. I had to start that part of my chores late and breeze through it as fast as possible.

“Um, spring cleaning, that’s all!” I called back and started up the vacuum cleaner again.

The cat hair had been so thick on our couches you could knit a blanket with it. Although, that didn’t sound like a bad idea considering the heater during cold evenings barely worked in this house.

Momma went into her bedroom to get ready for her Saturday afternoon. She didn’t see me scoop up the cardboard boxes of books that sat beside the already overflowing bookshelf or shove all her ashtrays and cigarette butts that decorated the coffee table on a shelf in the hall closet.

Momma returned in a simple navy evening dress and pearl earrings. She had her usual brown leather purse and pulled her car keys from it.

"If you're already cleaning, get rid of that junk mail pile on the coffee table while you're at it," She pointed to the coffee table with her keys.

"You got a bunch of university letters. Even one all the way from New York! Can you believe it?" She laughed. "We don't need 'em. Why do they keep wasting trees sending this stuff?"

"I will, Momma." I nodded. I would get rid of them, but Momma did not have to know I stashed them in the glove box of my car.

"Alright, Abigail, I’m out for the usual Saturday with Marsha.”

“Have fun, Momma!” I was happy I rarely saw Marsha anymore. She was a busy woman who always volunteered at the local church. Saturday was her one day to hang out with Momma, and they always went out to the hair salon, nail salon, and for lunch. Marsha talked faster than an auctioneer, so she and Momma would get wrapped up in the latest gossip for at least another two hours after they ate.

* * *

At dinner, he took a roll from my plate and giggled. I had enough, and I stood up off my chair and shouted at him.

"You’re a jerk!” I cried.

“Abigail, that is not polite!” Momma scolded me.

“Abigail, he’s just a growing boy. He loves to eat!” Marsha said after putting down her salad fork.

“Well, I like to eat too!” I stood up for myself.

“Yes, hon, but he’s a boy. Little girls and little boys are different.” Marsha told me.

Momma nodded and took a big sip of red wine.

“Oh,” I said, and I slumped back into my chair.

“And little boys also express themselves much differently.” She smiled at her son. “He probably is picking on you 'cause he likes you! Don’t you, Hunter?”

Hunter scrunched his face at me as if he smelled something foul.

“Anyway hon, sit up properly in your chair. You’re slouching!”

I listened.

“Now, why don’t you apologize to Hunter, and we can all just move on and enjoy dinner?” Marsha said.

Momma’s glance in my direction pierced me in a way that still scarred me into my 20s.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

Momma relaxed enough to focus on mixing cranberry sauce and turkey into one bite, but she still kept an eye on me.

“You don’t need that bread roll anyway, hon. How about some steamed green beans instead?” Marsha handed me a bowl of green beans nobody else bothered touching.

Hunter smacked his lips in the seat next to me loudly as I pushed my green beans back and forth on my plate.

* * *

Elle texted me “see you soon!” with a purple heart emoji as soon as Momma left. Purple must have been her favorite color. I blushed. She couldn’t even see me, but knowing she wanted to talk to me, and even looked forward to seeing me, made my brain short circuit.

Once Momma pulled out of the driveway, I could finally finish my preparations for Elle. I grabbed the paper bags full of food I bought at the grocery store from my trunk and lugged them inside on one arm while I elbowed the front door open with the other. There was no time for multiple trips from the trunk to the house today.

I set the groceries on the counter and opened my fridge. Inside my fridge, there was a carton of orange juice that I shook up and could feel the orange waves inside slosh about rapidly with plenty of space to build up momentum. We had a tiny bit of leftover chicken soup I made in the crockpot the other day, some baby carrots, and less than half a dozen eggs. It was pitiful.

I opened the first paper bag. The sound of crinkling paper alerted Peaches from her usual spot by the living room window. I pulled out chocolate bon-bons, strawberries, and a bag of chips. I dropped the brown paper bag on the ground for Peaches and she attacked it head-on. I could hear her slapping the inside of the bag. She had her bottom hanging out and her tail wagged and thumped against the kitchen floor.

I put some bottles of water in the fridge first, followed by the strawberries. Strawberries were one of my favorite fruits, and I had good memories of picking them with Momma as a kid. But was this too forward? Did most people think strawberries were romantic? I didn’t want to be too boring either.

I heard my phone buzz on the kitchen table while my nose was so far into the back of the fridge, I got a close-up look at the mystery stain on the back wall that never left no matter how hard I scrubbed it.

I emerged from the fridge and snatched my phone off the table. Elle texted me “I’m here!”

I ran to the front door, slipped on the hallway rug, and used its momentum to slide to the door.

I stood with my manicure gripping the front door handle so tightly I thought I’d break a nail. I inhaled deeply, counted to five, then exhaled out. If our dinner went better than expected and now I had my cats at home for emotional support, I could do this.

I opened the front door. “Hi, Elle!” I smiled.