19
Abigail
Time is an odd creature.
Sometimes it rushes away, and you wonder where your day went. Or your week. Your month. Sometimes it crawls by at a snail’s pace and taunts you with the loud tick… tock… that you swear might be the end of you.
That’s my life, as I watch my week trickle by. It’s both painfully fast and excruciatingly slow. Orders come through the shop, cheating husbands and loyal husbands seem to flutter through on a daily basis. But then it feels so slow, and I get mad at myself for watching the clock.
My brothers have spent a decade calling me every single day on an almost hourly basis, but when I demand they back up and give me space, they do exactly that. Instead of hourly calls, they come by in the morning and evening, and all the hours between feel like a lifetime.
They’ve conditioned me to become reliant on the small annoyances, so when the calls don’t come, I feel a little unloved.
Yes, I know how irrational that sounds.
I work the shop most of the day after my night with Spencer, only running out and leaving Roy on the desk for an hour while I deliver a bouquet to the hospital for a new mom. Not Jess. Someone else. I was in and out and only touched the baby’s smooshy cheeks once, then I was back to work and sending Roy away.
The next day, Nadia was back and acting super weird, jumping if I sneezed, squeaking if I spoke. But her odd behavior was overshadowed by my overthinking of the text Spencer had sent the night before.
Come to me tonight?
But of course I couldn’t. My brothers had backed away on the constant phone calls, but naturally, that meant I was bombarded with Rosa men at the dinner table. Everyone except Troy was in my face and demanding I explain everything… ‘but without the details,’ Nixon had said.
He wanted to know if I had sex, but not how it was done. Beckett wanted to know if I was being safe, but if I hesitated for even a moment, he turned green and shook his head to stop whatever I might say. Mitchell was uncharacteristically quiet, but where he lacked, Corey made up for it with obnoxious questions and threats to call Mom and Dad. Troy, of course, had said his bit and then gone on with his life.
It’s funny how, though Troy is the oldest, and kind of the grumpiest, he seems to be the least obsessive about me. It’s not that he loves me any less than the rest, it’s just that he knows I don’t like being babied. He sat with me in my hospital room a billion times. He’s the oldest, so he felt it was his job to be my constant companion, so when he wasn’t working, he was sitting on the end of my bed, talking about the plans we’d both made for our lives.
I think maybe he sees my strength, when the rest of my brothers only see sickness. He sees my stubbornness, when the others see a bratty little sister.
There’s no way I would be able to sneak out now without my brothers noticing, but even if I could, I seem to have caught a nasty case of self-doubt. I went to Spencer’s home the other night, but I didn’t sleep with him. The very thing I know he wanted, I said no to. The next thing he wanted, nakedness, I also said no to. A shower together? Nope. Because that would mean undressing. And undressing would be more than just clothes.
Assuming he wasn’t lying about my skills, I guess I delivered on… other stuff. But I’d hardly consider that a decent alternative to what he truly wants.
There are so many reasons why my self-doubt creeps in and cripples me, but each night when my phone dings, I still dive for the device and hungrily read what he has to say.
It’s never long or poetic. It often includes at leastsomemild cussing, and mostly the cussing involves alternative words for my body parts. But though he doesn’t send me poems or songs like how I imagine princes from times gone by might, the fact he texts at all is nice. It means he’s thinking of me. It means he wants to see more of me – even though we both know that ‘more’ means my virginity.
It also means he hasn’t moved on to spending time with someone else.
Or, well, perhaps he has, but he hasn’t mentioned it. Which I guess is the gentlemanly thing to do.
Five whole days and nights have passed since I woke in his bed to the sound of gunshots and nearly died from fright. Five days of work, of trying to figure out why Nadia seems a little quieter now. It’s not alarming, really. Just different, considering she’s normally so… ‘I’d let him conquer theheckoutta me.’
Five days, three of which I spent visiting with Marcie, and not one of which included a text from Jess to hang out and eat candy. Which isn’t unexpected. We’re not friends, I’m just her florist, and she paid her bill long ago, but still… I’d hoped she’d take me up on my offer.
I’ve spent these past days working with a new bride, a new wedding date, a new color scheme, which is exactly how I like to spend my days. I want to hear about her husband-to-be, how they met, their plans for the future, and what kind of princess gown she plans to wear. The answers almost never disappoint.
But in the five days and five texts from Spencer asking me in various ways to come to him, I haven’t gone. Because how can I possibly explain to him that he can never see beneath my top?
“Abigail Rosa?”
I look up from the waiting room magazine I hold in my hand, and toss it back to the table. I didn’t read a single word, since Spencer enjoys occupying all of my thoughts all of the dang time, but that’s fine with me. Because though he’s big, rough, crude, and all around improper, he still makes me smile.
And I think I’d almost miss it, if he stopped cussing.
I grab my bag and follow the nurse out of the waiting room and into a long hall. I’m back at the doctor’s office, but not for an emergency. Just a routine scan and check-in to make sure my world is still going the way it should be.
Six months from now, I’m due to come back and have more blood taken to make sure my body isn’t trying to kill me again, and then I’ll go on with my life for another year, and praise the universe for giving me a second chance.