Walking Disaster

“Hey, I know this is supposed to be off-limits, but I need you to find out where Abby is going for break.”
    “Well, that’s easy. She’ll be with us. She spends the holidays at America’s.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah, why?”
    “Nothing,” I said, abruptly hanging up the phone.
    I walked around campus in the light rain, waiting for Abby’s class to let out. Outside the Hoover building, I saw a few people from Abby’s calculus class congregated outside. The
back of Parker’s head came into view, and then Abby.
    She was huddled inside her winter coat, seeming uncomfortable as Parker babbled on.
    I pulled down my red ball cap and jogged in their direction. Abby’s eyes drifted to mine; recognition made her eyebrows raise infinitesimally.
    The same mantra played on repeat in my head.
No matter what smart-ass comment Parker makes, play it cool. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t. Fuck. This. Up.
    To my surprise, Parker left without saying a word to me.
    I shoved my hands into the front pockets of my hoodie. “Shepley said you’re going with him and Mare to Wichita tomorrow.”
    “Yeah?”
    “You’re spending the whole break at America’s?”
    She shrugged, trying too hard to be unaffected by my presence. “I’m really close with her parents.”
    “What about your mom?”
    “She’s a drunk, Travis. She won’t know it’s Thanksgiving.”
    My stomach lurched, knowing the answer to my next question was going to be my last chance. Thunder rolled above us and I looked up, squinting as the large drops fell against my face.
    “I need to ask you for a favor,” I said, ducking from the hard rain. “C’mere.” I pulled Abby under the closest awning so she wouldn’t get soaked from the
sudden downpour.
    “What kind of favor?” she asked, clearly suspicious. It was hard to hear her over the rain.
    “My uh . . .” I shifted my weight, my nerves attempting to get the best of me. My mind screamed
abort!,
but I was determined to at least try. “Dad and the guys are
still expecting you on Thursday.”
    “Travis!” Abby whined.
    I looked to my feet. “You said you would come.”
    “I know, but . . . it’s a little inappropriate now, don’t you think?”
    “You said you would come,” I said again, trying to keep my voice calm.
    “We were still together when I agreed to go home with you. You
knew
I wasn’t going to come.”
    “I
didn’t
know, and it’s too late, anyway. Thomas is flying in, and Tyler took off work. Everyone’s looking forward to seeing you.”
    Abby cringed, twirling a piece of her wet hair around her finger. “They were going to come anyway, weren’t they?”
    “Not everyone. We haven’t had all of us there for Thanksgiving in years. They all made an effort to be there, since I promised them a real meal. We haven’t had a woman in the
kitchen since Mom died and . . .”
    “That’s not sexist or anything,”
    “That’s not what I meant, Pidge, c’mon. We all want you there. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
    “You haven’t told them about us, have you?”
    “Dad would ask why, and I’m not ready to talk to him about it. I’d never hear the end of how stupid I am. Please come, Pidge.”
    “I have to put the turkey in at six in the morning. We’d have to leave here by five . . .”
    “Or we could stay there.”
    Her eyebrows shot up. “No way! It’s bad enough that I’m going to have to lie to your family and pretend we’re still together.”
    Her reaction, although anticipated, still stung my ego a little. “You act like I’m asking you to light yourself on fire.”
    “You should have told them!”
    “I will. After Thanksgiving . . . I’ll tell them.”
    She sighed and then looked away. Waiting for her answer was like pulling out my fingernails one by one.
    “If you promise me that this isn’t some stunt to try and get back together, I’ll do it.”
    I nodded, trying not to be too eager. “I promise.”
    Her lips formed a hard line, but there was the tiniest hint of a smile in her eyes. “I’ll see you at five.”
    I leaned down to kiss her cheek. I’d just meant to give her a quick peck, but my lips had missed her skin, and it was hard to pull away. “Thanks, Pigeon.”
    After Shepley and America headed out for Wichita in the Honda, I cleaned the apartment, folded the last load of laundry, smoked half a pack of cigarettes, packed an overnight bag, and then
cussed the clock for being so slow. When four thirty finally rolled around, I jogged