Abby shook her head, grimacing like she’d swallowed something bitter. “She saw him there, and she knows we talked, but I didn’t see her after that. And I think she knew there was something going on with Sebastian.”
“Oof,” Lizzie said softly. “So what’s your plan?” When Abby didn’t answer, she said, “I take it you haven’t seen Eileen since you’ve been home.”
“I kind of snapped at her at the end of the trip,” Abby said.
“So you’ll apologize.”
“And she doesn’t know that I broke up with Mark.”
“So you’ll tell her.”
Abby nodded. She was dreading telling Eileen that she and Mark were through, almost as much as she’d dreaded telling Mark himself, but she knew it had to be done.
“Let’s put a pin in Eileen,” Lizzie said. “Can we talk about the TikTok guy now? The Romeo of Red Hook? The Gowanus Don Juan?”
Abby closed her eyes. “Can we not?”
Lizzie leaned close to shake Abby’s shoulders. “You skimped on the details. I want the whole story. Every twist, every turn. Leave nothing out.”
“Okay,” Abby said. She found that she was smiling, a little, in spite of everything. Even if she never saw Sebastian again—and she was pretty sure that she would never see Sebastian again—she would remember how it felt to be desired by a guy like that. She could carry it with her like a keepsake or a jewel; a treasure to pull out and consider when she needed to remember that she was worthy; that a guy like him had found her desirable and beautiful.
In the end, it didn’t take long to tell the story. Lizzie clasped her hands, sighing happily when Abby told about their first kiss, in the deluge between Syracuse and Seneca Falls. She’d squeezed Abby’s hand when she recounted how she had sent Mark away, then gotten on her bike without talking to Sebastian; riding loops around Buffalo until the sun went down.
“He was texting me nonstop that day, and right after, but nothing since then.” Abby sounded glum. She felt glum, and foolish, swinging between regret at breaking up with Mark and yearning for Sebastian.
“Do you want to see him?” Lizzie asked.
“Of course I want to see him.” Abby wanted to do everything with Sebastian, everything he’d let her do. Everything they’d already done, and everything they hadn’t tried yet. “Except…” Except Sebastian probably didn’t want anything like a real relationship… and Abby was almost thirty-four. Even if she froze her eggs, she didn’t have time to waste on unserious men.
Which brought her back to Mark, who was serious.
“Was I an idiot?” Abby asked quietly. “Tell me if I was an idiot.”
“Oh, I’m not going to tell you anything,” Lizzie said. “You know the answer.”
“Do I, though?”
Lizzie waited.
“Mark is kind,” Abby said. “He’s patient. He hardly ever loses his temper. He doesn’t yell. He’s smart. He’s successful.” She swallowed. “And he loved me.” She thought about the way Mark had looked at her, the first night she’d brought him to her apartment; with adoration and amazement, even awe. How’d I get so lucky, he’d whispered, kissing her neck.
“And he told me that he thought he could forgive me. That we could get through it, if I wanted to.”
“And?” asked Lizzie.
“And he loved me,” Abby repeated. It sounded like she was trying to convince Lizzie. Or maybe herself. “He was good to me.” Abby bowed her head and concentrated on scratching Grover behind the ears.
“And?”
Abby swallowed hard. “And he’s boring,” she admitted very quietly. “No. That’s not fair. It wasn’t him. I was bored. Sometimes.” She rubbed her hands on her thighs. “But he doesn’t eat sugar. He doesn’t ride a bike. He doesn’t… you know.” Make me feel like I’ll die if I can’t touch him, she thought, but did not say.
“Okay, he doesn’t set your soul on fire.” Lizzie looked at Abby, her expression patient and nonjudgmental, even though Abby was pretty sure that Lizzie had an opinion on the matter. “And Sebastian?” Lizzie prompted.
“He’s very…” Abby remembered a hotel room, lit by candlelight. She let her eyes close. “He’s really good-looking. He smells amazing. He has a good relationship with his best friend. Cares about his job. And he rides a bike.” Out loud, it didn’t sound like much.
“You could text him. Ask him to come down here. See where things go. If it doesn’t work out, there are other fish in the sea,” Lizzie said.
“Okay, but how many of them are going to like me?” Abby asked.
“Can we not do the fat-girl self-deprecating shtick?” Lizzie said. Grover, who’d caught the shift in her tone, raised his head to glare at Abby, an effect only slightly diminished by the doughnut squeaky toy in his mouth. “It’s so early-aughts.”
“I’m not being self-deprecating. I’m being realistic,” Abby muttered. If Eileen had been a force for evil in her life—or at least a force for denial and self-loathing—Lizzie had been a force for good, a living example that it was possible to move through the world in a larger body without hating yourself.
Abby didn’t think her friend was lonely… but Abby did wonder if maybe Lizzie might have wanted a traveling companion, or even just someone waiting for her when she came home; someone who’d want to hear her stories and look at her pictures. Someone who would tell her to wear her sunscreen before she went to the beaches in Cuba, or reminded her to pack long underwear before she went skiing in Banff; someone who’d track her plane online as it crossed the Atlantic and listen to her stories when she got home. What was the point of a life like Lizzie’s if there wasn’t someone paying attention? What did it matter if you had great stories if there wasn’t anyone to hear them?
“Do you ever get lonely?” Abby asked her friend.
“Sure,” said Lizzie. “Sometimes. Everyone’s lonely sometimes.” She scooped Grover into her lap. “But you know what? I think occasionally lonely is better than being stuck with the wrong person forever.” Grover looked up at her adoringly. Lizzie scratched him underneath his chin.
“Tell me the rest of it,” Lizzie said. “You said there was something else you wanted to talk about.”
Abby took a deep breath. “I had an idea. It’s just an idea. I don’t know if it’s possible, or how I’d even go about doing it.”
“What’s the idea?”
Abby pinched the bridge of her nose. She was worried that if she told Lizzie what she’d decided, if she spoke it out loud, it would sound impractical or impossible; like something Abby could never hope to accomplish… or like something that someone else was already doing. Abby wasn’t sure which one of those things would be worse.
“I was talking to Sebastian and his friend about cycling, and why I loved it so much. I talked about being a kid, and how my bike gave me some independence. How I could get myself between my parents’ houses, and go to the mall or the bookstore, and it let me feel more…” Abby tried to find a word that wouldn’t make Lizzie roll her eyes, or snort, or both. Stable? Centered? Calm?
“Happy,” she finally said. “And I told you about what happened with Morgan. So my idea was starting a cycling club for girls. I could take them on rides and teach them about bike maintenance and repairs and safety. And maybe we’d build up to a weeklong bike trip in the summer.” She paused, then added, “In a blue state. With a possible side trip to Planned Parenthood.”
Abby braced for skepticism, but Lizzie just looked thoughtful. “You know, it sounds a little bit like Girls on the Run. Except for the Planned Parenthood part.”
“Obviously,” Abby said.
“My niece did that in elementary school. There’s running, but they also talk about body image and peer pressure and self-esteem. Stuff like that.”