Down the Rabbit Hole

By the time they’d gone to their respective homes, changed clothes and gotten back together for dinner that night she’d shaken most of it off, and the next morning he’d been charming at breakfast. Though he’d been checking work emails when she came downstairs, he’d put the phone down the moment he became aware of her.

“She’s alive!” he’d joked, and those sleepy gray eyes of his smiled. He wore a faded sweatshirt and well-worn jeans, his wavy hair tumbled wildly on his head like he hadn’t even glanced in a mirror, and she felt her heart lurch at the beauty of him.

She, on the other hand, had scrubbed her face, applied emergency makeup from her purse, and tried to casual-ize the outfit she’d worn the night before by going barefoot in her black skinny jeans and leaving her white shirt untucked.

“We’ve got to get you a pair of sweats to keep here,” he said, rising to wrap her in a good-morning hug.

She put her arms around him and breathed in the laundry-fresh scent of his T-shirt. The feeling of rightness returned, and she pictured them sitting around in their pj’s on Sunday mornings, reading the paper and sharing the interesting bits. She didn’t need to hike; they’d find other things to do together, things that he found special.

“How did you sleep?” His voice was intimately low, vibrating against her cheek where her face pressed against his chest.

“Like a coma patient.”

The sound of his chuckle, and the feel of it against her body, made her toes curl. She squeezed him tighter.

“Let me get you some coffee.”

“Coffee,” she breathed, starting to let go of him.

But he held her tighter and said, “Nope, we can do this. Trust me. Follow my lead.” And he shuffled her over to the coffeemaker, where he poured her a cup one-handed and then prepared it exactly the way she liked it: dollop of cream, spoonful of sugar.

Laughing, she took it from him with one hand and sipped. “Perfect. But this could get awkward when you make me breakfast. How are you going to peel the potatoes for the hash browns?”

He laughed. “Madam, you underestimate me.” He shuffled them over to the freezer, pulled it open, extracted a box of Bob Evans breakfast sandwiches and tossed it toward the microwave. “Voilà. Breakfast.”

She laughed, her smile feeling unquenchable, and said, “Mr. Abbott, you’re an amazing man.”

Those ridiculously lashed eyes gazed down at her for a long moment, making her feel every kind of beautiful. “You’ve got it backward,” he said softly. “I’m an amazed man, Ms. Serafini. Every day more amazed, by you.” And he’d kissed her. Kissed her with the gentle finesse of a man falling in love.

She had swan-dived off the edge then, and felt herself willing to give everything for the man who made her feel like this. He was present for this magic, she’d thought, and that was enough.

She’d been so happy she hadn’t even minded when, three minutes later as she was opening the box of Bob Evans breakfast sandwiches, he’d been back at the table, absorbed in his iPad.

Now, remembering how she’d duped herself made her feel even sadder. She was just like all the girls in those anti-smartphone videos, the girls looking lost as their boyfriends ignored them for their phones. The girls she’d chalked up as having chosen to love rather than be loved, like wallflowers satisfied with a wink from the cute guy, or spinsters secretly in love with their married bosses.