This went on for a bit until Abby hung up in exasperation. I almost called back to apologize, but somehow I knew that wasn’t the right play, and so I decided to hang tight and wait.
In the meantime, I agonized over what to get her for Christmas, but eventually, with my mother’s help, and spending a lot of the money I’d saved from my summer lifeguard job, I got her a pendant with a Tahitian pearl set in white gold. It was the first time I had bought jewelry for a girl, and I was nervous about how she would react. On Christmas Day, I woke up in my house in Asheville, wondering if Abby had opened my present yet. Downstairs, I found a wrapped present from Abby under the tree. She had mailed it to my house, and my mother had kept it hidden with the other Christmas presents. I opened it and pulled out a CD with nothing on it except, written in black Sharpie, To Matthias. Christmas 2000. Love, Abby. When I put the CD into the stereo, there were a few seconds of silence, followed by some indeterminate fumbling noises, and then Abby’s voice came out of the speakers. “Okay, this is Bach’s Cello Suite number one, in G Major,” she said. Another pause. And then music began to pour out of the speakers, low, deep notes that spiraled steadily upward and then dipped back down into the lower ranges before resuming their climb, as if soaring on an updraft. I sat in my living room, transfixed by the music.
Dad, yawning, came in, dressed in a tee shirt and pajama bottoms. “Merry Christmas,” he said. “What’s this?”
I turned to look at him. “My girlfriend,” I said. It was the first time I had uttered those words, and they sent a strong current through me. “She sent me this. She’s playing the cello for me.”
In January, Fritz returned to school gushing about Montana and fly-fishing and horseback riding in Yellowstone. He’d decided Western riding was much cooler than English riding and wondered if he could convince his parents to buy him a new horse. Just as I was about to make him eat his new Stetson hat, he invited me to spend the MLK long weekend at his house. That Friday, Mrs. Davenport picked Fritz and me up from Blackburne and drove us to Fairfax. On the way, she said from behind the wheel, “Oh, Fritz, your sister’s going to be home, too. Wat’s picking her up.”
Immediately my face went to slow burn. Fritz eyed me and slowly began to grin. “Good,” he said. “Matthias is looking forward to that, I’m sure.”
“Shut up,” I muttered, grinning myself. I thought Mrs. Davenport glanced at me in the rearview mirror, but I wasn’t sure. “Who’s Wat?” I asked in what I hoped was a not-too-obvious bid to change the subject.
“Fritz and Abby’s uncle,” Mrs. Davenport said. “My husband’s brother.”
Fritz rolled his eyes. “He thinks he’s hysterical,” he said to me, his mouth twisted into an odd smile.
I didn’t pay much attention to this—I was too nervous about seeing Abby again after three months. All my bravado from the phone call when I’d told Abby to play the cello for me seemed to have evaporated. Immediately I wished I had worn something other than the yellow oxford I had chosen simply because it had been one of the few clean shirts in my closet.
When we arrived at Fritz’s house, there was a Land Rover in the turnaround drive. “Good, Wat’s here,” Mrs. Davenport said.
“And Abby,” Fritz said, nudging me in the ribs. I shot him a look and willed myself to walk normally up to the front door.
Mrs. Davenport was reaching for the doorknob when the door swung open and Abby stood there, looking at me. “Hi,” she said brightly and a little breathlessly.
I stopped. “Hey,” I said. We stood there for a second, and then Abby stepped forward and hugged me, her cheek against mine. “Good to see you,” she whispered into my ear.
“Yeah, you, too,” Fritz said loudly from behind my shoulder. “Do I get a hug or what?”
Abby pulled back from me and made a face at her twin brother. “Hello, Mother,” she said, hugging Mrs. Davenport pointedly.
There was the usual confusion of carrying bags up to rooms, the Davenports’ yellow lab, Maisy, panting and grinning and slapping her tail against everyone’s legs, and Fritz and Abby sniping at each other. Then I found myself alone in an upstairs hall with Abby. Fritz was downstairs calling for his mother and asking about dinner. I opened my mouth to say something, but Abby reached for my hand and pulled me into another guest room. I registered a red floral bedspread and matching curtains before Abby pushed the door shut.
“Hi,” she said, putting her arms around my neck and looking up at me, smiling.
“Hi,” I managed. My hands had found their way onto her hips. They felt right there, like they were shaped for nothing else but holding on to her.
“I missed you,” she said, still smiling.
I answered by leaning forward and putting my lips on hers. Her hands went to the back of my head, and we drank each other in for a few delicious moments.
The bathroom door opened, and we broke apart, whirling around. A tall man in a tie and suit, a drink in his hand, came through the doorway. He stopped, his eyebrows raised, and we looked at each other for a moment, my hands still on Abby’s waist.
“Ah,” the man said, putting his drink down on a dresser. He stuck his hand out at me. “I’m Wat Davenport,” he said, smiling.
“Uh, hello, sir,” I said, quickly letting go of Abby and shaking his hand.
“Hi, Uncle Wat,” Abby said breezily. “This is my boyfriend, Matthias.”