I want to ask more about Fitz but I don’t want to appear like the lovelorn weirdo I am.

Thankfully, Annabel answers my unspoken question.

“Fitz will probably stay here today and maybe at home or at Abby’s parents’ house tonight.”

“Oh, okay.”

He’s going to stay with Abby? With her parents? That doesn’t really make sense. I get that they’re family friends and all, but does he really need to be with her this whole time? Doesn’t she have Kevin? Isn’t it odd since they broke up, over a month ago now? And Fitz has made it abundantly clear he needs distance from her.

“Listen, Reese . . . it’s just that . . .” Annabel heaves a sigh and then her voice goes abrupt. “I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

We hang up and I’m more confused than ever.

An anxious energy vibrates through me. I hate this waiting, uncertainty, not knowing. I want to do something. I hate sitting here, helpless.

Annabel did mention how terrible the food was. Maybe I can do something for them. Would it be weird to bring them homemade food? No. Couldn’t be. This is the South, it’s what we do—bring people food as a way to express sympathy. A time-honored tradition. Things always look better on a full stomach.

Plus it’s what I’ve promised myself. I’m not going to run and hide from life. Not anymore.

I pick up my phone and call home. “Granny? Get the smoker ready.”

A few hours later, I’ve packed brisket and cornbread and potatoes and collard greens into various disposable containers and I’m pulling into the hospital.

I carry the bags inside. God, I hope someone else hasn’t already thought to bring them food. Though it’s all I can do to convince myself anyone would be thankful for some homemade cooking.

The waiting room is nearly empty, and a kindly older nurse tells me Abby’s family went home to get her a change of clothes and some incidentals and would I like to go visit Abby?

“There’s a mini fridge in the room you can store the food in and Abby will likely enjoy some company.”

I agree and she gives me the room number and directions to the nearest set of elevators.

My stomach flutters with nerves. Will Fitz be up there? Am I intruding? Maybe I will leave the food and go.

I find Abby’s room with relative ease and I’m surprised to find she’s alone, sleeping. Her eyes are shut, both of them dark with purple bruises. She looks so frail and tiny in the bed. It’s such a stark contrast to the seemingly indestructible, imposing figure I used to live with.

I stand there for a few seconds, wondering what I should do. It’s like I’ve reverted to the old Reese, awkward, fumbling, insecure. I straighten and make a decision. I’ll put the food in the fridge, leave a note, and get out of here.