“Yes. My father specialized in commercial property, my mother in residential. They worked for different companies so they were competitive. But she was almost always there when we got home from school. If she wasn’t, then he was. And we always ate dinner together as a family.” Abby glanced over at her. “I’m assuming you didn’t.”

“No. Food was put on the table, and everyone ate when they wanted. I usually took mine into my room and ate there. But go on. What was your favorite?”

“She used to make this sinfully delicious chicken tetrazzini. It was full of sour cream and butter and cheese and spaghetti noodles, and I don’t think I’d touch it today, but as a kid, when it was served, it was a treat. But as far as normal meals, I liked her meatloaf and mashed potatoes. That was a once-a-week thing, usually.”

She nodded. “Yeah, Uncle Jimmie made that weekly too.”

“What about now? You cook?”

“Oh yeah. I’m a pretty good cook, actually. I’ll usually cook a couple of times a week and make enough for leftovers. And I still have oatmeal for breakfast most mornings. Eggs and bacon are a treat.”

“I have cereal with almond milk.”

“Do you get up just in time to get to work or do you get up early and linger over coffee?”

“Early. Two cups while I get online. Shower. Eat breakfast in a rush and sit in traffic for forty minutes. You?”

“I do a quick workout—stretches and some floor exercises and stuff—and one cup of coffee. Shower, coffee to go, and fifteen minutes, no traffic. I’m usually at the office by five.”

“Until?”

“I knock off about three, most days. Hit the gym and try to make it home before traffic is too unbearable.”

“And why aren’t you dating?”

They were now on Highway 287, heading toward Decatur. There were more cars on the road now, but most were heading in the opposite direction as people drove into the city for work. Nic had looked at a map yesterday and knew they’d stay on this road until they got to Amarillo, then they’d head north on Highway 87 to Clayton, New Mexico. At least she thought that was the route Abby would take.

“I don’t really date,” she said honestly. But she knew that would garner more questions if she didn’t elaborate. “I had shitty role models, so the idea of being in a relationship scares the crap out of me,” she said with a laugh. “I avoid attachments at all costs. But you’re not dating either. What’s your reason?”