“Is anyone going to be at Grandma’s this week, or is it just me and the cats? I—I had hoped to see you, you know.” In fact, Abbie had hoped to spend as much time as possible with her entire family, which was a desire she’d once have taken to her grave. But over the last two years—since the divorce, and the therapy Chitra had forced her to endure—she’d been trying, incrementally, to express her feelings more often.
It was disgusting, but occasionally worthwhile.
There was a pause from Jase before he said, sounding quietly pleased, “Oh. Well. Then I’ll come up a bit earlier. And I think Will’s on his way.”
Abbie froze. “Is he?”
“I’m not sure, I wasn’t paying attention when we talked about it. Call him and ask.”
A shout rang in the background, one that sounded suspiciously like, “Jason, if you don’t get over here and get these pins out of my tits—”
“Ah, for fuck’s sake. Yeah, I’m coming. Listen, speak later,” Jase said. “Don’t die in a snowdrift, don’t let Grandma die in a snowdrift, don’t let Will die in a snowdrift while chasing a chubby robin, goodbye.” The call cut out.
“Why,” Abbie asked the interior of her Volvo, “am I the one responsible for saving people from snowdrifts?”
There was an ice princess joke in there somewhere, but she couldn’t be bothered to find it.
Two
@AbbieGrl: Oh my fucking god that is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life
@DoURe1dMe: … Are we still talking about the Komodo dragon?
@AbbieGrl: YES.
It was sunset when William Reid arrived at his destination, and sunsets were meant to be a good omen. Or so he’d heard. His neighbour back in LA (his old neighbour, now that the condo was in escrow) had said so. She’d been big on omens and beachfront yoga and sunning her vagina, and she knew all kinds of interesting stuff, so Will tended to take her seriously.
He parked on the gravel drive outside Patricia Farrell’s house, switched off his engine, and took a peaceful moment to smile at the melting winter sun as it dripped away behind the trees. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he told it, quite sincerely. Then the scarlet front door of the farmhouse swung open, and out tottered Ms Tricia. It was a freezing afternoon, and she wore only a housedress, a purple-and-yellow pair of Despicable Me slippers, and a ginger cat. Will decided he’d better get out and hustle her into the house before she caught her death.
As he released his seatbelt, his phone buzzed for the thousandth time. Kara. He pressed Decline.
“William!” Ms Tricia beamed. “Here you are, here you are. Let me help you with your luggage—”