by Foster, Zoe
Abby sat there stunned at what she was hearing.
‘Marcus, why did you do that? Why would you do that, you never called or emailed or … I had no idea you were even feelin—’
‘I just realised Mum didn’t bring her phone today,’ Marcus said chuckling, flinging his keys around his finger, changing the topic.
‘Wonder what’s she doing up there right now. She’s always been very pro-Abby, you know.’
‘That’s nice to know.’ Abby said, taking the cue that his feelings weren’t on the table for now. ‘Especially since I thought she was sleeping with her son.’
‘Husshhh. We don’t speak of that probably. Bit gross.’
‘You know, I only just fired Charlie today, right now, literally this hour. It’s so … fortuitous? Well, kind of, that I ran into you here and you told me that. Really cements my decision. I’m so angry that my intuition didn’t pick up on her tricks? I thought I was good with my gut instinct.’
‘That the same gut instinct that told you you’d messed up by dumping me?’
Marcus looked at Abby, his hat causing the sun to fall only on his beautiful lips, and Abby felt her stomach start to swirl.
‘I guess so …’ Abby looked back at Marcus, wishing him telepathically to say that he’d messed up by telling her he didn’t want her back. Why else did he bring flowers and come to her house? Her brain couldn’t even compute the possibilities.
‘Doesn’t matter anyway, you have some Italian Prince Charming now I hear, old and wise and not averse to helicopters and Ferraris.’
‘I can’t tell if Charlie did me a favour or a disservice by telling you that.’ Abby smiled reticently, the sun making her blue eyes light up with ambers and yellows.
‘Well, I’m heartbroken, if that helps you figure it out.’ He grabbed the cider from Abby’s hand and took a swig before handing it back.
‘I can’t tell if you’re kidding. Can you not kid for a moment? I’m confused enough as it is.’
Marcus went on. ‘So, is he everything you wanted and needed? Older, rich, experienced, worldly, three marriages and five kids under his belt?’
‘Marcus, please. What’s going on? Why the flowers? Why the—How come you didn’t try harder to contact me?’
‘I could’ve texted I suppose, but I quite fancied the rawness and honesty and hero status that came with knocking on a doorstep and asking for another chance. But Charlie made it clear you were taken. I now realise that anything she said is to be investigated under microscopic scrutiny, but I didn’t know she was all Clockwork Orange back then. So I took it to be true. And, well, I backed off.’
‘Marcus … I had no idea …’ Abby looked at him as he looked down, playing with some grass. How had this nearly not been discovered? If she hadn’t come to the clearing today, they would’ve never known how each other felt. It made her queasy thinking of a future not knowing Marcus sent her roses, or maybe still had feelings for her.
‘You hurt me, Abs, I needed some time to work through it. And I was angry; you saw that. I needed to hear you admit you wanted me, and then show you I didn’t want you, I suppose in a fucked-up way.’
‘And be single. Come on. Admit it.’
‘The girls out there are revolting, Abby. They’re stupid and juvenile and self-centred and desperately low on self-confidence. All of the things that made my Abby shine, they lacked. I hate them.’
He was being dramatic, but Abby let what he was saying sink in anyway. They’d both hurt each other, now … maybe it was time to see if they could mutually fix things? It felt like it was an even playing field again.
‘So, has the Italian stolen your heart?’ He twisted his head to look at her, just as a single strand of blonde hair fell over her eye, in the exact way he’d always adored.
Abby looked at Marcus, her eyes searching for a sign that she was doing the right thing.
‘No. I wanted him to take it, if I’m being honest. Wanted to not think about you anymore. But you can’t force that stuff. The heart wants what the heart wants. Or, you know, who.’
‘Hmm.’ Marcus said, and they both sat there silently in the setting sun, feeling the energy of what was unfolding envelop them.
‘Do we still have a shot at the title, Abs? You and me?’ He looked straight ahead as he said this, too frightened to look at her lest her expression reveal the sad truth that no; they did not. ‘Have we found ourselves in a scene from a movie for a reason tonight?’
‘It might not work, you realise,’ Abby said, matter-of-factly, taking a sip of the cider.
‘Might end in a week,’ Marcus said, practically.
‘And, well, as much as you hate to hear it, the age difference might eventually be a legitimate issue, even if we don’t want it to be … I have to be up-front about that,’ Abby said, honestly.
‘I understand that, Abs,’ Marcus said earnestly.
‘I won’t make an issue of it anymore, though. I promise you. I’ve learned my lesson.’
‘Good. I’d like that.’
‘We have no reassurance whatsoever things will work out,’ Abby said in a warning tone.
‘I know.’
More silence.
‘And then there’s the fact I’ve been dating my mum.’ Marcus smiled and looked at Abby, who was smiling back at him. He gently slipped his hand into hers and entwined his soft, brown skin around her fingers.
‘Can we try this, Garfield? Slowly-slowly? Day at a time? Hour by hour? What do you say?’
Abby looked into Marcus’s eyes and felt her breathing quicken, her heart trying to keep its cool as a million fireworks exploded within it. She nodded, a rogue tear slipping down one cheek. He leaned in to kiss her softly on the lips.
Acknowledgements
Thank you, Kirsten, tireless publisher and editor of mine! Your enthusiasm and guidance has been exceptionally helpful, as it always is. Thank you Tara and Pippa (for your assistance in mischievous deadline nudging especially). Thank you to my many excellent and smoking hot girlfriends who’ve dated and fallen (carefully) in love with gorgeous younger men. Your insight and anecdotes were not only intensely entertaining, but extremely useful and instrumental. Finally, thank you to my younger man. You took me from New Zealand to New York to write this, and saturated me with love, support, fun, delight and snacks every single day of the way. I love you hard. Deal with it.
MICHAEL JOSEPH
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First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2012
Text copyright © Zoë Foster 2012
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ISBN: 978-1-74253-481-7