Loving a Man Who Forgot Me Novel Chapter 82
I continued out of the kitchen and onto the back patio, my nose leading the way.
The weather was still perfect for barbecuing, and never one to pass up on the chance to show off his skills, Uncle Bas stood at the grill flipping burgers and BSing with Abbi’s grandfather.
Dr. Cross, the first, had been as good as a dad to my mom growing up.
I got the feeling he might have even ended up her stepdad if my Grandma Patricia hadn’t died.
That would have added an all too weird dynamic to this already complicated family. Abbi would have been my what? Step-cousin?
Or-rr, Grandpa Jack might have murdered him . . . “Fix a plate,” Uncle Bas told me. “First round of burgers is just about ready.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice. Nobody grills a burger like you do, no matter how much my dad insists he can. Uncle Bas laughed, and I felt someone come up behind me.
“I heard that.” My dad gave my shoulder a hard squeeze. I shook his hand off and let him see my smirk. “You know it’s true.”
“That’s because your dad doesn’t come from a long line of grill-masters like I do. He comes from a long line of ritzy, upper-class schmucks with silver spoons up their asses.”
I chuckled even as my dad rolled his eyes at Uncle Bas. It was common knowledge that he didn’t have anything to do with his parents.
Hadn’t since they basically treated my mom like criminal white trash, and they’d wanted nothing to do with him or the white trash criminal’s kids since they blamed my dad and his life choices for my grandfather losing the senate re-election.
Last any of us heard, they’d moved to Vermont and were living their cushy lives there, content to ignore us black sheep. We were content to be ignored.
I piled my plate high, chatting with Abbi’s grandfather as I did, mostly about his golf game. He’d tried to teach Abbi and I as kids, but we never really took to golf, or maybe golf never really took to us, though we enjoyed whacking the balls all over the course.
The food drew more and more people outside, crowding the grill and food table. Eating as I walked, I wove my way back inside and found Nash and Jesse standing around the living room with Logan, a ball game on the TV.
“Long time no see,” I told Logan as I joined them. “You glad to be back in the land of indoor plumbing?” “You don’t even know, man.”
Logan was just a few years younger than me, but since they were kids, he and his younger brother, Cody, had spent their summers off in third world countries working with their dad and Build Abroad. I went one summer with them when I was thirteen.
One of the best and worst summers of my childhood. I kissed the ground when we made it back to the US. “Your dad shave the beard yet?” Uncle Jake always came back with a gnarly, raggedy-ass, nest of a beard on his face, looking like the most unkempt hobo you ever saw. It was the curls that made it so much worse.
Didn’t think any of them shaved or washed their hair during their months away. The rest of the year, my Uncle Jake was a suit and tie wearing, big-deal architect, with his own firm that Logan and Cody would take over someday.
In the mean-time, their dad dragged them all around the world teaching them the importance of humanitarian work. Logan raked a hand over his own buzzed short hair-do. “That’s the first thing my mom makes him do when we get back.
Can’t stand his nasty beard or hair. Hell, it’s the first thing we all do.” Aunt Vi was never much for third world countries, and most summers opted out of going along. Usually found herself a beach instead. I didn’t blame her. I only went the one summer.
It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, meaning I only wanted to experience living without showers and flushing toilets once in this lifetime.
The lure of food won out over the game and the guys went to get their own burgers after eyeing mine covetously.
I watched the game and finished my food, then worked my way back to the kitchen for something non-alcoholic to wash it down with. Abbi was at the counter by herself, trying to work the cork out of a bottle of champagne.
“Here, let me,” I said taking it from her before she put an eye out. She let out a huff, but let go of the bottle. “I would have gotten it,” she grumbled. “Yeah, and you would have been wearing an eye patch afterward.” I smoothly popped the cork and handed her back the bottle.
“Thanks,” she said begrudgingly. I smiled. “You’re welcome.” I reached around her and grabbed a soda from the ice bucket. “You didn’t have to come,” she said so softly I almost didn’t hear her. “I would have understood.”
“Abbi,” our eyes locked, “Of course I’m here. I know I haven’t been the best at showing it, but I just want you to be happy
. It’s obvious to me that your coach makes you happy. He’s done a much better job of it than I have.” I leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her brow. “I want you to get everything you deserve and more.”
She cleared her throat as I pulled away and her voice came out shaky when she said, “I want that for you too.” “If you’re happy, I’m happy Abbi,” I murmured. Or at least I would try to be. She reached forward with the hand that wasn’t holding the bottle of champagne and grabbed mine, squeezing it. “That means a lot.”
I raised her hand and eyed the rock there, rubbing my thumb over it, ignoring the stabbing regret I felt. “There you guys are.”