Maid for Each Other(42)

It was stupid that I felt this mad.

But when I’d heard the wheeze of her trying—and failing—to get air in her lungs, it had scared the shit out of me. And even as she stood there, telling me she was fine, she’d looked scared as hell.

Like she wasn’t sure she believed that she was okay.

I mean, she was kind of my employee right now, so surely that was what this was about. My annoyance that someone, while on my watch, would put themselves in jeopardy. That was the only explanation, right?

But it’d felt eerily familiar, dealing with her asthma. My grandpa used to pull that shit all the time with his COPD. He hadn’t wanted to be a bother, or he didn’t want to hold up what everyone else was doing, so he’d try to just power through no matter how uncomfortable it made him, which usually landed him in the hospital.

I’d watched him go from being the most active person I’d ever met to a man who struggled to walk across a room without needing to stop for air.

Obviously, Abi was young and active and healthy, so she wasn’t at all like my grandfather.

But it’d felt too familiar and I hadn’t liked it.

When we got back to the apartment, I wasn’t sure how to behave around her. On the one hand, I felt like I needed to reassure her that I wasn’t an asshole, even though I’d basically yelled at her. I knew I should explain myself and apologize.

But on the other hand, I wasn’t ready to talk because I couldn’t stop seeing the fear in her eyes when she hadn’t been able to catch her breath.

Fuck.

“So what time does your flight leave?” she asked, and it was obvious that she was just tossing out small talk for the sake of killing the awkwardness. “Or is it whenever you want? I don’t actually know how private planes work.”

“I don’t have a plane,” I said, dropping my keys onto the counter. “I attend the hangar event, but I’m flying out of the main terminal.”

“Wow, like a commoner?” she asked, slipping out of her running shoes.

“Yes, like a commoner,” I said, fully aware that Abi was mocking me and pretty much everyone around me.

Which was fair.

We had too much.

I was very aware of my privilege—I always had been—but I felt guiltier than usual about it when I was around her.

“I think it’s more fun to have to get there two hours early and hang out with screaming children and outlet hogs than quietly fly in peace, don’t you?” I slid off my shoes and went into the kitchen, in desperate need of coffee.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said, shrugging. “I haven’t been on a plane since I was a little kid.”

“Seriously?” I couldn’t imagine that. Half of my life was spent traveling, so it was hard to wrap my brain around not hopping on a flight at least once a year.

“Yeah, when I was little we went on a couple family vacations,” she said, leaning on the island. “But after my dad died we didn’t really do that anymore.”

“And you and your friends never went on a wild spring break?” I asked, wondering what her friends were like.

Actually, I was really curious what her daily life looked like.

She told me a little at dinner, but it’d only made me more interested because it hadn’t been what I’d expected. Initially, I thought she was just a girl who worked at a grocery store and cleaned apartments. Then, after I looked her up, I assumed she was someone who worked in finance and had a part-time job on the side.

But the fact that she wanted to be a writing professor, on top of all that, made her fascinating to me. I wanted to know what she wrote and what her slumlord jackass–owned apartment looked like.

Did she work extra jobs because she struggled for money, or did she work extra jobs because she had financial goals and things she was saving for?

“No wild spring breaks for me,” she said with a shrug, not giving me any additional information.

We each went to our rooms to shower and change after that. I didn’t hear a nebulizer turn on, so I did what I knew she’d hate, and I texted her.

SHOULDN’T YOU BE DOING A BREATHING TREATMENT WHILE WE’RE HOME?

She instantly replied: I’m fine, Dad

I sighed. I knew it wasn’t my responsibility, and I didn’t want to be a control freak, but it’d only been a couple hours since she’d almost needed to take an ambulance to the hospital （even though she’d never admit it’d been that serious）。

I texted: I KNOW YOU’RE FINE, BUT WOULDN’T IT BE A GOOD IDEA WHILE WE HAVE DOWNTIME, JUST TO MAKE SURE YOU’VE COMPLETELY RECOVERED?

I guess I’d expected a smart-ass response, because I was surprised to see her simple text: Thank you.

And a few minutes later—thank you, Jesus—I heard the sound of a nebulizer turn on.

I threw some things into a travel bag after my shower, even though I wouldn’t need them. I spent a lot of time in Manhattan, so my apartment in SoHo was fully stocked with everything I could possibly need. I changed into jeans—the brunch was always casual since everyone was preparing to leave—and then I was ready.

But I didn’t feel casual or remotely relaxed, mostly because I was leaving and something about leaving her made me feel unsettled. This was just a game and we barely knew each other, but it felt strange that it was ending when we’d only just begun.