“Um, the Russian woman with the apron said dinner is ready. Also, who is she? And why am I a little afraid of her?”
Rachel spent the next three courses dodging Matt’s eyes while he did his best to avoid his brother’s glares. Matilda and Herman were too busy offering unsolicited advice about which Ivy League graduate program Faith should attend to notice the tension.
Matt wanted Faith to take a break. “You’ve been in school a long time, sweetheart. It’s okay to live a little.” He patted her hand, and Faith leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. Watching him continue to excel at being a loving stepfather was torture. Rachel looked down at her barely touched plate, searching for something to stab with her fork.
Matilda filled her wineglass to the rim. “Is that what you called postponing the bar exam, Matt? Breathing?” She leaned back in her chair. “It looked more like hyperventilation.”
Herman touched her arm. “Tilda—”
“No, Dad, let her vent,” Matt said. He gestured toward her glass. “Finish your wine and keep recycling the same boring stories. I’m waiting for the part when you admit to preferring those grad students over your own children.”
“That’s not true,” Matilda said. “All of you are tedious. They’re just better read.” She stood up, grabbed the wine bottle, and walked out of the room.
Matt looked at Ben. “You should go after her.”
Ben blinked, like he’d been asleep the whole time. “Me? Why?”
“You’re her favorite.”
“That’s a low bar. And you’re the one who called her a drunk.”
Faith kept her head bowed to hide her grimace. She used to compare their dinners to Real Housewives reunions. Rachel’s theory was that the Abbotts needed to argue because without it they wouldn’t know what to say to each other. Rehashing petty conflicts was the closest thing to a love language this family had. One of the many gifts of shedding the Abbott name would be avoiding a front-row seat to the way they tore each other to pieces.
She pulled out her phone to check the time and saw Nathan’s reply. His name on her screen was like a beacon guiding her to an Abbott-free shore.
Nathan: You should swing by and see for yourself. I’m here until ten.
It was almost nine. She looked around the room, and no one was paying her any attention. She looked at the text again, the address he’d sent. Her heart was pounding. She shouldn’t leave. But she couldn’t stay.
Faith pushed away from the table. “I have to go.”
Everyone stopped speaking. Herman cleared his throat. “So soon?”
“I promised a friend I would stop by before my train leaves tomorrow.” She looked at Rachel. “You said you would drop me off, remember?”
Rachel stood quickly. “Yes. Sorry, I forgot about that. We’ll be late if we don’t head out. Matt, you can get a ride, right?”
When they got into the car, Rachel froze with her finger on the ignition. “I have a thing to take care of. For the gala. Did you want me to take you home?”
“You can drop me off at Alesha’s. I’m still hungry and she made gumbo.” Faith paused. “Is something going on with you and Matt?”
Deep down, Rachel knew this was coming. All the clever scheduling in the world couldn’t hide the rancid air in their house. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s kind of obvious,” Faith said. “He’s always attentive, but this weekend he was hovering. And buying me stuff I didn’t need. Why do I have a sleeping bag now? I can’t take that on the train.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Rachel took a deep breath. “And you’re right, there is something going on that I’m not ready to talk about yet. But you and Matt are fine. You always will be.”
“How bad is it?”
Rachel tried to smile but her mouth trembled with the effort. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Faith fell silent, studying Rachel’s face. “I know you’re strong, Mom. But if you can’t talk to me, promise you’ll find someone else to confide in. Someone who cares enough to really listen.”
As Rachel promised, she realized that the person who immediately came to mind was someone her daughter would never approve of. Faith had called her strong, but watching her walk up the stairs to Alesha’s house, Rachel felt weaker than she had in years.
The address Nathan sent was on a street in Southeast DC she’d never been to before. It was a redbrick building, with Annabelle’s written on the window in gold letters. The sign read CLOSED, but there were lights on inside. She saw Nathan’s car next to a small Toyota with a Bi Pride flag on the bumper.