They strolled until they reached a sculpture depicting two women shaking hands as a third woman stood off to the side. Abby pointed at the monument. “Name those suffragettes!” she said. “No googling.”
Sebastian looked at her, smirking very slightly. “Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, being introduced by Amelia Bloomer,” he said. “Obviously.”
Abby stared at him, so surprised it took her a few seconds to muster a “Whoa.”
“You’re assuming I only know about men?” Sebastian inquired, a little indignantly.
“Well…”
“It just so happens,” he said, “that I believe that both men and women have made major contributions to our country.” He paused for a beat of silence. “Also, there’s a plaque,” he said, pointing it out.
Abby started laughing. One of her earrings had gotten stuck in her hair. Sebastian reached out and gently untangled it. That, Abby told herself, was absolutely not something a friend would do.
She took a step back, asking, “Do you know the Susan B. Anthony quote about women and bicycles?”
Sebastian shook his head.
“Oh, it’s my favorite.” Abby straightened up, pulling her shoulders back, reciting from memory. “She said, ‘I think the bicycle has done more to emancipate women than any one thing in the world. I rejoice every time I see a woman ride by on a bike. It gives her a feeling of self-reliance and independence the moment she takes her seat; and away she goes, the picture of untrammeled womanhood.’？” Abby felt her cheeks flush, and hoped she didn’t sound too dorky. All she could see on Sebastian’s face, though, was interest. He sounded almost wistful when he said, “Maybe I should send my mom on a bike trip.”
Abby’s tongue felt slightly thickened from the alcohol. “Is your mother’s womanhood trammeled?”
Sebastian could have laughed it off. She’d left him the option. Instead, he looked thoughtful. “She drinks,” he finally said.
“Oh.” Abby licked her lips and swallowed hard, trying to think of an appropriate response. How much? Is she getting help? Is this a recent development, or has she been drinking your whole life? She said, tentatively, “Was it the pandemic? I know a lot of people were struggling…”
“The pandemic didn’t help.” Sebastian sounded gruff. “But I think things were bad before that. I didn’t notice for a long time. And then, when not noticing wasn’t an option, I didn’t want to think about it.” He made a visible effort to look cheerful again. “A bike ride would do her good.”
“I think every woman should go on a bike trip. Every girl, too.” Abby thought about Morgan. “Every girl should know how to ride a bike. Because it means she knows that she can get somewhere, all on her own. And if she’s in a bad place, she knows that she can leave.” She could hear an admonitory voice in her head, sounding a lot like Eileen as it told her to shut up, to say less, that men didn’t like too much talking, that they definitely didn’t appreciate lectures and they extra-especially did not like lectures about feminism. Abby snuck another look at Sebastian, bracing for boredom or scorn. She saw no evidence of either one.
“Do you ever lead trips just for girls?” he asked.
Abby shook her head. “I barely lead trips at all. I was a last-minute replacement here. That first day, I was terrified.” She gave him a smile. “I’m sure you could tell.”
“I couldn’t. You were great.”
Abby tapped her fingers against her side, thinking. “I know there’s an organization in Philadelphia that teaches kids how to build their own bikes. People donate their old bikes, and mechanics volunteer their time. The kids learn all about bike assembly and repair, and when the course is over, they get to keep the bikes they built. And my club runs beginner rides, so new riders can learn about safety, and riding in traffic, and how to climb hills. But there’s nothing just for girls.” Maybe there should be, she thought, and filed that idea away.
Sebastian put his hand on the small of her back and guided her along the sidewalk, toward the hotel. Abby’s borrowed sandals slapped against the pavement. Her hips and shoulder brushed companionably against Sebastian’s. It was nice, she thought. Cozy. Every time they touched, she caught a whiff of his cologne. Or, more likely, a whiff of Ted’s or Ed’s cologne. It didn’t matter. In the cool of the evening, his hand felt pleasantly warm. It reminded her of how it had felt to kiss him in the rain. It had probably been the single best kiss of her life, she thought. And then she thought of Mark, and felt guilt wrenching at her, twisting in her guts.