Page 118 of The Man Next Door
Epilogue
Six months later…
Mischa is toying with the centerpiece again.
“Everything is perfect, Mischa,” I assure her with a smile. “Stop fussing.”
She pouts. “Well, you know me. That’s impossible.”
She, Claudia and Gretchen have been kind enough to organize this whole party for me. Every year, I tell them it’s not necessary, but every year it happens.
Thirty-seven. I thought I’d feel older as I neared forty, but strangely enough, I don’t. I guess Abe keeps me young.
“You look amazing.” Abe kisses me on the cheek. “Are you ready?”
I smile. I hate being the center of attention, and he knows it. He’s promised to stand by my side all night. It’s a big day for us, and not only because it’s my birthday. We decided to throw out my pills this afternoon. We’re gonna make a go of it, the whole kit and caboodle; moving in together, a kid, possibly even two.
Mrs. Flores is back from her world vacation and has settled back in. Just yesterday, she asked me if I had any breadmaker yeast. When I told her I didn’t have a breadmaker, she looked at me like I was an alien, shook her head, and stormed off. She then proceeded to blast her television again.
Abe has moved in with me, and thankfully, his piano didn’t need to travel very far.
“Everything’s set in the kitchen,” Gretchen tells me. She’s the official cook this evening. Mischa is the decorator, and Claudia is the social director, in charge of welcoming the guests with drinks. She’s a master Margarita and Sangria maker. I’ve never seen anyone handle a blender like she does.
The guests start trickling in, and with every sip of Sangria, every hug, and every hand I shake, my nerves ease a little. I make small talk with our neighbors, colleagues from work, and friends from my book club.
Gretchen has cooked up amazing lasagna (meat and vegetarian), and a fantastic Caesar salad. I’m feeling happy and buzzed, and my stomach is full. Abe is entertaining the crowd with his guitar. And for the millionth time, I remind myself how lucky I am.
“Sorry I’m late,” she calls out from across the room. “Traffic was a nightmare.”
Adele is here, in my home. I’ve chatted with her on Facebook these past months, but now I finally get to see her in the flesh. I bounce off the sofa, and dash to the entryway. As soon as we lock eyes, we fall into each other’s arms. Her hugs haven’t changed one bit. “It’s so nice to see you, Abigail. So beautiful, so beautiful…”
“You too,” I tell her. “Still as gorgeous as ever.”
We reluctantly pull apart. “I’m shocked to see you,” I admit. “But, like… good shock.”
She laughs, that familiar deep chuckle. “Abe wanted to keep it a surprise. He’s sneaky that way.”
The music has stopped, and Abe leans in for a hug and a kiss. “Hi, Mom. It’s so nice to see you.”
“My angel,” she says, and I smile. She used to call him that all the time.
I welcome her in, and we settle on the sofa and catch up. I tell her all about my job and my friends. She chats about her bowling league, her Bingo nights and her new diet. It’s just so nice to be sitting across from her, listening to her singsong voice and infectious laugh.
Abe did tell his parents about uncle Pete, years ago at his funeral. Apparently, Adele was inconsolable and filled with rage. For years she blamed herself for not seeing the truth. She sought help, and still sees a therapist twice a month.
“I still can’t believe Abe moved right next to you.” She grins. “I’ve always known he was obsessed with you, but I never realized just how much.”
I laugh. “A little creepy, but also very sweet.”
“Well, that’s Abe for you. He’s always been a sweetheart.”
“He certainly is. I’m very lucky to have reconnected with him… and with you too.”
She smiles, tearing up like she used to occasionally. She takes my hand. “I’ve always loved you, Abby.”
Oh, no. She’s going to make me cry at my birthday party.
“Izzie would always light up when you were at our house,” she goes on. “You know, she had issues. She was like her dad that way. Abe is more like me, goes with the flow. But Izzie was intense. You grounded her.”
