Rookie Playing For Keeps #Wattys2015 #NewAdult

Chapter 2 Part 1

Chapter Two

Present

The soft brush of a hand across my forehead wakes me from my restless sleep and I crack open my eyes to see Abby standing over me. It's so good to see her, but tears sting the backs of my eyes. "Maddy, it's okay," she assures me, but I can see the concern on her face. She looks terrible, dark circles under her eyes and her hair twisted up into a messy knot. "I came as soon as I could." She leans over and kisses my forehead.

"You didn't have to, but I'm glad you're here." I reach for her hand and squeeze it tight. "I'm so scared," I admit. It's a relief to say it out loud. She nods her head and a tear escapes her eye and runs down her cheek. She pretends it didn't happen and I know exactly what that's like. I've been crying for hours, praying that something changes and everything works out. Jackson is still, completely unresponsive to our conversation. I let go of Abby's hand so I can grasp his again.

"The waiting room looks like a party," she teases and I try to smile. "Ben is sprawled out across four chairs. He looks like a big teddy bear out there, all snuggled up with his jacket as a pillow. I don't think I've ever seen him look so innocent." This earns her a genuine laugh. I've missed her so much these last few months. We were inseparable as roommates before she got married and moved what feels like a million miles away from me. We chat on the phone all the time, but it's not the same as being with her in person.

She grabs a chair from the corner and positions it next to me, then opens her tote bag and retrieves a nail file and a bottle of polish. "Abby! I don't think you can do that in here," I laugh, but she just pulls my free hand back to hers and raises an eyebrow before turning to point to the clock on the wall, which now reads 2:47.

"I don't think anyone gives a shit, Maddy. Let me make you beautiful for old times' sake. I'll put the first coat on and then give someone else a turn to visit while it dries." I feel the familiar lump in my throat and swallow it down as she begins to file my nails and prepare them for polish.

"How's the new house?" I ask, desperately wanting this to be like a normal meeting for the two of us even though it is anything but. The steady beeping and soft hum of voices in the hallway outside the room are a gentle reminder that we are not back at our apartment chatting over pizza and a few glasses of wine.

Abby and I met our first year in the dorms. We decided that the following year we would move out into our own place. Since the first minute we introduced ourselves, she's been my best friend. I watched her grow into her skin as a woman and then fall in love with Kyle.

"It's a mess. Don't get me wrong, I love it, but it's a mess. The inspector pulled down a small portion of the drywall in the bathroom because the paint was bubbling and promptly discovered that the entire wall was molding inside. We can't save it. The whole thing, and then some, will have to go. Kyle nearly pulled his hair out over it," she chuckles and I smile back. I miss Kyle, too. He's become a friend to Jackson and me over the last year and half. We were their best man and maid of honor at their quickie wedding in Vegas. That trip turned out to be an important moment in my relationship with Jackson. Right now, that feels like ages ago.

"I don't know what I'll do, Abby," I confess in a whisper as her file works over the torn edge of my fingernail. The last few months have been so stressful I'm surprised there is anything left for her to smooth.

"You'll manage." She doesn't even look up from her work as she says it. "Lots of people get through this and you are one of the bravest women I know. No giving up yet." She sets the file down and squeezes my hand, finally looking me in the eye again. "Let go of Jackson's hand for just a minute, and then I promise you can have it back." She smiles, but I can see that she's scared, too, and is trying to be strong for me.

I'm grateful for the distraction of the scratching noise as the file slides across my nails. If I concentrate on it hard enough I can almost ignore the beeping coming from the machine beside the bed. When my nails are groomed to her liking, she picks up a deep pink polish and gives it a few good shakes. "I love this color," I say as she wipes the brush along the inside edge of the bottle, readying it for a clean application.

"I worried you might be sick of it, but I thought it was appropriate for the occasion." Abby swipes a thin coat from the base of my nail to the tip. The polish spreads and I am brought back to a time when I lived and breathed that very shade. I feel my eyes growing heavy as she gently holds my fingers and paints them one by one with the color I chose for my wedding.

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