Page 4 of Anything For This Love

She leans over, propping her chin on her hand and watches as I pour batter into the skillet, forming a perfectly rounded crepe. I love moments like this with Abby… with her watching me prepare breakfast after waking up next to her in bed. It’s a glimpse into the future I hope to have with her, a future that looks brighter by the second.

“We should video chat with Chloe when we’re done with breakfast,” I suggest as I slide the last crepe from the pan. A loving smile tugs at the corner of Abby’s lips.

“I was just thinking the same thing. I know she’d be happy to see your face. She misses you.” Her smile falters for a second, but she straightens her spine and forces it back into place.

“I miss her, too.” Abby doesn't know it, but Ama has video chatted with me a few times when she’s been with Chloe, so I’ve gotten to see her some over the last couple weeks. I still miss her, though. I want to hold her and read to her and kiss the soft curls covering her head. A heavy silence falls over us, both of us hurting from the reality of our situation.

“Ready to put these together?” I ask, feigning chipperness.

I show Abby how to fill the crepes with the desired ingredients and fold them just right before dusting them with powdered sugar. She moans with the first bite of a strawberry and Nutella filled pastry, her eyes fluttering closed in delight.

“That is amazing. I can’t believe I’ve never had these before!”

“Really?” I ask in surprise.

“Really,” she confirms. A little of the hazelnut spread is smeared on the corner of her mouth. I start to reach for a napkin, then pause. I’ve got a better idea. Leaning in, I tuck a strand of curls behind Abby’s ear and cup the back of her head, kissing the seam of her lips. My tongue sweeps over the corner, lapping up the rich, chocolatey spread. Her lips part and I take advantage, sliding my tongue between them. She meets me swipe for swipe, our mouths devouring each other faster than we ate our breakfast.

“I didn’t realize just how much I love this stuff until this very moment,” I declare when I pull back.

“You’re too good to me.” She wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me in for another quick kiss. “I’m a lucky girl.”

“I’m the lucky one,” I whisper, brushing a lock of hair from her face before pressing my lips to her forehead. It’s true. The moment I opened the door and saw her standing on my front porch, I felt like the luckiest man on earth. She came back to me. She came back, and this time, it’s for good.

Abby starts a video call with her grandma while I clear away the food. When Chloe comes on, Abby motions me over to see her. Her face lights up when I come into view.

“My daddy!” she squeals with excitement. Her possessive declaration makes me smile. I belong to her. She’s my little girl and my entire world. I’ve only known her a short time, but it’s almost as though I’ve been there from the beginning. That thought sobers me and I fight to keep the smile on my face and keep the memory of my brother’s last text message at bay.

He informed me a few nights ago that my mother hasn’t been staying at home. I wouldn’t know since I haven’t been there since the night she made her confession. When Abby left and refused to come back, I took off, spending the next several nights in a hotel room in the city. I refused to go back, even after my father practically begged me. It was best for everyone if I stayed away. I was afraid I’d do something I would regret.

I shake myself from those memories and focus on my daughter. She’s jabbering away, telling me something that seems very important to her, but I can’t understand ninety percent of it. I just nod, oohing and awing at the right moments.

“I miss you, Chloe Bug,” I tell her when she finally slows down long enough to take a breath.

“Miss oo, Daddy.”

“I’ll be back to see you again soon,” I promise her.

“Otay.”

Abby sniffles and turns from me, attempting to covertly brush the tears off her cheeks. She says her goodbyes to Chloe and Ama and disconnects the call. She starts to get up, but I stop her with a gentle hand on her arm.

“What’s wrong?”

She takes a deep breath before answering, turning to me with moisture pooling in her eyes.

“It’s my fault she misses you. If I hadn’t run,” she begins and sucks in a shaky breath, trying to hold the tears at bay. “If I hadn’t freaked out and taken off that night and actuallytalkedto you, things would be different. I’m so sorry I did this to us.” Tears spill down her cheeks, her face twisting with regret. “I’m sorry I hurt our family and took her away from you over something your mother did. I blamed you!” she cried. “I shouldn’t have, but I did. You were too good to be true and I just couldn't let myself believe that you could want someone like me.”

“What do you mean ‘someone like you’?”

She meets my eyes. “Jacob, I come from nothing. I have no money, no class, no elegance. I don’t have a fancy degree. I’m a simple woman. I’m not like the women you’re used to. I’ll never be like the Maggie Greysons of the world.”

“Stop it,” I command in a gentle tone. “You are a beautiful, intelligent woman with far more class than anyone I’ve ever met. I don’t care what kind of degree you have or how much money you make. And I certainly don’t want Maggie Greyson or any of the other women who run in our circle. I wantyou.” I cup her face and her eyes fall closed, squeezing a few drops from her lashes. “You’re right about one thing, though. You aren't like them. And that’s my favorite thing about you.”

Her lids pop open and she searches my face, gauging the sincerity of that statement. Her uniqueness is what initially drew me to her. She’s not a Barbie doll. Every move and word isn’t perfectly choreographed. She’s real and raw. She feels every emotion and acts on them. So many of the women I’ve encountered in Washington society are taught to be poised and emotionless, to always have a smile plastered on their face even if they just caught their husband railing his secretary. There are so many rules for them to follow to be considered a proper lady that they can’t even be themselves in public.

After a few too many cocktails one night, Maggie divulged some of her most cringeworthy experiences to me. Her mother encouraged her to pretend to enjoy things she knew I liked just to get closer to me. Our mothers had been plotting our imminent marriage for years and kept pushing us together. They were so relentless that we finally gave in. Maggie was more invested in the relationship than I was, but she also faced more pressure to make it work. Her parents wanted her to settle down and start a family, preferably with someone who would maintain their high social standing. Her family had money, but little political clout. Marrying a Daniels from Arlington would change that. However, Mr. Greyson had been purchasing his clout recently, backing political candidates he knew would beat out the competition.

As it turns out, Maggie and I had little chemistry and ended up working out better as friends. She’s fun to be around, has a great sense of humor, and is beautiful, but there’s no spark. There’s no electric attraction or blazing inferno of desperate need like Abby and I have. Maggie and I tried. We really did. For a time, we even became lovers, and while it was briefly satisfying, our hearts weren’t in it. When we decided to break it off and remain friends, our mothers were devastated, and I suspect, furious. My mother ranted and raved that I was throwing my future away, that Maggie could make me happy if I just gave her a chance. She gaped at me, eyes wide and mouth hanging open when I asked her, “What if I can’t make Maggie happy?”

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