Page 84 of The ABCs of You & Me

THIRTY-FIVE

FOSTER

Sophie’s friends are wonderful and clearly think the world of her, and that alone wins them points in my book. I do find myself on the outskirts of all their conversations though, awkwardly putting in bits and pieces from my work life when it feels appropriate.

I am proud of what I do and I love my job, but my uncle’s words have worn away at me over the years. People making comments about how I’ve somehow lost my way and ended up in a female-dominated profession also haven’t helped. Sitting here, I have to remind myself that ultimately what matters is howIfeel about my life. But it’s hard while sitting between people with advanced degrees and ambitions I can’t even begin to fathom.

Sophie’s been crying. I see it immediately when she walks around the corner from the bathroom, and I have an intense desire to rush to her, pick her up, and carry her home, shield her from the world. When she sees me staring she forces a smile, it does nothing to abate my desire to get her out of here.

“You okay?” I ask quietly when she sits back down next to me. It’s not lost on me that she doesn’t sit as close as she had been. There’s a full hand width between us now whereas before her thigh was pressed against mine.

“Yeah,” she lies. I see the no in her eyes, but I don’t push it.

I look over at Maya, who plasters on a smile when she notices me. Everything that’s happening right now feels contrived, and the tension in the air feels thicker than it should at a brunch with friends.

By the time we leave, Sophie seems more herself. She holds my hand as we walk to the car and takes it again once we’re buckled in.

“Sorry I keep running to the washroom every time we’re out. I promise it’s not you.”

“You never need to apologize,” I say before placing a kiss on the back of her hand and her responding sigh has me smiling against her skin. “Now, let’s go look through someone else’s junk.”

“How about this?” Sophie holds up what appears to be the artwork of a child.

I take it from her to study. “Imagine selling your kid’s artwork.”

“Can’t you see the genius in the brush strokes?” she says, leaning into me and pointing at the one thick red line that extends across the canvas.

“I’m pretty sure this was done with fingers.”

“Oh well, I’ve never claimed to be good at judging art.” She laughs as she walks away toward an antique trunk. “This is— Oh, oh god no.” She slams the lid down and sits on it quickly.

“What’s in there?”

“Nope, don’t even think about opening this thing.”

“Come on, let me see.” I drop to my knees in front of her. “Please, Sophie,” I beg.

She blinks a few times before swallowing. “Foster.” She looks at me, her face pure seriousness. “You do not want to know. Trust me.”

“I do trust you, but I also want to know what caused your reaction.”

She shakes her head. “I’ll tell you one day, I promise.”

“Fine. I won’t look. But if there’s a body in there, you should probably report it.” I stand and hold my hand out to her.

She takes it and stands. “Not a body. Well… no, not a body.”

I tilt my head suspiciously. “Parts?” I whisper.

She shakes her head again, eyes wide, lips pressed together so tightly they’re almost white.

“Alright, well, let’s go look through the kitchen stuff over there.” I gesture behind me.

She holds my hand until we get to the table, but once she lets her guard down and loosens her grip, I drop it and run back to the trunk.

“Foster, no!” she shrieks, her desperation only adding to the need to see what’s enclosed in the trunk.

When I open it and see the contents, my jaw hits the ground. “Are those…”

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