Chapter Three
Abby
“So then, Mrs. Morris forgets that her glasses are on top of her head and nearly panics...”
I nod and laugh at his story – as I always do. But the truth of the matter is that I'm bored out of my skull. James and I have been dating for about eight months and it's pretty safe to say that he's more into this relationship than I am. He's a nice enough guy, but he's just so – predictable. So regimented. Everything is on a schedule and by the numbers.
And while I'm certainly not a hair-on-fire wild woman, I do like a certain amount of spontaneity in my partner. I like to be surprised sometimes. And James, although he's sweet, doesn't surprise me. Ever. With anything.
Truth be told, I should have ended our relationship months ago. But, I didn't want to hurt him. And honestly, it was nice to have companionship – even if it was often boring. I'd moved back to Sheridan Falls – my hometown – after I'd grown tired of living in New York City. Not to mention a failed marriage – one I never should have gotten myself into to begin with.
But honestly, it was the constant hustle and bustle, everybody in a hurry and rushing about. It was fun and exciting for a while. But it can be exhausting. Everybody told me that I was going to hate New York. That I wasn't cut out for big city life. But after four years at Columbia, getting my degree in Psychology, I laughed at them. I was proving them wrong.
I had a moderately successful marriage counseling practice, was living the big city life, had a good man for a husband, and for a while, I thought I was happy. But when I found out that my husband wasn't the good man I'd thought he was and that he was cheating on me with my best friend, things started to go south very quickly.
Shortly after I'd moved out and filed for divorce, the city life began to wear on me. Things that I'd found charming before suddenly became annoying. I was constantly on edge. Irritated. And worst of all, I was lonely.
It was then that I decided it was time to come home. The pace of life in Sheridan Falls was slower. Easier to manage. It wasn't so compacted and congested. It wasn't so busy and frantic. I felt like I could actually breathe.
It was a nice change of pace.
Still, I felt like I had to slink back into town with my tail between my legs, ashamed that I'd been proven wrong. It's not like anybody was actually judging me – other than me, anyway. On some level, I feel like I'd failed. That I wasn't able to hack it in the big, bad city.
Honestly though, I had to admit that what they'd said before I left was true. I'm not a girl who's cut out for big city life. It was a fun experience for the most part and I'm glad I tried it, but the only thing it did was make me appreciate Sheridan Falls that much more.
Sheridan Falls isn't a big city, by any stretch of the imagination. But it's not a small podunk middle-of-nowhere town either. We have a population that's a little over two hundred thousand now, and it's growing. It's an idyllic little place in the northwest corner of Washington that a lot of folks have figured out is a nice place to raise a family.
“Abby?”
James' voice cut through my thoughts and pulls me back to the present. I look at him and realize I have absolutely no idea what he was talking about. I shake my head and give him a sheepish grin.
“Sorry, I zoned out for a minute,” I say. “Long day. What were you saying?”
He looks a little annoyed, but reins it in quickly. “I was just asking you how your meal was?”
It is fine. It's always fine. We are sitting in Davina's Cucina, James' favorite Italian restaurant – just like we do every Friday night. Honestly, I'm not a huge fan of Italian food, but I deal with it for him. Over the months, I found a couple of things I liked, so I usually ordered them.
James though, he orders the same thing every single Friday night. He's been doing it so long; the waitress knows what he wants before we ever sat down. The only reason why they still even bother with menus is because I sometimes change things up and order something different – something that seems to irk James a little bit every time.
Like I said, he's a man of routine. A never, ever, ever, varying routine.
“It's delicious,” I reply.
He nods. “Oh, it's just that you're kind of picking at it,” he says. “Usually, if you order the eggplant parmesan, you don't pick at it so much. So, I was just thinking maybe you didn't like the lasagna or something.”
“Oh no, I like it just fine,” I say. “I guess I'm just a little tired and out of it or something today. Not all that hungry after all.”
He looks at me for a moment and then nods, as if he somehow needs to process my answer before accepting it. I have to restrain myself from rolling my eyes. I usually enjoy James' company – he actually is a good conversationalist, a smart man, and we have some terrific talks about any number of things. But for whatever reason, tonight isn't one of those nights.
Tonight, I just want to go home, put on some pajamas, curl up on the couch with a tub of ice cream, and binge on Netflix all night.
But, it's Friday night. Date night. And if I decide to alter our routine, it's going to throw James into a tailspin – something I had a little firsthand experience with. James doesn't like surprises or changes to his routine we didn't talk about first – to give him a little time to prepare – and so, I always do my best to avoid springing anything on him out of the blue.
“You sure?” he asks, looking at me curiously. “Everything okay?”
I reach across the table and give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Everything's fine,” I say. “Promise.”
He nods and goes back to eating, apparently satisfied with my answer. Truth is though, I'm not fine. I just feel – off. A little unsettled, perhaps. Why I'm feeling this way, I haven't the first clue. It's just something that's becoming more and more persistent in my mind and in my heart.
But it's nothing I can point to or identify. And until I can figure out what's bothering me, there's obviously nothing I can do about it.
The waitress comes by and clears off our plates a little while later. She gives James a smile, knowing the routine very well.
“Tiramisu coming right up,” she says and James beams back at her.
I groan inwardly. I hate tiramisu.