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“Are you sure you don’t just want to chill here?” Press asked, watching as his girlfriend threw another shirt from its hanger onto the floor.
Abby was not having a good day. Her dad had come back that morning to settle some paperwork with her mother which had left her in a short mood that included passive-aggressive door slamming and feet stomping all day. Abby couldn’t comprehend how the “coping mechanisms” that she had grown out of before middle school was allowed from her therapist mother but she wasn’t about to ask. She spent the better part of her morning tiptoeing around her mom and trying to get ready for school without crossing paths.
The whole thing made Abby late to English class, which she wouldn’t particularly have cared about if not for the pop quiz handed out at the beginning of class that she’d receive a zero on (despite having done the reading the night before).
Days when she was reminded of how uncomfortable her home had become inevitably turned into days that she found it difficult to conjure up an appetite. She spent her lunch hour dozing on Press’s shoulder, feigning sleep as an excuse to avoid shoving food around her plate. Press, attuned to her habits by now, placed a kiss into her hair and squeezed her hand under the table.
The rest of her day passed by in slow motion, class after class until the final bell rang and Press drove her home. She spent the ride dreading how she’d find her mother when she got there only to find a note on the fridge instead.
Be back later. Here’s some cash for dinner.
- Love, mom
She rolled her eyes, pocketed the twenty, and pulled Press down the hall to her room. Her mom not giving a reason for leaving usually meant she was drinking, a trend that had been all the more common since her dad moved out. It’d be a mystery what time she’d return.
In her room, the two had finished up homework and wasted away the afternoon talking. Press left to make her some toast which he had found he could convince her to eat if he made it seem like he was eating half. The idea of going to Brodie’s basement, where the rest of the group was gathered, was daunting, exhausting Abby at the mere thought of it. After the day she’d had, Abby wanted nothing more than to turn off all the lights, lock her door, and sleep for the next week. The decision was made even more difficult knowing Press would completely agree to join her.
“I promised Ginny we’d be there. She’s dragging Marcus along so we should go,” she said, tearing off another top after looking in the mirror and deciding against it. Ginny and Abby retained their close friendship, even after the group had gotten back together. And by extension, Press and Marcus rounded out an unexpected foursome of friends. Marcus wasn’t much of a fan of group get-togethers but he would put up with them if all four of them were there.
“I don’t want to drink, though,” Abby said. “So if you want to, go for it, I can drive back. Ever since her mom had started drinking, Abby had all but stopped.
After a night where she had slightly too much, Press had helped her home and stayed the night. But when her mom had come home, plenty drunk herself, a nauseating screaming match had broken out that resulted in a queasy morning therapy session about how the divorce was supposedly driving Abby to drink. To avoid any other ironic interactions, if there was a possibility of her mom coming home drunk, Abby decided to do her best not to be. Press knew the reason, not that any of their friends really did, besides Marcus and Ginny. The pregnancy jokes from the rest of them had gotten old a long time ago.
“I wasn’t going to drink either,” he said, leaning over from the edge of the bed to start folding and hanging up the clothes she was discarding. Press had largely stopped drinking as well. He had found that throughout his time with Abby that drinking made him irritable and cruel in a way that he didn’t want to ever be around her anymore. After seeing the highs and lows of Abby and her mother’s relationships with alcohol, he finally allowed himself to consider that his father’s cruel and violent outbursts were likely connected to the beer bottles he’d find lined up next to his recliner. If there was one thing Press knew, it was that he didn’t want to be anything like his father. So whether the trait ended up being genetic or not, Press had decided to test his ability to have fun with the group while staying sober. As long as Abby was there, whether she drank or not, he usually ended up being successful.
They had gotten skilled at making it a good time for each other even when they didn’t particularly feel like being around the group. Today, it was obviously Press’s turn to look out for Abby. She pulled a silver skirt up over her legs, buttoned it, smoothed it out, and sighed, taking it right back off again.
“Have I just totally ruined your day?” She asked, turning to look up at him. Days like this made her especially insecure. One of the things that surprised Press the most throughout their relationship was how easy she was to read once you paid attention. She had dealt with everything she was going through by herself for so long that he could tell how exhausting it was for her to share that burden, no matter how much he tried to convince her that he could handle it.
“Of course not,” he said, folding the silver skirt and leaving it on her bed. “You’ve had a shit day, you’re allowed to feel shitty about it.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean you should have to deal with it,” she said. They had this conversation countless times. He hadn’t found a failsafe response to her yet, though.
“If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be here, okay?” He said, leaning against the wall next to her mirror, she nodded. She didn’t know that that was completely true, his home life wasn’t exactly picture-perfect either and they usually ended up at whichever house was the lesser of two evils for that day. But his words comforted her all the same. “We’ll just go for a while and hang out, and we’ll leave whenever you want.” She nodded again.
“Yeah, okay, you’re right,” she said, refocusing on finding an outfit to wear. She put on a pair of light blue jeans and rolled her eyes, her frustration obvious as he watched her.
“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” He asked, working out the best way to help her here.
“Just how awful everything looks on me,” she answered, eyes not leaving the mirror.
“You look amazing, babe,” he said, eyes roving her body approvingly. The compliment didn’t sink in as she shook her head.
“It’s not even that I’m worried about what they think about how I look, I just feel like shit in everything,” she said, pulling off the jeans.
“What do you feel good in?” He asked, coming to stand behind her in the mirror. She thought about his question, running her hands over her stomach and down her legs. When she didn’t answer, he reached out, winding his hand over her waist and pulling her back towards him. He dropped a kiss onto the crown of her head, giving her more time to answer as she made eye contact with him in the mirror and he kept his hand splayed over her stomach.
“Are you using that shirt?” She asked, eying his black and gray striped t-shirt. He looked around behind him, not seeing one of his shirts scattered throughout the room.
“The one I have on?” He asked, smiling at her. She nodded, smiling herself. He shook his head with a smirk, slipping off the shirt and handing it to her. She pulled him down to press a kiss to her cheek before pulling his shirt on over her tank top. It fell to her knees. She was almost drowning in it. And it smelled like him. Perfect.
“Thank you,” she said, pulling him into a hug. He cupped the back of her head with one hand, holding her tight in the kind of hug that she had told him made her feel safe. She always melted into them.
“Of course, babe,” he said into her hair. “Can I steal back one of my sweatshirts from you?” She laughed and pulled away.
“Just for the night,” she nodded. He went to grab one from her closet as she pulled on a pair of black tights under his shirt. She finished her outfit by tying a belt around her waist, cutting the shirt in half, and making it into more of a dress.
“Ready?” He asked, grabbing his keys from her nightstand. She nodded, reaching for his outstretched hand.
“Let’s get this over with.”
They should not have come.
Max was sloppily drunk and vocally upset. Brodie had invited Samantha for some unknown reason. Norah and Jordan were arguing about God knows what. Her mom had texted her, wanting to ‘talk’. And she was finding it difficult to remember why she didn’t want to drink tonight.
The Abby from three months ago would’ve wanted to get trashed on a night like this and join the chaos. But present-day Abby held tightly onto Press’ hand as the overwhelming mess proceeded around her. Ginny passed a bong over Abby’s lap to Norah. All the girls as well as Marcus and Press were gathered around the couch while everyone else was messing around on Brodie’s drum set.
“Can we please leave?” Marcus asked, not for the first time that night.
“How did I end up with such a lame brother?” Max asked from behind the couch. Ginny looked over at Marcus apologetically, the boy only rolled his eyes.
“You wanna leave?” Press asked Abby quietly. She sighed, leaning further back into his chest from where she sat on his lap.
Before she could answer, Brodie vaulted over the couch and sat next to Samantha.
“What’s all this talk about leaving? We haven’t even played truth or dare yet,” Brodie asked, slugging down more beer.
“Are we in middle school?” Samantha asked, rolling her eyes and looking around the group for a laugh. Brodie ignored her.
“Truth or drink! Anyone?”
“Yes! Let’s play something please!” Max slurred, only just joining the conversation.
“Half of us aren’t even drinking,” Jordan added, glancing at Norah who rolled her eyes. She was almost as gone as Max.
“When did we get so boring?” Brodie groaned dramatically, leaning back into Samantha’s shoulder, who lit up at the attention.
“I’ll play you in beer pong,” Hunter offered. Brodie jumped up as they went to set up the table, Jordan following to watch.
The meltdown Abby had been anticipating all night started in front of her as Norah broke into tears. Despite her headache and the inviting warmth of her position on Press’s lap, Abby got up, handing her cup of water to Press, and grabbed Norah’s hand.
“Please come with me,” she said to Ginny, who got up immediately. Max trailed behind them up the stairs. Press watched her leave, itching to follow her and leave together.
“Norah, just breathe, alright?” Abby said, holding her up as the four girls made their way into the upstairs bathroom of Brodie’s house.
“He hates me,” she moaned through tears, collapsing onto the bathroom floor despite the shorter girl's best efforts to keep her upright.
“Why do you think he hates you,” Ginny asked, sitting on the floor next to her.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Max added unhelpfully as she kneeled near the toilet. Abby could only focus on one crisis at a time.
“Jordan doesn’t hate you, Norah. You guys are like close to marriage,” Abby said, rubbing her back and looking for something to say to stop Norah’s tears.
“Yeah Norah, if anyone hates anyone, it's Sophie that hates me,” Max said, leaning her forehead against the wall next to the toilet. Abby couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She could not handle the same arguments and platitudes that seemed to be required every time Max got to this state.
She was exhausted. She’d been exhausted since she woke up this morning. She didn’t particularly want to be here in the first place and coddling her drunk friends was not on the list of things she wanted to put up with. Her decision not to stay home and fall asleep with Press next to her made less and less sense as the night went on.
“Guys, I’m going to head home okay? I want to be home before my mom is, but text me if you need anything tomorrow morning,” she said, standing up from the bathroom floor. Ginny looked up at her, clearly wanting to ask more about her reason for leaving. A part of Abby felt bad for leaving Ginny to deal with the mess but she could handle it for one night. She’d apologize tomorrow when she didn’t feel dead on her feet.
“Bye Abs, I love you,” Norah, standing up unsteadily to give her a hug. Abby caught her, hugging her back quickly.
“Drink some water and talk to Jordan, okay?” Abby asked, gently detangling herself. “Water for you too, Max.”
Abby made it halfway down the stairs before Press made eye contact with her. She gave him her best attempt at a smile and he knew it was time to leave. He clapped Marcus on the shoulder as he got up from the coach, mumbling a quick goodbye.
“All good?” He asked, grabbing her hand on the way up the stairs. She scoffed.
“No, everyone’s a mess,” she said, “but I needed to get out of there before someone threw up.” Press squeezed her hand. He knew how difficult it was for her to be around people when they were sick after everything she’d gone through herself. “I should take them some bottles of water before we go.”
“Let me do,” he said, heading toward the fridge and grabbing two bottles.
“Thank you,” she said, leaning against the counter and closing her eyes to try and manage the headache that seemed to be clawing away at her skull.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead. She couldn’t fight off her smile. They had both come a long way in their relationship. She had learned how incredible it could be to have someone on your side at all times, picking up the slack when you couldn’t shoulder anymore on your own.
When they first started dating, their friends had struggled to understand how they made any sense. She had doubted them at first too. But something special happened when she let him in and was able to share her vulnerabilities with him. He opened up to her too. And more than anything, she had found an unlikely best friend.
They were far from perfect people but they found peace in being there for each other. And it wasn’t always easy, in fact, it rarely was. But as long as they were both consistently putting in the work to understand each other, nothing had ever made more sense.
Abby’s day had been terrible, and she dealt with it the only way she knew how. Unconditionally, Press understood that and did his best to be there for her, to carry some of the burdens. On days like this, Abby dreaded going home to see her mother, struggled to find the motivation to eat, and anxiously awaited the opportunity to leave the craziness downstairs. But she was also reminded of how lucky she was to have a bond with someone that was willing to stick by her through it.
She heard Press knock lightly on the bathroom door and hand off the bottles of water. He closed the door quietly behind him and made his way back to the kitchen.
“Hey, thank you,” she said, standing up on her toes to hug him. His arms immediately wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. One hand traced up her spine to wind in the hair at the back of her head.
“It was just a couple of water bottles.” He said, scratching the back of her scalp lightly, the way she liked.
“Not just for that,” she said, burying her face further into his neck, “for all of today.” He dropped a kiss under her ear.
“You don’t need to thank me, babe.”
“I want to, though,” she said, leaning her chin against his chest to look up at him. He leaned down to kiss her gently. Her hands made their way up to his neck as she kissed him back. She parted her lips, inviting him in as his hand continued running through her hair. She wanted him to feel her appreciation for him, in every breath she let out into his mouth, every swipe of her tongue across his bottom lip, and every millimeter closer she pressed into him. He smiled into her mouth, leaving her with a soft peck as she settled back onto her feet.
“Let’s get you home,” he said, swiping a piece of her tousled hair off her forehead. She nodded happily. Grabbing her hand, Press lead her outside, taking his keys out of his pocket and opening the passenger side door for her.
He held her hand in her lap for the short drive back, pressing kisses to the back of it every once in a while. Abby fought the urge to close her eyes and doze off as the combination of the warm streetlights, the soft music coming from the car stereo, and his hand in hers threatened to lull her to sleep.
The day hadn’t been a total loss. She still got to go to her hopefully quiet house, lock her door, and fall asleep in her boyfriend’s arms. Which meant tomorrow would start where Abby felt the most at home, next to Press.