Abby’s Story
written by: Alexander Brito
She’s lying next to me with her head on my chest and Mark Twain’s The Mysterious Stranger in her left hand. She’s sun-kissed, and her lips still have the faintest taste of the ocean. We’re sitting in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. I know her well enough that I can just enjoy her company. We’ve been together for about eight months, which is far longer than what I originally had planned.
The phrase I love you, but I’m not in love with you comes back to mind, a rip current. I’ve said this line before, but the words have never had this meaning behind them. Turns out, there’s some truth in the cliché, the cheap conciliatory line.
She lifts her head and steps over me to get off the bed. I check her out, staring fixedly. Her hips move from side to side as she walks toward the sink. I’m a little turned on again, just staring at her.
I remember the first time we met. We just happened to be at the same professional development, curriculum-building for first and second-year teachers. Our eyes kept locking all throughout the day. I saw her lingering about after the seminar, so I ditched my coworker and walked straight to her. Her name is Abby. I struck up a conversation, hoping to ask her out, but she beat me to the punch. ‘I know this is unprofessional, but would you want to go out?’
Abby walks back with two flute glasses filled with Espolon Blanco Tequila, her favorite. Tequila doesn’t burn as much after a few. We set them down on one of those old foldable TV trays, next to her pack of cigarettes and her laptop. Her laptop serves as our source of entertainment whenever we’re not reading to each other, listening to music, or making love. She lives in an efficiency that’s about four hundred square feet. The kitchen, the bathroom, the bed, and her dining table are within two steps of each other. Her only roommate is the sweetest cat I’ve ever met, la gata mala. I’ve never been a huge fan of cats, but I don’t mind when this one comes my way.
Abby picks up her pack of cigarettes, gives it a couple of taps, then slides one out. She cracks a smile. I’m sure she can feel how long I’ve been staring at her. Her face is soft and gentle, yet it has the lines and streaks of time and experience. She’s in her mid-thirties, eight years my elder.
“Want to smoke with me?”
I give her a reserved smile and shake my head. She proceeds to put on some checkered overalls and closes the door as la gata mala snuggles underneath my armpit.
I’d miss the gentle nudging and silent demands of Abby’s cat. I’d miss staying over for the weekend and drinking too much tequila together. I’d miss our productive mornings, grading side by side. She’d laugh over breakfast about how silly her students are, her little ones, as she likes to call them. I’d miss days like today.
It feels like I’m ending this too soon, an unfinished relationship. I don’t want it to end today, yet I can’t prolong this any further. I’m not ready to give her what she wants, and I won’t be anytime soon. Dragging this along only to break up with her would waste precious time from her window. It’s like there’s this inexorable ticking of a clock whenever I’m with her. Each tick shouts at me. It tells me that being in love is not an intense, everlasting passion. It’s not only sentimental love. Timing and circumstance have just as much to do with it. I love her, but I’m not in love with her.
I’m overthinking this. Perhaps, it could work. But perhaps, it wouldn’t work out, and then where would that leave her? Nearly forty and still without kids. I know why these doubts are creeping in. Same reason why all the good memories pour in at the waning moments. Ending a relationship is never easy.
Abby walks back into the house and completely strips down again. She stretches her leg over me and rolls to her side of the bed before placing her head on my chest. She asks, “What are you thinking about? I can see a thought bubble forming over your head.”
“I’d rather not say. You know how you like to take time to gather your words before bringing something up to me? I think I ought to do that for a change.”
“Is it serious?”
“Maybe.”
Her smile disappears as the relaxed aura of the room dissipates. I can tell that her mind is starting to race. She’s figuring out what to say, how to respond, which concerns me. I’m not ready to have this talk.
“You know, I had a bad dream earlier.”
“When? After the beach?”
She moves her head from my chest and lies flat on her back. She stares at the ceiling and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, when we took our little nap. It felt so real. I still haven’t even processed it yet. We were in this burning building. I could feel the heat from the flames, the sweat coming down, and the sheer panic. My heart was racing, beating right through my chest. It was so real. Your back was turned towards me, and every time I reached out for your shoulder, I came back empty-handed. It’s like you were always just out of arm’s reach. Then suddenly, you ran right through the flames. You left me there. I called and called your name, but you were gone. I was so mad at you, Aiden. Oh my god, I was mad. I began imagining that you started a brand-new life with some brand-new girl and left me to die in this building—”
“Abby, that wasn’t real. It was only a bad dream.”
“Maybe, it was more than that. The fire got closer and closer to me. It surrounded me. I was spinning, looking for a way out, when I saw this painting of an apple cut in half. I don’t know why, but I just kept looking at it. The seeds were exposed, and around it was this flame, blackening the wall. That was when I realized I was in my old studio in New York. I was stuck in the same old spot, and it was like all those same old feelings from my time there started coming back. I thought about my life over there and my ex, and my art job with all those damn pretentious people. All the while, these flames kept getting closer and closer to me. There was nothing I could do to stop it. Aiden, I was stuck. The smoke started to get so thick that I couldn’t breathe. I was choking. I kept gasping for air, but there was nothing. I was going to die in that studio alone. I kept thinking, it’s not fair. It’s not fair…”
She wipes away her tears as this loud silence looms from the pause in her story.
“Then what happened?”
“I woke up. And you were sleeping right there, facing me. I was so happy that you were there and that I was in Miami and that I have this job now, my dream job with all my little kiddos.”
She’s wiping her tears again when I rush in to kiss her. Sometimes, words just don’t cut it. I want to console her and hold her and let her know that I’m here for her. We stop kissing, but I’m still caressing her cheeks as I wipe the remaining tears away. She smiles and then wraps her leg around me to straddle my body. She’s holding me tightly, kissing my neck. Chills run down my spine.
She sits upright and smiles again. Her eyes look down at me so lovingly, so passionately. It breaks my heart. I’ll say anything to see her smile. I’ll do anything to make her happy. It’s times like these where I get lost in the moment, and all reason and rationale go out the door. I smile back as my wanton eyes gaze up and down.
“I love you, Aiden.”
“I love you too.”
- Abby’s Story - August 31, 2025
