4th & Girl

I’d already known about the toilet paper shortage, hence one of the main reasons I’d made a grocery store run at nine in the morning on a Sunday, but I hadn’t known she was here.

But with Abby’s track record for unpredictability, this was nothing more than routine, and any surprise at the sound of her voice was limited.

“When did you get here?” I asked out of habit as she walked into the kitchen.

“Last night.”

I scrunched up my nose. “What in the hell time?”

“Who knows. Maybe a little after two?”

“Seriously? How did I miss you when I left this morning?”

I knew the question was pointless the instant I’d asked it.

Abby was like a little ninja. She had the power to creep around my apartment without me ever realizing she was here.

I probably should’ve been more concerned about that reality, but she’d been my best friend for what felt like forever. Plus, the worst she’d do was eat all of my cookies.

“Not sure.” She shrugged and started rifling through the grocery bags I’d yet to unpack. “Randy really liked your place, by the way.”

“Randy?” I asked and turned to watch as she opened my fresh box of vanilla wafers and started munching on them. “I don’t know a Randy.”

“I didn’t either….” She paused and waggled her brows. “Until last night.”

“So, let me get this straight,” I started and rested my hip on the kitchen counter. “You brought some strange man back to my apartment, and did what? Had sex on my couch?”

Her appearances were old hat, but I had to admit, the additional detail of using my apartment as some kind of hookup hotel came as a bit of a shock. One I wasn’t quite sure I was ready to come to terms with.

And, apparently, I’d been mistaken. The worst she could do was eat all of my cookies and have sweaty sex with random dudes on my couch. I offered up a silent prayer they never occurred at the same time.

She shrugged again and popped another wafer into her mouth. “The details are a bit fuzzy, but I think you’ve got the gist of it.”

God. Good thing I’m a sound sleeper.

“Gross.”

“Trust me, Randy is not gross,” she retorted, completely unfazed by the situation. “He’s just a good old-fashioned guido from Jersey. Attractive, maybe a little stupid, and a set of washboard abs I could grate your new package of cheddar cheese on,” she said, holding up the cheese as a prop.

“Don’t you think you should take your one-night stands back to your place?” I asked far more nonchalantly than I felt. Life with Abby was like life in an alternate universe, and the cyborg version of me was just doing the best she could to navigate it. “I mean, I know that’s a huge ask considering I don’t even know when you go to your place, but still. It seems like a common courtesy not to defile your best friend’s couch.”

“Don’t worry, sweet cheeks, I’ll Lysol the upholstery.”

I blinked. Sighed. Resigned myself to the fact that I couldn’t take back Abby’s fun night with Randy’s sweaty balls no matter how hard I tried. “Oh, wow. You’re too kind.”

Abby winked. “That’s what friends are for.”

“Besides disinfecting my couch, what are your plans for the day?”

She shrugged. “Not much besides convincing you to make me French toast.”

I rolled my eyes. I wished I were bold enough to ask for things like Abby was. It didn’t matter whether she’d just stolen your last brownie or not, she could convince anyone of anything. A cop not to give her a ticket. A doorman to let her into a building. A priest that she was, in fact, a devout Catholic who was eligible to take communion during her cousin’s christening, and apparently, me, to make her French toast even though she’d just sullied the most expensive piece of furniture in my apartment.

“You know, sometimes I feel like I’m a single mother with a seventeen-year-old daughter.”

Abby laughed. “Your daughter is kind of a floozy.”

“Tell me about it,” I retorted with an involuntary grin. She really had a special kind of charm I couldn’t put my finger on. “Guidos named Randy aren’t the kind of men I want her hanging around with.”

“Don’t worry, Mom,” Abby joked back. “Randy isn’t boyfriend material. He was just a guy I wanted to fuck.”

I laughed. “Well, if that isn’t music to every mother’s ears.”

While she made coffee, I turned on the stove and started prepping for my famous French toast. Eggs, milk, butter, bread, and my recipe’s secret, a little vanilla and cinnamon.

Once my best friend had her coffee mug filled to the brim, she made herself comfortable on the kitchen counter and watched as I cooked breakfast.

“So,” she started after taking a long sip from her mug, “any news on the job front?”