Abel’s acceptance of her offer was less emphatic than she’d anticipated it would be, but a simple “fine” sufficed, because it meant that a continued debate about his inability to accept help had been put to rest. They would have to discuss specifics, including the type of work that needed to be done around the house, to free up time for him to spend with his son, and the timing of said assistance, to be mindful of the many sets of eyes that were watching his every move, every reaction as the investigation carried on. But for the time being, Monika was content to have him own up to the fact that he needed an extra set of hands, and that he wasn’t inconveniencing her in the process.
She was equally grateful that he didn’t push the topic of her husband’s involvement in her emotional affairs surrounding Ava’s disappearance. Sebastian had always exuded an air of friendly competition with Abel, one that the musician sometimes rose to; she supposed it might have been an intrinsic quality about her partner, a natural streak of arrogance that made him a good doctor, that was behind his consistent quest to one-up his company. The prospect of having to explain away his emotional and physical absences any further would have unleashed a torrent of emotion that Monika wasn’t prepared to handle. Not with Abel, and not now. Not when his wife was missing, and not as he poured her more tequila.
Her eyes lit up as he explained away his past reactions to the mid-range liquor. “Excuses, excuses,” she said with a wave of her hand. It was easy to speak of their past in a sentimental albeit detached manner, like it happened to someone else, a million years ago. But Monika knew the feelings she’d had for him as a teenager ⏤ that can’t sleep, can’t eat kind of young love ⏤ had never truly faded, even after he’d left to pursue a career in music. Even after he’d married another woman. “I think my moms knew a lot more than they let on. That twin bed creaked something fierce, and the walls were pretty thin. They trusted us.” She accepted her refill from him with a quiet thank you and swirled the clear tequila around in her glass, grinning over at him. All efforts to reminisce without the stab of regret were quickly foiled as his recounting of the great Thanksgiving disaster gave way to other memories. Her grin faltered as she thought about the firsts they shared. Abel had been her first love, her first kiss, her first heartbreak. Her first everything. It had been a careful detail she’d omitted to anyone when he’d come back into her life all of those years after he left their hometown for Los Angeles. She wasn’t sure where the lie had begun, but once they’d committed to it, there was no going back. “Did Ava know?” she asked quietly, pausing in need of another sip of liquid courage to continue. “Did you ever tell her about us?”
He couldn’t help but wonder if Ava was actually going to come back. He’d watched enough crime shows to know how this all worked. Twenty four hours missing was a start, but anything over seventy two was nothing but bad news. It’d been ten whole days and nothing had been found, not even the smallest of leads. He would’ve been a downright idiot not to consider the facts, but Abel was hopeful. She couldn’t be anything other than missing, perhaps lost? Maybe she’d gone for a run after work and took a fall? Or maybe she was desperate for some time alone? Anything would’ve made more sense than her demise.
Abel couldn’t fight the rage that bubbled in his chest. Perhaps there was a hint of jealousy buried deep too. How did one man get the pleasure of loving Monika and the satisfaction of missing another. Then again, if roles were reversed, he would’ve been searching every damn square mile of their town and everywhere else around them. In terms of looking for his own wife, they’d practically begged him not to. They wanted him separate from the case itself, only leaving him to believe that he too was being considered a suspect. “Be careful out there,” he added, not wanting to push any further on the topic. If Sebastian gave a shit, he would’ve already given that warning. Odds were, he hadn’t.
“How many nights did I outdrink you? Pretty sure I took care of you more nights than you took care of me.” All by choice, of course. She was a smart woman. She knew how to handle her own. “That bed,” he grinned, memories filling his head that only caused him further frustrations. “Do you remember,” he paused, wondering it was even appropriate. It was a memory, it had to be. “Do you remember the time they almost caught us on the couch? They were supposed to be out for a date night or something and they called it an early night." It was the first time he’d ever feared for his life, but they’d managed to make a save just in time. They always managed to escape trouble, but their messiest fall had been their last, and Abel accepted the blame entirely. “No.” It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to tell her, it was that he couldn’t. “If I would’ve told her, everything would’ve ended there.” He knew his wife and he knew the heart she had. “She would’ve never trusted us together and I wouldn’t blame her for that.” After all, they’d nearly screwed a summer earlier and to say that hadn’t crossed his mind since would’ve been a lie. “I couldn’t tell her.”
