Page 73 of The New Place

“Oh?”

“Sorry,” she says with a grin and motions Baxter up on the scale.

He goes in exchange for the treat she holds out, standing on the platform as she notes his weight. Abbot has no idea if it’s a good measurement or not—Baxter has always been heavy enough that Ned complains when he has to lift him down from the bed for being a stubborn asshole, as Ned grumbles. Light enough that when Baxter sprawls across them on the couch, he’s a warm comfort.

Privately, Abbot has long thought the discrepancy in rules about being allowed on the couch to watch baseball, but not to nap on it unsupervised, or not permitted on the bed at all except for when he is, is rather too nuanced for a dog who once got his head stuck in a paper bag because it formerly contained a danish.

Though it’s Ned’s dog. And Ned’s bed and his couch here in Boston, and Ned never invites Baxter up onto Abbot’s sofa in his house in Portland. So what does the inconsistency matter, if Ned and Baxter aren’t bothered by it, since it doesn’t really involve Abbot at all?

Five years. Will Baxter still even be here then?

His phone buzzes as Claire opens Baxter’s mouth and peers at his teeth. Have you heard anything from Beverly? Ned’s asked.

Abbot checks his email and writes back, No, have you? as Claire presses a stethoscope to Baxter’s sides.

No, but she’d follow up with you, wouldn’t she? Not me?

Abbot isn’t sure she’s going to follow up a day after meeting with them to begin with, let alone hours after they had a truly uncomfortable conversation with her wife.

Are you going to call her? Ned sends before Abbot can sort through how he might say that, or whether to.

Call Beverly? Again?

He pockets his phone as Claire straightens. He doesn’t want to be rude as she does this favor for Ned, absorbed with his phone and unfriendly. “How is he?” he asks.

“I’m glad you brought him in,” Claire says. “Having an accident suddenly can definitely be a bad sign. But let’s hope it’s a UTI. Pat said you guys met with a Realtor this morning?”

“Is this the first of your questions?”

“Just warming you up with small talk,” Claire says. “But how did it go? Because I’m still couch surfing at my sister’s and if I stay there much longer, she’ll give me a weekly quota of wedding decorations to make, so I’m going to have to finally start apartment-hunting in earnest.”

“It was fine.” Better if either he or Ned had known what they were looking for. Or if that was at all the same thing.

What exactly does Ned mean, he can’t move? Do his parents need him? Abbot can’t see how, so it has to be that he simply won’t. The thought stings as it has every time Abbot’s returned to it. Ned very much could move into a place Abbot gets for them. He just doesn’t want to.

Will he someday? Five years, Abbot thinks again, a time so achingly far away it’s nearly impossible to picture. Or a couple, maybe, if he were to put any stock in that hope.

Yes. Meeting with the Realtor was fine. Just utterly fine.

Which wasn’t a particularly friendly answer to give to Claire.

“Thank you for seeing Baxter over your lunch,” he offers. “I hope we aren’t interrupting your meal.”

“Oh, no worries. I’ve been feeling a bit off, so I wasn’t going to sit down and eat.”

“Are you alright?”

“Something I ate last night, I’m sure. I don’t think I’m contagious.”

“No, no, I’m not worried,” Abbot says quickly. “And besides, with Peggy, we’re already fully exposed to anything circulating in the greater Boston area.”

“That’s Ned’s kid? She’s cute. Pat showed me some pictures. And you have a sister, is that right?”

“Liesl. She’ll be here next week.”

“Any more Sprüngli coming with her?” Claire grins. “Not that I know Pat didn’t manage to get that himself.”

“I don’t have any idea what you mean,” Abbot says.