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It's time to go

Summary:

All of this was to say that she felt for Harper, she did. But it didn’t excuse anything. When Harper had dropped her off at the hotel on the edge of town, she had immediately called John and talked it over with him. John was right - every story is different. But it’s not her fault if she wants someone who is on the same chapter as her. She’s not even asking for the same page - just the same general area of the book.

Not someone who is four chapters behind the major plot twist.

 

AU where Abby says "I'm not going" and actually means it.

Chapter Text


sometimes giving up is the strong thing
sometimes to run is the brave thing
sometimes walking out is the one thing
that will find you the right thing
-taylor swift, “it’s time to go” 



“I’m not going.” 

And that was the end of it. Abby had made up her mind and she was done talking about it. She was absolutely not going to play the role of the straight, orphan roommate for the weekend. She just wasn’t going to do it. She had more self-respect than that, and she didn’t want to be with someone who was going to put her in that position. 

If Harper had been truthful from the beginning, everything would be different. It’s one thing to be scared to come out. That’s understandable. It’s another to have been lying to your partner for the last six months and willfully bring them into a situation that could only end badly. 

It had been a long time, but Abby hadn’t forgotten what it was like to come out. 

Abby had come out young, or what had seemed like young fifteen years ago. She was fourteen when she told her parents. She remembered her heart racing and the way her sweaty palms felt against her baggy jeans. She remembered saying those words that you can’t take back. She remembered tears falling and her mother pulling her into her arms, her father rubbing her back. Of course we still love you. You really thought we wouldn’t? Most of all she remembers that intense feeling of pride that came when she was alone in her room later, breathing deeply, and feeling whole for the first time.  

It had probably been years since she had officially ‘come out’ to anyone. It was normally casual, at a party, introducing Harper as her partner, or telling a funny story about her weekend plans to her students and mentioning her girlfriend.

She didn’t really have to do it that often, these days. She wasn’t sure if it was her wardrobe, her hair or her general don’t-fuck-with-me attitude, but she didn’t find herself coming out all that often. People just assumed. 

All of this was to say that she felt for Harper, she did. But it didn’t excuse anything. When Harper had dropped her off at the hotel on the edge of town, she had immediately called John and talked it over with him. John was right - every story is different. But it’s not her fault if she wants someone who is on the same chapter as her. She’s not even asking for the same page - just the same general area of the book. 

Not someone who is four chapters behind the major plot twist. 

 


 

Abby had picked the Oxwood because of the rainbow flag she could see hanging above the bar. If this small town had anything close to a gay bar, this must be it. 

She was tired and alone and if she was being completely honest with herself, she just wanted to get drunk enough to forget the past twenty-four hours. Abby grabbed the only spot left at the bar, ordered a beer and prepared to settle in for some serious self pity. She reached for the pint glass the bartender had just slid in front of her and - 

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so clumsy,” Abby had moved just too quick and caused her beer to overflow onto the bar and all over someone’s hand. Someone’s pale, delicate hand with long fingers and short, unpolished nails. The hand shook the beer off with quick, clean movements. 

She managed to swallow her embarrassment enough to look up at the face of the woman she had spilled on. Fuck, she is gorgeous. Long dark hair, fitted blazer. Full lips. She eventually made it up to her brown eyes, which were currently filled with laughter at Abby’s delayed reaction. 

“No harm, no foul. If you’d gotten it on my shoes then we would have had a problem.” 

“Fuck, I didn’t, did I?” Abby panicked, glancing down at her own beat-up Iron Rangers and the pretty girl’s shiny boots. 

“Hey, no, I was totally kidding. You barely even got me wet,” the girl smirked. Is she flirting with me? “You need to relax. Can I buy you a shot?” 

“Um, no, no, totally not necessary. I’m the one who spilled on you,” Abby took a breath, closed her eyes, exhaled and reopened her eyes to see the girl staring back at her with an amused look on her face, “Sorry. I’m not normally this much of a mess.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to come on so strong,” the woman stuck out her still wet, slightly sticky hand, “I’m Riley. I’m visiting my parents for Christmas and I’m lonely and bored and slightly starved for human conversation. Can I buy you a shot to go with your spilled beer?”

Abby chewed on her lip for a second and considered her options. What the hell, might as well. She shook Riley’s hand and smiled, “It’s nice to meet you, Riley. I’m Abby. I’ll have whatever you’re having.” 

Riley motioned to the bartender, “Two shots of Fireball, please. Both on my tab.” 

The heavy-handed bartender poured two overflowing shots of cinnamon whiskey and Riley picked them both up, handing one to Abby. “To new friends,” she said with a half-grin. 

“Cheers.” They gently tapped the glasses together and threw back the shots, maintaining eye contact. Abby grimaced and stuck her tongue out, “I’m sorry, that shit is terrible.” 

Riley raised an eyebrow, “Are you insulting Fireball? The drink of frat boys everywhere?” 

“To be fair, I don’t normally do shots - I’m more of a beer and sipping whiskey kind of girl.” Abby raises her voice slightly, competing with the noise of the bar and the Christmas music playing through the speakers. 

“Me too, actually. But you looked like you needed to loosen up and quick,” Riley took a sip of her beer (a hazy New England IPA, Abby noted - her taste in beer is better than her taste in shots ) and motioned towards the door, “Are you waiting for someone?” 

“No, no. I’m not from around here, I was just looking for somewhere to get drunk by myself,”  

“Sorry, I can take a hint -” 

Abby cut her off, “No, I realized how that sounded. I’m sorry, I’m having the worst day and just can’t seem to get out of my own way.” Abby resisted the urge to thump her head on the bar. 

Riley drained the rest of her beer and motioned to a booth that was emptying, “I’m going to run to the ladies’. You’ve got two choices - you stay at the bar and drown your sorrows alone or you grab us another round and meet me in that booth. No expectations, no judgement.” 

Abby wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she walked into the Oxwood, but meeting someone was definitely not it. Meeting someone she was attracted to was even lower on the list. Meeting someone she was attracted to and seemed to have some kind of instantaneous chemistry with? Rock bottom. 

Of course, none of this was what she had planned for her Christmas away from Pittsburgh. She had thought she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Harper, but now she wouldn’t even want to share the car ride back with her. Who even was that person? And thinking back on it, a year is nothing, in the grand scheme of things. 

She signaled for the bartender and ordered two more IPAs. 

What the hell. It’s Christmas, after all. 

 


 

Abby is waiting in the booth and Riley slides in like they are old friends who have done this a thousand times before. 

“So, what do you do when you’re not spilling beer, Abby?”

“I’m finishing up my PhD in art history at Carnegie Mellon.”

Riley looks suitably impressed, “Art history, wow. I took one art history class in undergrad and it was way over my head. I mean, I love art, but my brain just isn’t wired that way.” 

“I think you have to be a special kind of obsessive for it. Willing to stare at a single painting for weeks at a time, fixate on a chipped piece of pottery,” Abby shrugs. 

“What will you do once you’re officially Doctor Abby?” 

“I’m hoping I’ll be Professor Holland, actually. I’ll be job hunting soon and I’m hoping to stay in academia. I like teaching, so I’ll probably end up at whatever college will hire me. I’m hoping somewhere on the east coast, but you kind of have to go where the jobs are.” 

“I get that. Match Day is similar. You open an envelope, cross your fingers, hope for the best and a piece of paper decides your fate.” 

“Match Day? Are you a doctor?”   

“Yep. PhD, MD… You and I are the same, just a different special kind of obsessive,” Riley motioned between the two of them, “I’m a surgical resident. I’m in the middle of my fourth year of residency at Johns Hopkins.” 

“Wow, no wonder you have such nice hands,” Abby’s eyes got huge as she realized what she had said. 

Riley let out a short laugh and flexed her long fingers in the air, grinning, “With these hands, I was born to be a piano player, a surgeon or a dyke. I have no musical talent but the other two seem to be working out for me.” 

Abby let out a genuine laugh, “That’s a good line. I’m sure you use that one on all the girls.” 

“Just tried it out on you. You’ll have to let me know later if it worked.” 

Abby could feel the heat rising as a full-body blush broke out. She bit her lip.

Riley took pity on her and continued, “So if you’re at Carnegie Mellon, you must live in Pittsburgh. What are you doing in this shit hole of a town?” 

“Well, I was supposed to be visiting my girlfriend’s family.” 

“Okay, well, that begs the question... why are you at a bar talking to me?”

“Um, it’s kind of a funny story that’s actually not funny at all.” 

Riley raised an eyebrow and took a swallow of her beer, “You have my full attention.” 

“Okay… I was supposed to be spending Christmas with my girlfriend and her family. But as we were driving here, we got into a huge fight,” 

“It’s not Christmas without some family drama,” Riley said. 

“Family drama I can handle. This was next level. My now ex-girlfriend admitted to me that she hadn’t actually come out to her family yet. Which, I guess, would have been fine, if she hadn’t been lying to me about already having come out. But that’s not even the end of it. She wanted me to pretend to be her straight roommate who she is bringing home for Christmas only because I’m technically an orphan, which is true, but not something that should be used against me in some maniacal Christmas scheme straight ouf a Hallmark movie. Can you believe that?” 

“I’m sorry, pause this story for a second, who on earth would believe that you’re straight?” 

“My friend John said the same thing. Come on, I’m not that gay,” Abby paused and cocked her head to the side, “Am I really that obvious?” 

“You’re wearing Red Wing Iron Rangers. Your blazer is from Wildfang. You’re sitting in a gay bar, and even if you weren’t, you’d still have that big dyke energy. Don’t take offense, I mean every word as a compliment.” 

Abby dropped her chin to her chest and looked herself up and down, “Yeah, okay. I’m super gay. And I’m a terrible liar. It would have been a mess.” 

“Would have been? So you never even made it to her house?” 

“Nope,” Abby said, popping the P, “We fought about her forcing me to lie the entire way here and I broke up with her about fifteen miles outside of town. It feels like a huge relief, honestly. Like, I somehow managed to escape what could have been the worst five days of my life. She dropped me at a hotel and now I’m here until John can come pick me up, which I’m hoping is sometime tomorrow.” 

“Wow. No offense intended, but it sounds like your girl needs a therapist, not a relationship.” 

“Yeah. I’m inclined to agree with you. I don’t know. The closer we got to this town, the more she changed,” Abby furrowed her brow and ran her finger around the lip of her pint glass, “The girl I fell in love with would have never lied to me about something as huge as coming out. Or ask me to hide myself for her.” 

“Everyone’s got different people inside of them. It’s just a matter of finding someone and actually liking all of their parts. That’s the impossible task,” Riley paused and shrugged, “Besides, I can relate.”

“What do you mean?” 

“If we are exchanging terrible ex stories, I can tell you… the only thing worse than being shoved back in the closet is being forcefully yanked out of it.” 

“I’m not sure I am emotionally prepared for this story,” Abby grimaced, only half kidding. 

“She was my first girlfriend in high school. We started dating. But nobody knew that, obviously. And we would like leave these little love letters in each other’s lockers. And one day, one of her friends found one of the letters. And she asked her what it was about, and my ex, she basically just said that I am gay, and that I wouldn’t leave her alone. And then within a couple days like everybody in school found out, and everybody was so awful to me.” 

“Wow. That is fucked up. I’m really sorry you had to go through that,” Abby slid her hand across the table and rubbed her thumb across Riley’s fingers. She wasn’t an overly affectionate person, but it seemed like the thing to do. Riley seemed to agree because Abby was met with a soft smile from across the table. Abby could feel the full-body blush coming on again and she tried to tamper it down by slowly pulling her hand back and chugging the other half of her beer.

“So the thing that I can relate to is just being in love with somebody that is too afraid to show the world who they are. But you know what I’ve learned? Being scared does not give you an excuse to be an asshole. It’s a little understandable when you’re in high school, but it’s unforgivable when you’re a grown-ass woman.” 

Abby could feel that statement resonating down to her bones. She watched Riley try to shake off the ghost of her past, but could see the damage, the trauma that had been left behind. She wanted to say something clever, to slide her hand across the table again, anything to make the hurt disappear from Riley’s face. 

She watched as Riley took a deep breath, recentered and laughed, “This shit is depressing. Can I get you a real drink? Whiskey, right?” 

“Yeah, but you don’t have to, you already bought me a shot... “ 

“And you got me a beer, so it’s back to me,” Riley said with a wink as she slid out of the booth. 

Abby watched her walk up to the bar and lean over to get the bartender’s attention. This is bad. Very, very bad. Her slight buzz was doing nothing to help the fact that she found her new friend to be incredibly attractive. She watched as Riley leaned against the bar and she swore that Riley was leaning a little further than necessary, and when Riley glanced backwards over her shoulder to see if Abby was watching, her suspicions were confirmed. Fuck. She is hot. And funny. And smart.  

Are we flirting? Is this flirting? I shouldn’t be flirting with a girl I just met when Harper and I broke up less than twelve hours ago. 

Riley slid back into the booth, interrupting Abby’s thoughts, placing two lowball glasses of amber liquid on the wooden table. 

“It’s not Fireball, I promise. This is the good stuff - it’s 12 year Pappy. Not on the menu, if you know, you know.”

“Riley, I’m only an amateur whiskey snob and I know those drinks cost more than my hotel room,” Abby said, looking warily at the glasses and back at Riley.

“That’s why it’s best reserved for special occasions.” 

“What’s the special occasion?” 

“Escaping toxic relationships. Christmas. You finishing your second beer without spilling it. Drinking insanely good whiskey with a pretty girl. Take your pick,” Riley smirked while Abby blushed. They gently tapped their glasses together and Abby took her first sip, savoring the warmth and allowing the multitude of flavors to cross her palate. She couldn’t stop the guttural noise of pleasure that escaped her throat and she didn’t miss the way Riley’s eyes dilated at the sound. 

The energy between them was shifting fast and Abby decides to pump the brakes, just slightly, “I’m never going to live down spilling my beer, am I?”  

"Hey, you’re the one who spilled the drink on me. That's actually a move that straight guys try all the time." 

"Seriously? How does that even work? I'm still mortified. I could never spill a drink on purpose." 

"Dudes are weird. You're asking the wrong person for insight into their psyche." 

"So you've never...?" 

"Nope. Gold star, baby." 

Abby laughed, "Yeah, me too. Gold star all the way. My ex wasn't. She told me I was only the second girl she'd ever been with. I'm not sure if that was good for our relationship or bad. It did always make me worry that she was going to want to, like, sow her wild oats, or something, you know? Like she would always wonder if other girls were better." 

"Hey, I know we just met, but I can already tell you, you're a good one. She's the one who is missing out."

The conversation lulls for a moment and they sit with the silence. Abby’s phone buzzes in her pocket, but she feels no pull to take it out and check her mounting missed texts and calls. She takes another swallow of her drink and gestures with the glass, "How did you get into whiskey?" 

"My Dad, actually. He's always been big into it and when I turned 21 he started to train me. He’s always excited for when I come home because my Mom only drinks wine. I think he has a ten whiskey flight setup for Christmas day, complete with tasting notes and snack pairings.” 

“That’s kind of adorable, actually.” 

Riley shrugged, but Abby could see that she was secretly pleased. 

“What do you normally do for Christmas?” 

“I haven’t had a real Christmas since I was 18. My parents died and honestly, I haven’t really celebrated since. I thought this year was going to be different.” 

“I’m sorry,” Riley replied and Abby could tell she meant it, “Okay then. What were Christmases like when you were a kid? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“You know, I haven’t thought about it in forever. No one ever asks. Most people don’t want to talk about the orphan’s dead parents.” 

“Most people are terrible. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.” 

When her parents died, a part of Abby had fractured. The world was no longer the same place. Everyone looked at her a little differently now - a mixture of pity and concern. She never really considered herself an orphan, just an early member of the dead parent’s club. Everyone’s got to join sometime, and if you don’t, well, it’s because you’re gone first. Abby still wasn’t sure which was worse, being left behind or going first. 

But Riley wasn’t looking at her with pity or concern. Abby stared across the booth and felt the intense weight of Riley’s gaze. Abby wasn’t a sharer. She didn’t have a ton of close friends that she regularly opened up to. She had Harper and she had John, and a few people she considered friends. Her life was mostly filled with acquaintances, kept at an arm’s length. 

But something about this girl made her want to open up. Something about her intense eyes and her honest answers and the way the room seemed to bend around her. 

“My parents loved Christmas. They decorated the house from top to bottom. We went and cut down a tree every year and my Dad would let me pick. One year I chose a tree that was double the size of our living room and we had to cut a foot off the top just to get it in the house. The next year I chose a scrawny little Charlie Brown tree because I felt so guilty. I forgot about that…”

Abby tells Riley about growing up outside of Pittsburgh, going into the city to see the Christmas lights, about being the only child of two Carnegie Mellon professors and schooling college freshmen on Foucault when she was in eighth grade. 

Abby notices that Riley is listening. Really listening. Not listening to the music coming through the speakers. Not checking her phone. Not so much as glancing at her watch. Abby is fully aware that as far as Riley is concerned, she is the only person in the room. 

For the first time in forever, Abby feels… seen? Heard? 

“I think what hurts the most is that I thought I was going to have a family again. I thought I’d walk into her house and I’d meet her parents and sisters and they would hug me and I would feel like I was at home. Instead I’m single and spending the night in a hotel. And I’m not even sad about it. I’m not sad about breaking up and losing her… I’m sad about losing the idea of her and the family I could have had.” 

Riley has her hand woven through her own hair, leaning onto the wooden table of the booth, “Not to get all philosophical on you, Abs, but what does family mean to you?”  

Abby is momentarily taken aback by both the new nickname and the question. She pauses and leans back to think. 

Riley leans in and answers her own question, “You know my favorite part about being queer? Chosen family. It doesn’t have to be about blood or marriage or who you’ve known the longest. It’s about connection and making the conscious decision to love someone and be a part of their life. You get to make that call. You get to decide what family means to you.” 

“You’re right. I forget that sometimes. Sometimes I get wrapped up in this heteronormative view of the future... marriage, two kids, a golden retriever,” Abby shrugs.  

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting that.” 

Abby ran her fingertips over the scratches in the wooden tabletop and raised her eyes to meet Riley’s, “What do you want?”

Riley opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of a brass bell ringing out through the bar as the bartender shouted for last call. Two AM. 

Time to go.

The reality of the world outside their cozy booth at the Oxwood is beginning to bear down and Abby’s mind is reeling with options -

“We should go close our tabs,” Riley says, interrupting Abby’s thoughts and giving them both an easy out. 

They pay their bills and step outside into the cold air, soft snow falling around them, already coating the sidewalk. The light from the neon Oxwood sign flickers once and then shuts off for the night. 

“Thanks for hanging out with me all night. I’m sorry you had to listen to me babble on... You’re really easy to talk to. I bet you get that all the time,” Abby hesitates, scuffing her boot in the snow. 

“I can say, emphatically, that I do not, ‘get that all the time.’ I’m not exactly known for my bedside manner,” Riley grins and Abby swears Main Street is brighter than it was before. 

“Um, I’m really glad I spilled my beer on you.” 

“You definitely saved me from a night of epic boredom - ” 

And before she knew what she was doing, Abby was cutting her off with a kiss. It was hot and fast and they both leaned in a little too hard, noses bumping. Abby’s mind went blank and then her back was against the brick outside the bar, Riley’s mouth attached to hers, tongues colliding, teeth nipping, hands wandering… And minutes (seconds? hours?) later, a siren wail from a few blocks away shatters their reverie. 

Riley is the first to become coherent again and takes a small step back, just far enough to breathe, and for the first time all night, Abby notices her confidence beginning to waver. 

“Look, the only thing I want to do is take you home and make you forget every woman who has ever been lucky enough to touch you… and I can’t believe I’m saying this, because I don’t even believe in this shit, but I think we were supposed to meet tonight. I think somehow, someway, you’re supposed to be in my life. And I think you’re worth way more than a one night stand.” 

Abby laughed softly and nodded, even though her body was telling her to ignore everything Riley was saying and to slip her hand inside Riley’s jeans right there and…  “I think you’re right. And I think you’re worth more than a rebound,” she sucked in a breath and resisted the urge to kiss Riley’s still wet lips. Abby pulled out her phone, “Give me your number and I’ll text you.” 

Riley recites her number and Abby types it in her phone, sending a text with This is Abby from the bar. 

“You’re a dork.” 

“Hey, I don’t know how many Abbys you have in there. Or how many girls from the bar there are. I just didn’t want you to forget,” Abby tries to pass it off as a joke, but her heart pounds against her chest anyway. 

“I don’t think I’ll be forgetting you anytime soon, Abby Holland.” 

Abby’s full-body blush is back, and the heat seems to be settling low in her belly, begging her to reconsider, begging her to kiss Riley again and invite her back to her hotel room and… 

“That’s my Lyft,” Riley whispers as a car pulls up beside them, sliding her arms around Abby’s waist in a gentle hug, pressing a quick kiss against Abby’s cold cheek, “I’ll see you around, Abs.”

Abby waited until the Lyft was out of sight before she turned and headed down the road for the short walk back towards her hotel. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts and begin to process the events of the day.

Did that just happen? 

Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she took it out, ignoring all of the missed texts and calls from Harper and John. She opened the most recent text message and found a slightly blurry, dark selfie of Riley, obviously taken from the back of the Lyft. “So you don’t forget.”  She grinned and returned the favor with a selfie of her beaming at the camera, snow covering her cuffed Carhartt beanie. 

Abby kicked the snow with her boots and exhaled into the cold, watching her breath dissipate. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen tomorrow, but maybe today hadn’t ended up being so bad after all.