These Girls by Sarah Pekkanen Page A

laugh, to list the books and songs she liked best. The baby both connected them and served as a screen between them.
    But tonight something felt different. Abby realized what it was: When she’d looked up to see Bob in the doorway, he’d been watching her, not Annabelle.
    Bob stood and handed Annabelle to Abby. “Can you hold her a sec? I’m going to warm up the veggie lasagna I made last night. I thought I’d let Annabelle try it.”
    “I’ll bet she loves it,” Abby said, holding Annabelle under her armpits and nuzzling her neck. “You little gourmet. You eat edamame and Greek yogurt and kiwi!”
    She could hear the squeak that meant Bob was pulling open the microwave door. “Abby? You want to bring her in here?” he called a few minutes later, as a beep announced the reheating was complete.
    She strapped Annabelle into her high chair and slid on thewhite plastic tray. “Want me to give her some blueberries for an appetizer?” she asked.
    “Perfect,” Bob said as he pulled out the lasagna to check it. It was bubbly, and the cheese on top was golden brown.
    “That smells amazing,” Abby said.
    “I’m a man of many talents,” Bob replied mock-pompously. He paused, then said, “Why don’t you have some? There’s plenty. I’m half Italian and I’m genetically programmed to make too much food.”
    “Oh.” Abby spun around from the refrigerator, holding the plastic container of blueberries. She took it to the sink and rinsed off a handful before answering. She wanted to ask whether Joanna would be home late but worried the question would come across as strange; as if she was suggesting Bob had something improper in mind.
    “I’d love some,” she said after a moment. It was a square of lasagna, nothing more. And she needed to stop thinking about Bob’s face in her dream or she’d start blushing.
    They sat at the kitchen table with Annabelle’s high chair pulled up between them, and laughed as she tried to steer a spoon into her mouth. “She’s like a drunk driver,” Bob said, swabbing at his daughter’s chin with his napkin.
    “Dwiver,” Annabelle repeated, and then they all three laughed.
    “So, how’s school going?” Bob asked, dishing up some salad and putting it on Abby’s plate.
    “I love it,” Abby said. “It’s funny, in college I didn’t really appreciate learning. It was more about going to football games and talking to my friends and growing up, you know? I hadn’t figured out what I wanted to do. But early childhood education is so cool.”
    “What’s the best part?” he asked.
    Abby chewed a tomato while she thought about it. “Littlebrains are so malleable,” she finally said. “And experiences we have as young children can form pathways in our brains. They’re kind of like road maps, guiding our reactions to things that happen in the future. I love learning about how people are formed.”
    “I never thought about it that way,” Bob said. “But you’re right. It is cool.”
    He stood to take a half-full bottle of Merlot off the kitchen counter and raised his eyebrows in a question, and she nodded for him to splash some into her glass. “Just a few sips,” she said.
    It was all perfectly innocent, she reminded herself. The only reason Abby felt nervous was because this was what she imagined her own life would feel like someday: the husband, rolling back the sleeves of his shirt and cracking a joke about the client who’d called in a panic before realizing her dog had tripped on the computer cord, unplugging the machine; the smiling baby; the easy chatter about the day that was almost behind them and the one that lay ahead. The kitchen with a trio of African violets in little pots on the windowsill and copper pans hanging from a ceiling rack; the table set with pretty dishes and gleaming silverware.
    Did Bob ever get lonely? Maybe he’d always imagined his life unfolding this way, too, but Joanna was never around. When Abby was first hired, Joanna had said