there's no remedy for memory

It's nice to see Anna return to Abby's work time and time again. So many seem to see it as a novelty and come only once, but there's something therapeutic about the combination of coffee and cake and cats, and she's glad to see her friend benefit from it.

She waves when Anna enters the café but has to wait until she's on her break to come on by, and when she does it's with two cupcakes in hand. She gets a pretty decent discount on snacks and things, and these are pretty irresistibly cute. "Hey," she smiles, pushing one of the plates across the table to Anna. "It's on me." 

Juliet, Abby's favourite of the café's cats, comes on by and she lifts her carefully into her lap, stroking her ears between her fingers. 

It's still nice enough, if a little cool, on the boardwalk, an easy place to arrange to meet with Jason. She's seen him around but it feels like it's been a while since they've really caught up, even if there isn't all that much to catch up on – at least in Abby's life.

Most of her changes have been internal, carefully worked through with Alana. She's still working at Un Chat Gris without any real plan for the future, but that suits her just fine. It's not as if she expects to be going anywhere for a while.

It's kind of crazy to think that it's been over a year since she met Jason on the beach, since they road his bike out to the old, abandoned fairground and talked about their fathers of all things. Since she'd asked him why in the world he was being so nice to her without so much as wanting a kiss.

Maybe that's the biggest change. Not always questioning motives. She trusts that there are people who want to be around her, now, trusts that she deserves a place in her friend's lives. Even if it's hard, sometimes.

"Hey," Abby calls, hand lifting into a wave as she spots Jason approaching the boardwalk. 

By the time she makes it to Alana's, Abby feels like she's going to burst.

It isn't as if she's outwardly lied to her, anyway. She's told her the same half truths she's told every therapist along the way, every doctor, her parents, friends. The trouble is that Abby thinks she really might trust Alana – no, knows – and that she might have her best interest at heart. She doesn't have any parents to appease, after all. There's just her in the city, it's just her happiness at stake.

And as long as she's only telling half truths, she's just not sure how happy she can be. Try as she might, she can't convince herself that it was a dare that day. That it really had been about the dozen oysters, that Amy had been the only one who was supposed to go. 

Maybe it's her birthday that's the final straw.  She's eighteen and back home she'd probably just try to forget it, accept half-hearted happy birthdays from her parents and maybe let Bryce get her drunk while Christopher sulked somewhere in the shadows. Here, she's all the more aware of her distance from home, all the more aware of how far away she is from the last place her sister swallowed air before choking on saltwater. When they were younger, birthdays always led to fighting. They might have been twins, but they wanted different things. Right now, though, there's no one she'd rather have shared her eighteenth with.

All this thinking about Amy, about home, just makes her feel that much worse for keeping the truth from Alana and she can't handle it anymore. Still, there's still a nagging feeling that she should go, that this is only bothering Alana, after all. But she pushes through it, and raises her fist to knock on the door. 

 Halfway to Alana's, Abby wondered what the hell she was doing.

Sure, the woman seemed perfectly trustworthy, but above all she was still a therapist, and they hadn't boded particularly well for Abby in the past. Not to mention, she'd want to know, and she'd want to know it all, and there were things that were hard enough to admit to oneself let alone others. No matter how fancy their certifications.

Still, she'd made the appointment and felt pretty much obliged. If it was completely terrible, she couldn't be forced to return. It wasn't court ordered, or anything, just a last ditch effort at stopping feeling so fucking sad, and confused, and guilty.

Knocking on the door, Abby inhaled sharply. She crossed her arms tightly against her chest and waited. 

 She hadn't been working there long at all (if it could even be called work, she spent the day playing with cats and occasionally had to deal with people) but Abby already felt like she was doing a pretty good job. And that much was strange. She had worked, suffered really, summers before at carnivals and they hadn't felt worth the pay. For her first months in Darrow, she'd relied on the payment of the city and essentially loitered. Tried to find her place.

And though she knew this sort of thing was temporary and probably anyone with a few brain cells strewn together could do it, she felt like she had a purpose. And that was nice.

After refilling the water bowls, Abby sanitised her hands and went to check out what kind of customers they were bringing in that day. It was funny, really, how universal the love of cats seemed to be. Young, old and in between flocked for a chance to play with felines without the responsibility of taking them home at the end of the day. That much she could appreciate.

It should probably have made Abby feel guilty, but there was something so cathartic about being away from Montauk, being in a place where nobody knew her name unless she offered it, nobody knew her past. She almost, sometimes, just barely allowed herself to forget she was half of a whole. Not that she ever really could, it sat on her shoulders too heavily for that, but she caught herself smiling more, not surrounded by so many reminders of what was and what would never be.

Until the envelope.

She hadn't thought to check her mail, yet, so used to receiving nothing back home except for occasional birthday cheques and junk mail. More recently there had been brochures from colleges in the area, clearly having picked her from some masterlist since she hadn't shown any interest in applying thus far. It had some appeal, though, the idea of getting away, maybe moving into the city, maybe even travelling out of state. But even when she considered it, she felt weighed down by guilt. Amy would never go to college.

In any case, the envelope was plain, white, inscribed with her name and sealed with a lone piece of tape. Pulling it out of the mailbox, she frowned as she felt its weight. It wasn't just a letter, or a card, it was... something else. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching before leaning against a wall and peeling back the adhesive. 

In it lay, in a pool of cool silver chain, the necklace she'd been gifted for her eighth birthday. It was unmistakable. The pendant was simple enough yet encompassed so goddamn much, two hearts joined in a square frame. Amy had an identical one. It was undoubtedly the most expensive thing they'd owned, and for a while Abby had been mad that it was yet another thing that made them the same, until she, like her sister, gave in and wore it every day.

Abby had kept up the ritual until recently when she'd tossed it into a drawer after spotting a knot in the chain. She'd never forgotten it, really, just told herself she'd get around to fixing it until it became easier to tell herself she would instead of actually doing it. Her psychologist would have told her that it was symbolic of her wanting to ignore her sister's death. Abby would have told him to go fuck himself  — she never was his biggest fan.

She thought for a moment that maybe it was Amy's, but that quickly faded away as she spotted the telltale knot and it made her grimace. The whole thing turned her stomach, as if just on the verge of moving towards happiness God, or whoever the fuck else, had thrown a spanner in the works. What nerve you'd had, Abby thought, trying to move on after almost ten years of hating yourself.

Whatever possessed her to reach into her pocket and pull out her cell phone, she wasn't sure, but it was Jason's number she found herself looking for, quickly sending a text to. You're not suddenly busy, are you?