You already have everything. You know that.

Shoes that are overflowing off the racks, drawers full, closet packed with clothes that still have tags on them. Bank account sitting pretty with cash, Abby made sure of that. And you were grateful, really.

You still ask for more though. She’ll say no if it’s too much, she told you.

(Which, let’s be real—hasn’t happened. Won’t happen.)

She enjoys this, taking care of you. Buying and giving unnecessary things that you definitely don’t need. Even when she does say no, she breaks. On her own accord of course.

“Baby, do you need it?” Abby asks, voice warm and soft, like her palm sliding slow along the inside of your thigh—steady and familiar. Her eyes stay on your phone, the screen lit up with a photo of a pretty, pink handbag. The kind that screams impractical. Rhinestones crowding the handle and the logo, shimmering like they were placed there just to catch your attention. And they did. To top it off it’s $2,500. Nothing to her. A blink, chump change. But still.

Sometimes you feel bad, feel like getting a job to make up for this as if she didn’t tell you to quit your old one months ago. Said it didn’t make sense for you to be stressed when she could take care of it. Of you.

“You have, like, four pink bags, honey. What do you need this one for?” she sighs, grabbing your phone and clicking the screen off before you can say anything. But she’s already smiling. You can hear it more than you can see it. That low, amused laugh comes next when you pout—when you tilt your head and go quiet, like maybe this time you’ve actually reached the line.

You try to take your phone back and walk away. Embarrassed, clearly for asking for something so ridiculous. But she faster. Hooking an arm around your waist to keep you close and seated.

“Uh-uh, nope. Use your words, sweet thing.”