Chapter Thirty-Five
Quinn
“There’s coffee,” my mom says, as I walk into the kitchen. She glances up from her newspaper; her eyes are bloodshot and angry. They probably mirror my own even more so this morning than usual. For a split second, I think maybe she knows I snuck out last night after safely delivering her Phish Food. But no, I recognize the look on her face. She’s already surpassed the nicely buzzed phase, and has moved on to the pissed off drunk stage. All that and it is only 9:30 a.m. She’s drunk, and my head is throbbing from the vice grip I must’ve slept in-the apple doesn’t fall far, eh?
“Thanks,” I say. “Are you okay?”
“Everything is fine, Quinn. I just don’t feel well. Your father had to go to work. Mason is at a game, he’s going to get a ride home. I think I’m going back to bed,” she says.
Mom tightens her robe as she passes me, dragging her padded slippers across the hard wood floor. The scraping sound makes my skin crawl even more so than usual. I want to scream PICK UP YOUR DAMN FEET! I peer into her bone china cup. Tea? No. I sniff the air, it is filled with the briny, saltiness of Whiskey, no, scratch that, Scotch.
I pour a cup of coffee and preheat the oven. My eyes glaze over as I stare into the pantry, surveying its contents for something that I can bake. Maybe a rich, banana bread pudding? I’ll drizzle it with homemade butterscotch sauce. Maybe eating my weight in carbs and calories will make me feel a little less hollow. Or maybe I will just curl up inside the dark oven instead.
I can’t believe I pulled that shit last night. Seeing Ben was so unnerving. Seeing Ben with Caroline and knowing they’d be going home together was infuriating. I’d never felt real, full-fledged jealousy before, but seeing the two of them, ugh. I can’t even wrap my mind around what Ben must’ve been feeling when he saw Mark and I together in the kitchen. Did I seriously tell him I hated him? I think I did. In a way, I actually meant it. I hate that he has made me feel things I don’t want to feel.
As I smash the bananas, I decide a Percocet or two will go nicely with the pudding. I need something to calm me and make a dent in my killer headache. I throw back the two round pills, and since I’m already in my mom’s medicine stash, I grab a plastic sandwich bag and fill it with an assortment of pills.
Caroline was even prettier in person than she was in the photo. Her simple jeans and a white t-shirt made her look classic and innocent. No wonder she bolted away from me like I was Medusa. I came stomping in wearing a second skin of sequins– and little else.
I heard all of the comments from the guys at the party when I walked past them-knowing that I could easily turn their heads, or turn them on meant nothing to me. The one guy I did want was there with someone else. Jesus, he looked at me with such disgust after I sent Caroline away and spewed my venom at him. I told him I hated him. My stomach turns when I remember the look on his face when he told me to stay away from him. How did things get so out of control?
While I stir the hot custard, I wonder if my dad is actually at work, or if he’s off with the tramp from across the street. I wonder if that’s why Mom is drinking so early. Does she know about Mena, too? Mostly I wonder how different my life would be if my mom had never met my dad. I mean, logic says that my brothers and I wouldn’t be here if my dad wasn’t in the picture, but what if I was. Mom was engaged when she met Dad. The story goes that my mom was out taking a walk one night, when my dad, (leaving a bar) asked her if he could walk with her. Nowadays, that undoubtedly would have led to some rufies, but she said yes.
I’ve seen pictures of my mom back then. She was beautiful, young, and had amazing warmth behind her eyes. In some of the photos, she’s even pictured with her then fiancé, James. He was a regular looking guy, nothing spectacular, but you could tell how much he loved my mom just by looking at him. His arm would be draped casually, but lovingly around her waist. And his eyes were always locked directly on her, no matter how many other people were in the photo.
Whether or not I managed to be here without my dad around, I know one thing for certain, the warmth behind her eyes would still be there today without my dad.
I set the timer on the oven and then go to curl up on the couch. I wonder what Ben and Caroline are doing right now.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ben
“I’m really, really sorry about last night,” I say, standing in the doorway of the guest room.
“It’s fine,” Caroline says. She keeps her eyes down and purses her lips, which I know is a clear indicator that it is indeed, anything but fine.
“Linney,” I say. She’s busy packing her suitcase and barely looks up. The morning sun fills the room, and the blonde hair piled on top of her head makes her look almost angelic. Typical.
“No, please don’t try to explain or anything, it’s not my business.” She folds a shirt so perfectly that it looks like it belongs on display at Banana Republic. I never realized it before now, but her perfection is almost off-putting. There is nothing mysterious about her, nothing to figure out or let your thoughts linger over.
Who am I kidding; her main fault is that she isn’t Quinn.
“I’ll be ready in just a few minutes, then we can go,” she says.
I step into the bedroom and sit on the chest at the foot of the bed. I wonder if Caroline knows that it’s full of dog-eared bridal magazines that my mom obsessed over while Linney and I were together.
“You can talk to me,” I tell her. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” It’s not like her to hold a grudge.
“It’s just, well–” She shakes her head as if she is debating whether to say what’s really on her mind or not. “I just don’t get it, what did you see in that girl?”
Again, with the “that girl,” even after last night-even coming from Linney it still infuriates me.
“Quinn isn’t normally like that, she was just upset.”
“Right, I get that, but from what your mom said, she’s always really moody. I just don’t understand…”
I shrug my shoulders. I’m not looking to fight with Caroline about Quinn. What a pointless argument. I wish that I could tell her that I see the good in Quinn that no one else sees, that even Quinn herself doesn’t grasp. I wish that I could make her and my mom understand. I wish there was a reason to.
“And I hope you aren’t upset with me for saying so, but you could do tons better than her.”
I inhale sharply. “Linney, there’s really no point in talking about Quinn. Her and I broke up, so what was or wasn’t, is kind of irrelevant.”
“So… What about you and me? Why did we break up, again?”
My muscles stiffen; I set myself up for this one. “You know why, Linney. The long distance thing wasn’t what either of us signed up for.”
“I know,” she says. “But then the other night, when you kissed me, I don’t know…” She picks at a feather that is poking out of the edge of the down pillow. “I just thought, like, if I were to move out here for school, do you think maybe, you know, maybe there would be a chance that you and I could get back together?”
“Linney,” I begin. There was no way to put what I’m thinking into words without sounding like a total dick. I lightly touch her chin with my index finger, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes are so big and bright and so completely innocent that it kills me.
“Look, I can’t say for sure what may or may not happen in the future. I’m definitely not over Quinn. Not by a long shot-”
“Do you still love her?” She cuts me off.
“I don’t know.” I answer as honestly as possible. “I do know that I haven’t really learned how to let go of her yet. I know that isn’t what you want to hear, but it is the truth.”
She nods. When she glances up, her eyes are glassy.
“So, if you and I getting back together has anything to do with your decision about where to go to school…well, it just shouldn’t, okay?”
She looks back down and starts picking at the feather again. I hate t
hat I can’t tell her what she wants to hear.
“Sorry, Linney.” I kiss her lightly on the forehead and then get up to leave.
“Hey Ben,” she calls, softly.
“Yep.”
“I really miss you,” she says.
“I miss you too, Linney.”
Why can’t it be simple any more? Why can’t her words be enough for me now? It’s as if Quinn managed to ruin this thing I have with Caroline, along with everything else.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Quinn
It’s been three weeks since Grant’s party. Some days I feel so out of it, I wonder if I have yet to sober up. I’ve done my best to avoid Ben at all costs, ducking through the halls all ninja like, trying to blend into the walls to avoid any awkwardness between me and him during passing periods. I’ve been leaving campus at lunch, too. I make myself a peanut butter and honey sandwich with a glass of strawberry milk and I sit in my bathroom eating by myself, hoping my mom doesn’t realize I’m in the house, hiding like a squatter. The only way I can force myself to go back to school afterward is to be numb, so I swallow a pill or two.
Still, no matter what medicinal cocktail I ingest, I can’t make my brain stop thinking about Ben. I can’t stop myself from slipping out of the house after everyone has gone to bed, and lying on the deck boards, imagining that he’s lying beside me. I ignore the cool breeze and dreary weather, and pretend that it isn’t almost Thanksgiving, and instead, it is still one of those hot, blissful, summer nights.
Sometimes, if I’m feeling extra bold, I consider saying hi to him, rather than dodging him in the hall, or sending him a text. But what the hell could I even say? I know I screwed up, and I told you to stay away from me, but I feel like I’m drowning without you? No, as much as it’s gutting me, this is the way things need to be. Ben deserves better than I could ever be. He deserves to be more than just a crutch to someone. I mean, it’s only a matter of time before I’d screw it up again.
I’m running late this morning, so I’m surprised when I finally make it to my first period class and find it deserted.
“Awesome,” I say. I set my bag on the desk top and slump into my chair. I’d like to take a nap.
“Quinn?” a voice says, just as I’m dozing off. I shoot upright; it’s Ms. Elliott, our school counselor. I turn to stone.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Huh?” I ask, finally blinking.
“I asked if you are all right?” she repeats.
“I’m fine,” I answer.
I’m totally fine, just as long as this isn’t some sort of bullshit intervention or something. Christ. Sure, I’ve been doing a little more self-medicating than usual, but crap, can you blame me?
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
“The class? Oh, it’s Career Day, they’re all in the gym, you should get over there,” she says. “I just came by to drop these off.” She holds up a stack of pamphlets, ironically titled, Am I Depressed…Or Do I Just Have the Blues?
I’m momentarily giddy with relief that she’s not here to psychoanalyze me.
“Oh, okay,” I say, as I pick up my bag. “Thanks.” I tell her as I pass, although I’m not sure why.
“You’d better get up there, your father’s firm has a really terrific booth set up!” she says, beaming.
“Terrific.” My stone self crumbles.
The gym is covered in blue crepe paper streamers and gold balloons. How festive. Apparently, Career Day is quite the big deal.
I quickly scan the room for my dad. I don’t see him, but I see the booth with his firm’s name, so I dart the opposite direction. There are about fifty booths set up for different careers and trade schools. I know I’m a senior, and I should be excited about all of this, or at least have a shell of a plan, but the truth is, I have no clue what I’m going to do after high school. Not even an inkling. I used to want to be an FBI agent when I was little, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t even make it past the lie detector test now.
“Quinn!”
When I hear my name, I glance nonchalantly over my shoulder. Ah, screw! It’s Tessa. I hastily grab a brochure from the closest booth and pretend to be engrossed in it.
“Quinn,” she repeats. Only this time, she’s all up in my personal space bubble.
“Oh, hey Tess,” I say, barely glancing up.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” she pouts.
I shake my head. “Uh-uh, sorry, just busy reading.” I bury my nose back into the brochure.
“Right, reading about,” she flips the brochure closed in my hand, revealing the cover. Go Coast Guard! Shite. “Joining the Coast Guard?”
“Yep, I want to be a rescue swimmer, like in The Guardian,” I tell her. She stares blankly back at me. “You know, with the guy who is all over Twitter. Crap, what is his name? Demi’s husband?”
“His name is Ashton Kutcher,” she says, clearly annoyed. “And cut the crap, Quinn, I’ve known you since you were ten, you don’t even like the water. It’s obvious you’re avoiding me. I mean, you’re pretty much avoiding everyone.”
It’s my turn to stare vacantly, I have no defense.
“Look, I tracked you down so I could apologize for what happened at Grant’s party. I shouldn’t have acted like that, none of it was my business. I was nosy and out of line and I’m really sorry.”
“Really?” I say, stunned.
“Yes, really. I just kinda feel like I don’t know you at all anymore, you have changed so much this year. But anyway, I shouldn’t have interfered.”
Her faux-violet eyes do look sincere.
“Well, I’m not the only one that’s changed,” I say. I motion up and down the length of her. She smiles modestly and shakes her head.
“Please, I’m still the same old Tess I’ve always been. I just have way better shoes now.”
For a minute, I see it. Under the thick layer of expensive mineral makeup and the way-too-many coats of mascara, she looks like the same Tess I’ve always known. In an instant, she is back to being the girl with ratty hair, that she could never quite figure out how to comb, and the impossibly crooked teeth. The girl who used to choke down all of my culinary creations, even if they were partially cooked at best, had three days worth of calories, and threatened her stomach’s well being, all because she didn’t want to see my feelings hurt.
I smile back at her. “Thank you, Tess, I really needed that.”
“Anytime,” she says, nudging my shoulder with hers. I feel a tiny bit of relief as we walk through the maze of booths. It’s the first real conversation that I’ve had with anyone in weeks, and it feels good to not be quite so alone.
“Cute dress, by the way,” she says. “Glad to see you finally took my advice.”
“Thanks.” The fact that I’m wearing a navy-blue floral dress today has nothing to do with her. I simply decided that maybe dressing the part might make me feel better. Fake it till you make it, type of thing. I don’t spoil it for her though, and let her have a moment to gloat.
“So, listen,” she says, without looking at me. We pause in front of the paramedic kiosk and Tess pretends to be interested in the demo they are doing on how to take a manual blood pressure. I feel the hairs on my arms prick up. I know her, and that tone says that she building up to something I don’t want to hear.
“What’s up?” I ask tensely. I start to pick at my Russian-Navy polish.
“Well, it’s just that, since things are cool with us now-”
“Yeah, for like the last five minutes,” I interrupt her. She shifts her Gucci backpack on her shoulder and smiles apprehensively.
“I guess you’re right about that, but come on, you know what I mean. So, anyway, you know how Winter Formal is coming up?”
I nod stoically. Don’t do it, Tess, I silently plead with her. Don’t do it.
She shrugs and stares back at me.
“Just spit it out, Tessa,” I say sharply.
“O
kay, fine. I just wanted to check with you before I asked Ben to go with me.” She flashes her Lumineers, as if grossly white teeth are going to help this situation.
Over her shoulder I see the paramedics are now doing a demo on how to use an AED. Which is super convenient– they can use it to jump-start me, since I’m confident that my heart has just stopped beating.
“Quinn?” She raises her eyebrows. “So, you do mind?”
“Obviously!” I snap.
“Oh come on, Quinn, don’t be ridiculous.”
“I have to get out of here,” I say and push past her.
She grabs onto my book bag to stop me. Any relief I had been feeling just two minutes ago has vanished. I feel like I’m being crushed under the weight of her idiocy.
“Someone else is just going to ask him if I don’t.”
“Then be a friend, and let someone else!” I yell.
She looks at me like I just asked her to sacrifice her Malti-poo. My request is obviously out of the question.
“Look, I get it. You guys had your thing, whatever it was, but you kind of gave up the right to care who he went out with when you broke up with him.”
I storm away from her without responding. One, because I’m afraid I’ll knock her fake white teeth right out of her head; and two, because part of me knows she’s right. I can’t see through my anger as I push through the crowd. It’s times like these that being short really pisses me off. The combination of claustrophobia and fiery rage is suffocating me. I’m gasping for air, like a fish flopping out of water.
“Quinn!” The familiar male voice calls. My dad motions me over to him. And with that, it’s official; I am having a freaking banner day.
I begrudgingly make my way to him, my shoulders slumped. Dad is all done up in a suit, and signature plastic smile that is nearing Burger King creepy. I can tell by his eyes that he’s encouraging me to don mine as well. I don’t oblige. Not this time.
“Hi sweetie,” he says. I give him a tiny grin that says, bullshit. “Come on over here, Quinn, Jill here wants to take our photo for the yearbook.”
Grounding Quinn Page 12