She pushes her long, champagne colored hair out of her face. I wish I felt half as vibrant as she looks. I mean seriously, straight off of a Neutrogena commercial. Her mom is dead. Her ex-boyfriend beat the hell out of her. But she’s sitting here beaming. I want that kind of peace.
“No, it’s okay, really. I need to get home. I need Mason to see that I’m all right.”
“Are you positive? We can get bunk-beds!” she says, with a snort of laughter.
“Positive. I’ll be fine. Everything in my house blows over, even this will.” I silently hope that it’s the truth. At least my mom is back home, just like I knew she would be.
“I’m surprised they’re releasing you so quick,” Sydney says.
I laugh lightly. “Why, because you think I’m a total nutter?”
“No, you know that’s not what I meant.”
“I know, Syd. I’m messing with you. I do have to see the hospital shrink for a few more weeks… I guess that won’t be so bad, right?” This must be what people are talking about when they say they’re being “painfully honest”. It makes me physically ache to be this weak and exposed right now.
“No, totally not!” she says.
Syd shifts her weight uncomfortably on the edge of the bed.
“I had no idea you were so miserable, Quinn.”
I clear my throat. “No one did, really. I’m not even sure I did. It’s just, when I screwed up my relationship with Ben, everything else just kind of started to unravel, too.” I mentally shrug. “But things weren’t all that great to begin with.”
“You could have told me.”
I shake my head. “I couldn’t. I still can’t tell you everything. I just don’t know how to do that– to open up like that. But I swear I wasn’t trying to kill myself.” I make an extra effort to sound reassuring.
Her blonde head bobs softly. “I understand.” And I know she really does. “I’m headed to the gym after this, want to join me?”
“Uh, I think I’ll pass this time.”
“Okay, but think about coming more, it might help. And I’d really like to have you around like it used to be.”
“Sure, I’ll think about it.”
“Hey Quinn, I don’t want you to be mad at me, but I think that you should know. I called Ben when they first admitted you. I know it wasn’t my place, but I just thought-well, he’s just so worried about you.”
My throat tightens. After all of these months, I still have yet to cry. I’m not sure what kind of robo-freak that makes me, but the tears just won’t fall. The thought of Ben knowing what a complete loser I am leaves me feeling broken and ashamed. I’m fully aware that I never deserved him in the first place, and now that he knows about this little stunt, it pretty much ensures he’ll never look at me through rose colored glasses again. Maybe that’s a good thing. That’s what I wanted, right? For him to be able to see me for who I really am, and move on?
“Are you totally pissed?” Syd asks, anxiously.
My eyes barely mist over, but I blot them on my sleeve. “No, no, it’s okay, I understand.”
“He really does love you, you know?” she says.
I stand up and grab my duffle bag; I’m so ready to get out of here.
“It doesn’t matter, Syd. If he really does love me, then he really shouldn’t. I’m so not right for him, he just needs to move on. Anyway, let’s just get out of here.” I survey the room one last time to make sure that I haven’t forgotten anything.
“When we love a person, we accept him or her exactly as is: the lovely with the unlovely, the strong along with the fearful, the true mixed with the façade,” Sydney recites.
I pause at the door and glance over my shoulder at her.
“Who said that?” I ask, wanting her to cite to source of her bullshit.
She cracks a smile. “Mr. Rogers.”
And with that, I lose it. I collapse to the linoleum floor in an unstoppable stream of both laughter and tears.
Finally, finally the tears fall.
Chapter Fifty
Quinn
The house is decorated for Christmas, full of scarf-wearing reindeer, garland with oversized red bows, and illuminated snow globes. It looks just like it does every year, but still it feels so much more bizarre. This year, the pile of crap that has been ignored and swept under the rug, is so messy and massive. But life has gone on. That’s a good thing, right?
My dad allowed me back into the house-most likely because he’s scared shitless of me ever since the revelation that his affair has not been successfully concealed. He’s made a habit of leaving the room if I’m in it, and neither of us can manage any eye-contact. I’m not thrilled to be here, but where else am I going to go? I need to finish school, and actually make a plan for afterward.
Mom has been on a cheery streak-baking and wrapping gifts. Mason is almost talking to me again. I guess it’s the best I can hope for right now, even though he still blames me for all of the dysfunction in our lives. Everything is so normal, or normal for us that is. I try to squelch the voice telling me that it is just a matter of time before everything goes to hell again.
Still, despite knowing that it is one-hundred percent inevitable that shit will hit the fan again, life goes on. School is out for Winter break, and Carter is home from Stanford.
I’ve been home alone all evening. Mom, Dad and Mason are out finishing their Christmas shopping, and Carter is out somewhere, most likely chasing a piece of holiday ass.
Me? I’m curled up on the sofa in footie pajamas, waiting for the timer in the kitchen to go off. I’m reading some book about a girl trapped in a love triangle between two supernatural beings, and wishing that that was my biggest problem.
When the doorbell rings, I glance down at my penguin-printed pajamas, and consider ignoring it. But the likelihood that it’s Carter, who habitually forgets a house key whenever he comes home, is very high, so I begrudgingly drag myself off of the sofa.
I barely get the door halfway open before Tessa squeezes her way inside. Crap.
She’s dancing around like a fool in her heavy pea-coat.
“Oh my goodness, it is freezing out there!” she says, pulling off her matching hat and gloves.
“Hey, come on in,” I say, with weighty sarcasm.
“Long time no see,” she says. She helps herself to a barstool at the kitchen island.
Not even close to long enough, cow.
I watch her for a moment in silence. Her posture is perfect in the barstool, but I can tell she’s nervous by the way she fidgets with the dial on her massive white watch.
“New watch?” I ask.
Her face brightens. “Yes! Early Christmas present from my mom. It’s ceramic, see? Only seven-hundred-fifty dollars!”
Thankfully, the timer finally goes off, saving me from having to stare blankly at her, or have another materialistic discussion.
I pull the casserole dish out of the oven and set it on the counter to cool. I’m trying to come up with a way to figure out what the hell she wants without having to actually talk to her. Sadly, I can’t come up with anything smooth.
She unbuttons her coat, revealing a t-shirt that reads, “Put Christ Back in Christmas.”
“What are you doing here, Tess?” I deadpan.
Her brow furrows. “Um, I thought we could talk.”
“Were you fed paint chips as a child? What in the world is it that you think we have to talk about?” I snap.
She purses her cherry lips and drops her shoulders.
“Um, for starters, we’ve been friends for like how many years?” She taps her fingers on the counter top one-by-one like she’s adding them up.
“Don’t bother counting, it doesn’t matter how long. You haven’t acted like a friend lately.”
She’s already pulling her gloves back on by the time I finish my sentence.
“Look, I just came here to try to apologize. If I knew you were going to go all Anna Nicole on us, I obviously wouldn’t have asked Ben
out. I mean, come on, dramatic much?” She pulls her cashmere hat down over her ears.
“Good, looks like you’re all set to leave,” I say.
I’m back on the sofa, pudding in hand before I even hear the door slam behind her.
Fa La La La La La La La La.
“Who was that leaving?” Carter’s voice booms behind me. I tilt my head back on the edge of the sofa to look at him.
“That was Tessa, you idiot.”
He lets out an obnoxious whistle. “Tessa? Seriously? Whoa, she got-”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I’d put it in her butt,” he says.
“Carter MacPherson, you’re a vile human being. That’s disgusting.”
“What? I would. Stuck-up looking girl like that? Oh hell yeah. She’s all prim and proper, but she could marry a Senator later on, and I’d still be able to say that I-”
“Seriously, quit,” I cut him off.
“What in the world are you eating?” Carter asks.
I’m slumped down deep into the couch cushion with the entire casserole dish balanced on my stomach.
“Chocolate bread pudding, with bacon glaze. I made it, you want?” I offer up a gargantuan, overflowing spoonful.
“Uh, negatory. So, trying to off yourself wasn’t enough? Now you’re gonna give yourself heart disease and diabetes?”
My brother is the male clone of me. Not just the matching hazel eyes and chocolate hair, but he’s also my partner-in-snark.
“Christ, I didn’t try to kill myself, it was an accident.”
He plops down beside me on the sofa.
“Seriously, put that away.” He takes the pudding off of my lap. “Then what is going on with you, Quinnlette?”
I cringe. “Ugh, don’t call me that.” I glance around the room, looking for a reason to escape.
“Quinn,” Carter says firmly.
His tone makes me squirm, since I realize I’m not getting out of talking to him.
“I don’t know how to explain it.” I dust the crumbs off of my lap onto the floor.
“Mom said something about some guy? Was it that guy I met over the summer?”
I close my eyes and shake my head. “That’s not it. Or that’s not all of it.”
He inhales deeply and raises his eyebrows. “You know, you don’t have to be miserable just because Mom has chosen to be.”
“It’s not that easy. You just don’t understand.” Only, I know if anyone does, it’s Carter. He lived through my identical childhood, right along side me. I just never saw it affect him the way it had with me. He never acted out. He had goals and plans, and he went after them. He managed to escape this house unscathed. Why couldn’t I do that?
“Please. Why do you think I turned down a free ride to the University of Georgia? Because I’d rather bust my ass working two jobs and pay for school myself than stay here, sucked into all of this crazy. I don’t get it, my ass.”
I weigh this over. “Yeah, but you’re so damn normal. You’re so much better than me.” I haven’t opened up this much in years.
“Ah, Quinnlette, I blocked it out. Just like you’ve tried to do. Sure, I played by their rules a little better than you, but it was never easy.”
I bite my bottom lip. “I’m exactly like her though, I see it. How can I let people in, knowing I’m just going to end up driving them away just like she does?” The guilt over talking about my mom like this crushes me, but I just can’t stop the words from flowing.
“You’re not her. You don’t have to let yourself become her. You’re smarter and better than that.”
“How the hell am I supposed to prevent it?”
He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “Because genetics don’t determine who we become, Quinn. It’s the choices we make for ourselves that make us who we are, not the crazy that we come from.” He smiles and reaches for the bread pudding.
“By the way, this is really freakin’ good,” he says, while shoveling another heaping spoonful into his mouth.
“Thanks.”
“What kind of bread is this?” he asks, poking at the buttery-bacony-custardy goodness.
“Challah.”
“Wait, you used Challah bread and then covered it in pork sauce? There is something seriously wrong with that.”
I laugh. “Hey, you said it was good!”
The room is twinkling in that warm and magical way only Christmas can achieve. I don’t remember the last time I felt so relaxed. This moment, sitting here talking with my brother was priceless. Even with all of the pain that it took to get here.
“You ever consider culinary school? You could come back to Cali and stay with me. There are some amazing cooking schools there.”
The truth is, I really never had thought about it. I’d been so preoccupied with not committing to a future in any aspect, that I hadn’t even let myself dream. How amazing would it be to be trained as a chef, and maybe open my own restaurant?
But as quickly as the excitement rose, I’m brought crashing back down to reality equally as fast.
“What about Mason? If I leave, it’ll just be him here alone to deal with all of this.”
“Quinn, that’s really not your burden to carry. You have got to start living for yourself.”
“I’m afraid he already hates me.”
Carter scrapes the bottom of the dish clean with the spoon.
“The thing about Mason is that he’s always been a spoiled brat. He’s my brother, and I love him, but he has been the sheltered, golden-child, Quinn. You know that. You’ve protected him as long as you can. And someday, he’ll see things for how they really are, and understand.”
“Dad is having an affair,” I blurt out. I’m looking down at my lap, but allow myself a tiny glance up out of the corner of my eye to gauge Carter’s reaction. His expression gives nothing away. He was right; he’s just as good at hiding his emotions as I am.
“I’m not surprised.” He doesn’t look it.
“With Mena Lombardo.”
“No shit,” he says. “She is like–”
“Slutty?” I volunteer.
He stretches his arms out in front of him, laces his fingers and laughs. “Something like that, yeah.”
“I mean, how the hell do they expect us to turn out okay when they pull stuff like this? So what, my choices are either be a zombie mental patient or an adulterous prick?”
He shakes his head. “You can’t do that, Quinn. I get that you want to blame Mom and Dad for everything, but it does absolutely no good. You have got to let go of all of that resentment, or it’s going to eat you alive.”
I don’t know how to do that. “When did you get so damn smart?”
He chuckles. “When I got away from all of you jackwagons.”
I pull back my fist and punch him in the arm. He doesn’t flinch, but my hand immediately stings.
“But seriously, Quinnlette, I may not be around much, but you’re my sister and I love you. So, no more trying to off yourself, okay?”
“Oh for the love of all that is holy, I. Did. Not. Try. To. Kill. Myself!” I snip each word at him and simultaneously punch him with each one.
“Speaking of love–”
“Oh gripes don’t start.” My hands fly to my face to cover the inevitable blush.
He pulls me in and squeezes my shoulders.
“All I’m gonna say is, there may be a hole in your heart right now, Quinnlette, but there isn’t a hole in the entire world. You can’t just stop living because you’re hurting.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Quinn
“Where’ve you been?” Mom asks me. I hang my keys on the hook and keep my back turned to her.
“I was just meeting with Claire,” I answer. It’s true. I really had been at my appointment with the hospital’s shrink. I just choose to leave out the part about how I drove around aimlessly so I didn’t have to go straight home.
I can’t look at my mom. It’s starting to sink in how it could be so easy
for her to rewrite the history of our family. The guilt of the truth could sometimes eat you alive. It’s the choices we make for ourselves that make us who we are…
I’d been replaying Carter’s words in my mind for a week now. He was right of course. I’d been letting my fear of turning out like Mom dictate my life instead of just living it. Still, I have made so many mistakes I don’t even know where to start fixing everything.
God I miss Ben. Things just shouldn’t be like this. This wasn’t at all the Christmas that I had envisioned earlier in the year. Sure, Mom and Dad had managed not to fight (so far), and Mason will be getting everything his little heart desires under the Christmas tree, so all is right in his world.
“How was it?” she asks.
I have no choice but to turn and face her. I haven’t looked her in the eye since I got home from the hospital. She hasn’t yelled at me, or even confronted me about what I did. I honestly think it would be easier if she did. I know how to handle her screaming and acting all insane-I don’t know how to deal with her when she is rational.
Mom is already in her night-clothes, her face scrubbed clean and her hair pulled back. She looks calm for once. She looks normal.
“Wasn’t so bad, I guess,” I say.
“Good,” she nods. “Carter has been looking for you; I think he’s out on the deck. Why I don’t know, it is cold as anything outside tonight.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I pick at my Alpine Snow polish as I watch her scoop her tea bag out of her cup with a spoon and then toss it in the garbage can. I’m about to lose my chance. If I’m going to speak up, I need to do it now. I swallow once more to try and dislodge the burning lump in my throat; it feels like I have something going down the wrong pipe.
“Mom.” My eyes are already watering, great. I’m turning into such a damn emotional nitwit since I’ve been home.
She turns and faces me, and I don’t know what is wrong with me, but I totally freeze. My apology is caught in my throat like under chewed food. Mom continues to stare back at me, waiting.
“I just…”
She sets her tea cup down on the counter and walks toward me. She wraps her arm around my shoulders and pulls me in close to her. I sniffle and I can smell her Coco by Chanel perfume. She has worn the same scent since I was a kid, and as the smell wafts around me, and she squeezes my shoulders, I feel no older than ten all over again.
Grounding Quinn Page 16