Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
QUINN
“You’re alive!”
I roll my eyes as Harley’s declaration screeches out of my laptop speakers.
“Of course I’m alive. What did you think was going to happen to me?”
“Anything! You’ve thrown yourself into the wilds of the north.”
“It’s Anchorage. Pretty populated here. I doubt some polar bear is going to wander into the Nords’ bakery and chomp me.” Not that I’m in the bakery at the moment. My first visit will happen bright and early tomorrow morning, and I’m a jittery version of joyful at the thought.
The world behind Harley tilts and blurs, and I try not to get seasick as she walks around with her laptop.
“A bakery is exactly where bears would go. So many delicious smells. And if they use honey on any of their pastries, you’re done for.
I’ll start writing your eulogy now.” My big sister clutches her boob and tries to look weepy.
“My dear, dear Quinn. So brave. So foolish. Traveling to the dangerous tundra of Alaska, all in pursuit of an icy dick.”
“You asshole!” I whisper-scream at her, my head whipping over my shoulder to make sure the bedroom door is closed. Last thing I want is for Mr. and Mrs. Nord to hear my filter-less family member talking about their son’s package.
“I don’t mean to imply an icy dick is a bad thing. Especially since I’m sure it’s iceberg size. You’d tell me, right? If he was so big that he could bust a hole in the Titanic?”
“No.” I turn the volume down until there’s only one bar remaining and I have to lean in close to hear. I should’ve known a chat with Harley would require headphones. “I would definitely not tell you that.”
Harley sticks out her bottom lip in an overexaggerated pout. So, that’s where I learned it from. “I thought you loved me.”
“And I thought the older a person gets, the more mature they’re supposed to be. How are you thirty? Seriously?”
“Whatever. Maturity is in the eye of the beholder. Until I start getting complaints from my clients, I see no reason to adjust the way I speak of the world and the delicious people that stroll around in it.”
“I don’t think your customers are the best measure to use.”
The only response she gives me is a wicked grin, paired with a blown kiss.
“How do you like his parents? Are they nice?” The perfectly reasonable questions come from off-screen.
“Move the camera. I can’t see Cat.”
Harley does as she was told—a rarity—and soon, I have an unobstructed view of both my sisters.
“They’re really sweet. And August’s mom is going to be okay. Eventually. Right now, she’s pretty battered and recovering from a concussion. But nothing is permanent.”
“That’s—” Cat starts, but Harley cuts her off, “Great. When are you coming home?”
“You’re being super clingy,” I point out, then grudgingly admit, “August got me a return ticket for Sunday.” My Alaska visit will barely last a week.
“He got only you a ticket? Don’t you mean he got both of you tickets? Isn’t he coming back with you?” Harley raises one red brow at me.
A grimace threatens to contort my face, but I do my best to stifle it. From the concerned stare Cat adopts, my efforts were likely in vain.
“No. I mean, he’s not coming back yet. I’m sure he’ll get a ticket when his mother is feeling better.”
Which the doctor said could be a couple of weeks. Or a couple of months.
I don’t offer up that info.
“Unacceptable.”
“Harley!” What gives her the right to be as upset about this as I am? And to then articulate it in a way I feel too guilty to even silently think in my own head? “It’s not unacceptable. His mother is hurt. You don’t think we’d drop everything for Mom?”
“Of course we would. But once we all knew everything would be all right, she’d kick our butts to the curb. No one likes a hoverer.”
“Is Mr. Nord not able to take care of her?” Cat asks her question in a tone that tells me she’s trying to offer support and understanding.
Only the answer doesn’t help with my point at all.
“No. August’s dad is very capable. But they have their bakery to worry about. Mrs. Nord can’t work with sprained wrists and a broken ankle.”
“Yeah, well, August can’t work at his ice cream shop if he’s outside of the continental US. What is he thinking?” Harley taps out an agitated rhythm on the keyboard with her acrylics.
Since when did my older sister start caring about my boyfriend’s business?
“He’s thinking like a good son.”
“You know what’s wrong with your man?” Harley asks.
I embody the honey badger, hackles raised in warning. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Harley continues like she didn’t hear the threat in my voice. “He’s too helpful. I mean, I like it when I get free ice cream in the deal. But in this case, he’s on track to fuck up his life.”
“You’re being dramatic.” Only, this time, I’m not sure she is.
I am intimately acquainted with the financial situation of Land of Ice Cream and Snow.
The shop is doing well for a new business, but if the place has to close down for any length of time, I’m not sure August’s dream will survive the neglect.
Not unless he has some mysterious capital I don’t know about.
Some wealthy benefactor willing to shell out thousands of dollars to support their ice cream fix.
The image of a rich widow forms in my mind.
She has a massive bank account, thanks to her late husband, who she probably murdered, but the police could never prove it.
The black widow lies, sprawled out on a chaise lounge in her ornate mansion, as August serves her ice cream from a silver tray.
Shirtless. In the scene, he’s wearing pants, but only so she can shove hundred-dollar bills into his waistband.
The fictional scenario enrages me until I replace the mystery woman with myself. Then my blood boils hot with lust.
Time to end the daydream!
Refocusing on my sisters, I realize they’ve been staring at me during my wandering mind session.
“Is he going to stay in Alaska?”
“Harley!” Cat scolds as I flinch back from the screen.
“What? No! He wants to live in Arizona. He has family there. And his shop.”
Do I sound desperate?
Because I am.
“I think we can all agree that Sammy isn’t the optimal family member. And what if his shop goes under?”
Does she have to be so morbid?
“It won’t. And he has … me.” Goddess, I hate how insecure that last word comes out.
He has me? So what? What are we even?
An experiment of a relationship. That cold truth snuffs out any fire that might’ve been brewing.
Luckily, neither of my sisters disagrees with my argument. They don’t agree with it either though, so I can guess at the thoughts running through their minds.
“Maybe you should talk to him. Find out where his head is at.” Cat makes her suggestions carefully, as if she expects me to start yelling.
But I don’t feel explosive. The doubt about the future makes me feel small and insecure.
Suddenly, I hate the fact that I’m in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar house.
I want to be back in the heat of Phoenix.
I want tiles under my feet and the sun stinging my eyes.
When I look out the window here, everything is lush and green. I want brown and burnt orange.
In the moment, I hate this beautiful land and how it’s tempting August away from me.
“Yeah. I’ll talk to him,” I lie.
Neither of them calls me out. Maybe because they can’t tell. Or maybe they pity me.
“Tell me about home.”
For the next half hour, they do, and I try to let their words distract me from my melancholy.
I’m not going to talk to August about when he plans to return to Phoenix.
The idea feels too much like me insisting he leave his injured mother behind, and I would never want him to do that before he thought he should.
If my mom was hurt and needed me, I’d move the world for her.
Of course, she only lives a short drive away, so the comparison doesn’t truly equate.
No, I won’t pester him with needy questions. I’ll support him like a good girlfriend is supposed to do.
And I’ll pray to the goddesses and the gods that he isn’t done with Phoenix.
That he isn’t done with me.