15. Quinn
15
quinn
“How is it that I’ve been back in town for two whole weeks and this is the first time we’re getting together for dinner?”
The question is floated in generality to my sisters as I sit down in a booth at Mona’s Diner, but Maeve is the first to answer.
“I’d also like to know how we’re having dinner at the establishment you live above and somehow you’re the last one to show up.”
I wave off my sister as I settle into my seat. “I just wanted to make a grand entrance.”
“Well, we were tired of waiting for the fanfare,” Stella says. “We ordered cheese fries.”
“No complaints here,” I say as I grab one and my own side of ranch. Because ranch as a condiment is elite, and I’ll be taking no arguments on that fact. “I do appreciate you already having my drink ready for me.”
Ainsley shakes her head at me as I take a big sip of my fountain Coke. Because that’s the only acceptable Coke. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’ve already drank three iced coffees today.”
I hold up two fingers. “Only two, thank you very much.”
“Still, you had two iced coffees, and now you’re drinking a Coke. You’re going to be up all night.”
After the text exchange with Porter this afternoon I can only hope.
“I appreciate your concern, Ainsley. Helps having a nurse in the family.”
“I’m a labor and delivery nurse. I care for babies and mamas. And this isn’t nurse care, this is general worry about your state of dehydration, which has to be off the charts.”
“I’m fine,” I wave off. “I think the real concern is how you work multiple overnight shifts, and ones that go for ten to twelve hours, and you don’t drink coffee. Or any kind of caffeine. That’s really what’s concerning.”
Ainsley shrugs as she takes a sip of her water. “Just that good. You could learn a thing or two.”
I snicker at my sister’s demure, yet cutting, answer. Ainsley has that way about her. She might be the good girl of the Banks bunch, but the woman can throw a quiet shot and have it cut just as deep as a profanity-laced dig.
“Okay, enough about un-caffeinated Ainsley being better than all of us,” Stella says. “No offense, Ains.”
“None taken,” she says. “You’re right. This isn’t about me. Tonight’s about Quinn.”
I nearly choke on a cheese fry. “What do you mean tonight’s about me? I thought we were just getting together for a sisterly dinner?”
At least, that’s what tonight was spun to me as. Since the bar is only open a half day on Mondays, Porter told me I’d always have the whole day off. Which is great since I’m now working weekends. I thoroughly enjoy a reset day. I sit back, relax, think about meal prepping for ten minutes before I don’t, and in the meantime, I ponder my existence.
You know, adulty things.
So when my sisters asked me if I could have dinner tonight—Stella works in town, Ainsley had a day shift at the hospital, and Maeve was free of all of her commitments—it felt like a great night to catch up.
Little did I know this was some sort of weird intervention.
“It is,” Maeve says, reaching across the booth and taking my hand. “We just wanted to talk to you. See where your head’s at.”
“My head is fine,” I defend.
“We’re not saying it’s not,” Ainsley adds. “It’s just that last time we all really talked, you hadn’t made a decision on whether or not you were staying.”
“And you hadn’t started at The Joint yet, and we wanted to see how that’s going.”
I make sure to hide any sort of reaction after that statement from Stella. My sisters don’t need to know what kind of benefit package I’m getting by working at the town bar.
I also have to swallow a laugh at my use of the word “package” because apparently hanging out with adolescent boys for years has given me their humor.
“Everything is fine,” I say. “It hasn’t even been a month since I quit. I’m barely settled here. I started at the bar last week, which has taken up a lot of time. So yeah, I haven’t really gotten to ‘plan rest of the life’ yet on the to-do list. But I promise it’s coming.”
Is there snark in my voice? Of course there is. But even for me, it’s a little sharper. I mean, what do they expect? The wound is still fresh.
Though judging by Maeve’s look, she’s not amused by my tone.
“Words of wisdom from Mama Maeve?”
She shakes her head. “All I was going to ask is if you’ve truly processed what happened.”
Processed? Yes. Recovered? Not even close.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” she says. “You came here in a whirlwind. I know we thought this was going to be good for you to sit back and think about what you wanted. But now I’m worried that you’ve thrown yourself into working at the bar, just delaying the process you’ll need to go through to come to terms of what quitting actually means, and what’s going to be next.”
Okay, she’s getting a little too close to the wound. Time to deflect.
“I know. I thank you. And so does future Quinn. Those are her problems.”
Maeve, nor do any of my sisters, think that joke was funny. “Quinn. Be serious about this.”
“I am,” I defend. “I just…it’s a lot, you know?”
Ainsley reaches over and places her hand on top of mine. “We know, Quinn. Please know and we acknowledge that.”
So much of me wants to spill and tell them everything that’s going on in my head right now. Because while I might be deflecting, or filling every waking hour with staying busy so I don’t have to acknowledge my life, I think about it every day and every night.
Each night when I lie in my bed, Turtle next to me, the silence of Rolling Hills is deafening. Somehow the silence of the small town is a loud reminder that I’m back in the town I swore I’d never call home again. I cry every day when I wake up in the morning and I remember I’m not going to school. We should be in the thick of The Westing Game. We should be getting ready for end-of-year field trips and game days. When those emotions take over, I want to book the first flight back to Arizona, talk to the school and tell them I made a rash decision, and see if I can get my job back for the next school year.
From time to time, I wonder if I could start fresh again. Throw a new dart at the map. I hear Oregon is beautiful this time of year.
Then there are the days here like this one, when I wonder if living in Rolling Hills would be so bad. I’m having dinner on a random Monday night with my sisters. I see my niece daily at the diner when Charlie or Simon brings her in. I get to eat my mom’s home cooking and have chats with my dad.
And I kind of like working at The Joint. Besides the dick perks, talking to the people who’ve lived here for years has been more fulfilling than I thought. I figured they’d still look at me as the crazy Quinn who once listed the high school’s address as a property for sale on Craigslist. Instead they’ve been nothing but nice and welcoming to me. I don’t know if it’s a job I’d want to do forever, but it’s been a nice addition to my temporary life here.
Now, will I tell them any of that? Absolutely not. They might be my sisters and the best friends I could ever ask for, but they don’t need to know that Quinn Banks, famously for taking everything in stride, is hurting.
And questioning her life.
No, I’m the sure one. I’m the one who makes instant decisions. And for now, that’s what I need to be.
“I acknowledge that everything y’all have said is true. And I also acknowledge that I can’t make a decision yet.” I don’t want to give too much away, but I know I can’t be vague right now. So maybe a little will go a long way. “When I start thinking about everything, it just feels too big. Too soon, you know? It’s overwhelming frankly. So I push it to the back of my brain and open my Kindle.”
“Ah, avoidance,” Stella says. “I’m very familiar. When I get like that, my therapist has told me to make tiny decisions and do little things. And then you can open your book.”
“You’re in therapy?” Ainsley asks.
“Of course,” she says. “My ex cheated on me with a dominatrix, and I’m a pathological people pleaser. Of course I’m in therapy. And frankly, everyone should be. We’re all a little fucked, if I’m being honest.”
She’s not wrong about that.
“I’ll try it,” I say. “I know at some point I have to make a decision, but I just need a little more time. Maybe one decision at a time is the way to go. But I promise when I’m ready to talk more, you three will be the first I call.”
Or I’ll just do everything on my own time and tell them at the end what I decided. That’s probably more how it’ll go.
Ainsley wraps her arms around me. “And we’ll be here. Always. Whatever you decide, we’ll support you no matter what.”
“Even if you move back to the desert.”
I stick my tongue out at Stella for her comment as I lean into my sister’s hold. And I must admit, a hug from Ainsley is putting a whole lot of points in the Rolling Hills column. No one can comfort you like Ainsley Banks.
“Thanks everyone,” I say. “But next time, can you tell me when the intervention is coming so I can plan for it? Or better yet, maybe have the spotlight focus on someone else. I mean, why can’t we grill Ainsley about her life? She’s got to have something going on.”
“Nice try,” Ainsley says as the waitress approaches our table with our orders. “I deliver babies for a living, volunteer on the weekends, and haven’t drank since college.”
“Whoa!” I yell. “That! We need to go into that! I didn’t even know that happened!”
“Another time,” Ainsley says. “I need food.”
Somehow, the conversation of Ainsley ever drinking is brushed away and replaced by four starving sisters. Which, I mean, I get. Charlie and her staff make one hell of a sandwich. I’ve become quite fond of the turkey, bacon, and ranch, which I’m about to take a bite of when the sound of a door slamming open takes all four of us by surprise.
“Unacceptable!”
Each of us puts down our sandwiches as Simon marches to our table. “How many times have I told you that I have FOMO? I can’t believe you didn’t invite me! Again!”
“It’s not that we didn’t invite you, it’s that you shouldn’t have been available now,” says Stella, who also serves as my brother’s office manager and therefore is the keeper of his schedule. “You had a late afternoon and evening showing. And Charlie has the night off, so shouldn’t you be spending it with your fiancée and daughter?”
He waves Stella off as he pulls up a chair. “The showings were done an hour ago. And it was my beautiful fiancée who told me about this little dinner. How dare you not invite me!”
“Can’t we just have some sister time?” I ask. “I promise we’ll invite you next time.”
“You said that last time.”
“Fine, we’ll invite you to the next sisters’ dinner.”
Simon holds out his pinky, apparently my words not enough to seal this promise.
“Thank you. Now, what are we talking about? What’s the tea? Isn’t that what the kids say? Is Quinn staying in Rolling Hills or leaving us again?”
“Nope,” I say. “I’ve already done the debrief. Someone else fill him in.”
Maeve draws that short straw, and I dip my sandwich into the puddle of ranch on my plate when I feel my cell phone vibrate in my back pocket. Since all of my siblings are here, and no one from my old school district has bothered to reach out since I sprinted out of town, I have to assume it’s Porter.
I grab my phone and stand from the booth, turning away from my siblings so no one can see the hopeful dirty text my now-permanent fuck buddy has sent.
Only when I open the text, I’m very confused by the contents.
Porter:
What in the emoji word scramble filter is this shit?
“Quinn? You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, though I trail off as I try and decipher what the hell Porter just texted me.
Quinn: Care to translate?
I stare at my phone, but Porter doesn’t type anything back, which only leaves me staring at the screen and confused as all hell.
Okay, the winky face, the spicy pepper make sense. A little flirty intro.
I’m pretty sure the next one is a trench coat. Does he want me to come over wearing only that? Do I even own one?
Moving on to the eggplant. That’s easy.
Peach? I hope that means he wants to spank my ass again. Because if the eggplant before the peach means what I think it means, we need to have a conversation about out holes and in holes.
If all of that is correct, the devil face makes sense. But the poop emoji? That one is really throwing me.
“You look confused,” Stella says. “Who is it?”
“Porter,” I say without thinking, so I hurry and cover. “He needs me to come relieve him at the bar tonight.”
“Everything okay?”
I nod to Ainsley’s question before I help myself to a to-go box. “I’m going to go upstairs and get changed. I’ll text you guys tomorrow.”
Simon starts to say something before I finish. “And I’ll make sure to use the all-siblings chat and not just the sisters chat.”
“Thank you,” he says. “You were always my favorite.”
“Hey!” Stella yells. “I run your life. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
The voices fade of my squabbling siblings as I head to the back of the diner and up the stairs to my temporary apartment. I check my phone again to see if Porter texted me back. Still nothing.
Turtle meows at me as I walk into the apartment, but can’t be bothered to do much else. It’s why we get along so well. We both like our space. He does his thing. I do mine. Occasionally he cuddles with me.
Holy shit, I have a situationship with my cat…
I can’t think about that right now as I dig through my underwear drawer for the one piece of lingerie I own. I can’t help but think that this whole thing feels a little off. We were already planning on meeting tonight. Dirty texts had been sent. And I know the bar can be slow on Mondays, but sending me this now is confusing. Does he mean that I should come now? Or is this a message for later and I should come over at the previously agreed upon time?
Porter:
Okay then. Message received. We’re starting earlier than planned. And I guess at his place?
“Porter McCoy, be ready for a night you’ll never forget.” I adjust the royal blue lace one piece that leaves nothing to the imagination. I take the extra few seconds to slide on the thigh highs and straps that came with it.
I only bought this to go under a dress I wore to a coworker’s wedding. It was sexier, and more expensive, than I needed. But it had a halter neckline and a low back, and when you’re a 42DD, bra and lingerie options are far and few between. And it came with thigh highs and fasteners. I told the saleswoman I didn’t need them. She told me to take them just in case.
I don’t know her name, but I could kiss her right now. I barely recognize myself. I feel sexy. I like my body—well, now. It took me a while to get here. But even though I’m comfortable in my skin, rarely do I use the word “sexy” to describe myself. But the way this lingerie is snatching my waist, while also pressing my boobs together in a way that I know is going to drive Porter insane? I’ve never felt better about myself.
Oh, tonight is going to be fun…
I quickly throw on a little makeup, fluff up my hair, and grab my long rain jacket because I don’t have a trench coat. As I tie the knot to close it, I check out of the window to see if my siblings are still here. They were all parked on the street, so I have a clear view of their whereabouts.
“All gone,” I say as I pull the jacket a little tighter. “Turtle, how do I look?”
My cat stares at me like I’m crazy, which is valid. But since he doesn’t have an answer for that, I doubt he’ll help me decide on whether to wear my black high heels or my comfy slip-ons. I decide to wear the flats in case someone sees me—wearing high heels on a Monday night is sure to raise suspicion if anyone at The Joint sees me—but I throw the black heels in a bag to hopefully slip on later.
I sneak down the stairs, making sure no one from the diner sees me as I get into my car and pull out of the back parking lot. Normally, the drive across town to The Joint takes five or ten minutes, depending if I hit the two stop lights along the way, but tonight it feels like it’s taking forever. I’ve never done anything like this before. Even though Porter told me to come—in his own weird emoji way—I’ve never been summoned like this. I’ve never taken the time to doll myself up. Yet tonight I had no qualms of doing either. In fact, everything about this has been exciting. Hot. And we haven’t even gotten to the good part of the night yet.
It’s nights like this I wish my sisters knew about me and Porter. I’d love to have girl talk about the man who makes me feel beautiful. The man who makes me scream. And the man who can’t keep his hands off me when we’re together.
But I can’t. Not that they wouldn’t keep my secret. I know they would. But me telling them I’m in a sexual situationship with Porter and don’t want any more will only have them playing therapist with me and trying to convince me that relationships aren’t all bad. And after dinner tonight, I think I’m getting enough therapy from them on my life.
I park at my normal spot in the back of The Joint, feeling like that will raise the least amount of suspicions. I speed walk through the parking lot, knowing I probably don’t have a lot of time before someone comes outside for a smoke. I hurriedly slip off my comfy shoes in place of the black heels and give myself one more shake of my hair before knocking on the door.
I quickly unbutton my jacket, knowing only Porter will see the lace number I’m wearing when he opens the door. My goal is for his eyes to pop out of his head.
And when he opens the door, his eyes are indeed big.
They are arguably not in his head.
But his face is also white.
I don’t think he’s breathing.
And, this is just a guess, but I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with what I’m wearing.
“Porter? Why are you holding a baby?”