19. Quinn
19
quinn
I’m living with Porter…
I’m living with a boy…
I’m living with a boy who I’ve ridden reverse cowgirl…
“Hey! Hurricane! Come back to Earth and quit spilling my beer!”
I jump a little, beer running over the glass and down my arm, as I hear Harry call me by the nickname that he heard Porter use once and now everyone at the bar is using. It would be cute if it wasn’t a constant reminder that people still think of me as the crazy Banks.
“Shit, sorry about that,” I say as I wipe up the spill and hand him his beer. “Zoned out for a bit.”
Harry tips his glass to me before taking a drink. “That’s what’ll happen when you’re raising a baby. I don’t think I slept for two years when my middle child was born.”
Two years? That’s so long. Surely Grace likes me enough that she’ll start sleeping through the night soon. And I’ll be gone away before?—
“Whoa! What do you mean raising a baby ?”
I’ve been staying with Porter for three days now, but we haven’t told anyone about our arrangement except Jenny. And she only needs to know so she can cover the bar for the few minutes that we play tag back and forth from the bar to the house so Grace isn’t alone. My sisters don’t even know. They still just think I’m just helping out. And I sure as shit would’ve told them over my grumpy regular who thinks that advice you can get on a fortune cookie constitutes a tip.
“You and Porter, raisin’ that little girl. I think it’s admirable what you two are doing. Having her mama left her all alone.”
“Okay, we need to back up,” I say as I rest my elbows in the bar. “Where did you hear that?”
I mean, he’s right. I just want to know. Wait! Does he also somehow know I saw Porter this morning shirtless, in pajama pants, and carrying Grace? No. He couldn’t know that. But I sure as shit will never forget that image.
“Everyone knows, my dear. Everyone knows.”
“Everyone? Who’s everyone?” Because for Harry, this could mean just the guys at the bar. But how he uses his finger, gesturing for me to turn around, I realize at that point he actually means everyone.
The Joint is steady right now, as we’re starting to get in the after-work crews for happy hour, and until now, I thought people were staring at me because Porter normally works this shift. But now I’m thinking this is more than customers clocking our shift rotations.
“How did people find out?” I swear to God, that fucking Facebook group…
“Really, Quinn? I know you’ve just gotten back to town, but you had to realize news like this was going to spread like wildfire.”
I mean, I did figure, but I thought we were careful. I also thought we were careful about the other secret. Do people know about that too?
“I’m just staying for a little bit to help him out until he gets a handle on everything.”
Harry starts cracking up as George slides in next to him.
“What’s so funny?”
“Hurricane over here didn’t realize we all knew about her and Porter playing family together.”
Now George joins in on the laughter. “Oh, yeah. Y’all are the talk of the town. Especially since you kids think you’re keeping it some big secret.”
“We…I…it’s?—”
Both of them start laughing as they reach for the television remote that they one day took control over and never let go. “You keep searching for the words, Hurricane. We’re going to watch our program.”
I walk away from Harry and George, but now can’t help but feel like everyone is staring at me. Are they whispering? What do they know? I can’t ask them, but I have to assume if they knew the really long secret, that it would be the gossip right alongside us living together. As much as I’d like to study how everyone is looking at me, a group of guys playing pool wave me down for a bucket of beers.
I’m glad now more than ever that I told Porter we have to be over. If people really did know about us, it would be chaos. And frankly, it’s none of their business what went on between me and Porter.
But more than that, and what I’ve never said out loud to a soul—not even Turtle—is that I don’t want to deal with the looks. Or the snickers. Or the “is that the best Porter can do?” talk.
I’ve been that girl before. I’ve been that girl many times. Too many to count. So I did what any naturally sarcastic, stubborn, woman would do: I built up a wall of jokes and self-deprecating humor to give people the idea that I don’t give a shit what people think of me. But I don’t need a therapist or one of my sisters to tell me that it’s really because I care a lot what people think.
Probably too much.
Which is why we need to get ahead of this. Well, as much as we now can.
Quinn: So everyone knows.
I set my phone down on the bar and start wiping it down as Porter immediately texts back.
Porter: What do you mean?
Quinn: I’m pretty sure the town knows I’m living with you. And that it’s because of Grace. Who they keep calling “the baby.” Our idea of keeping things mum is now officially out the window.
Porter: Fuck. Don’t these people have lives of their own?
Quinn: I think you know that answer. So what’s the plan?
Porter: Just hold them off the best you can. I’m on my way. I think it’s finally time that Grace meets her Joint family.
Quinn: You sure? I can just tell them it’s none of their business and to fuck off.
Porter: While that’s great in theory, I know these folks. They won’t stop. They’ve got nothing but time on their hands, and happy hour doesn’t end for another two hours. Plus, we knew it was going to come out sooner or later.
Quinn: You’re right. Just pick out a good outfit for her. First impressions last a lifetime.
Porter: I mean…she’s wearing this?
Porter proceeds me to send me a picture that immediately makes me smile.
And makes my heart, and other body parts, clench.
Grace and Porter are standing in front of a mirror in his hallway. She’s looking up at him like she’s very confused—which I’ve learned is her normal resting face and it’s cute as hell—as he’s looking down at her through the mirror to try and get her to look at her reflection. She has on a little pink T-shirt with the cutest jean overalls. And of course, a matching, and insanely large bow, on the top of her head.
While that would be cute enough in its own right, it’s the smile on Porter’s face that’s grabbing my attention. I think it’s the first real, and not scared, smile, he’s had since Grace showed up in his office. The man has been stressing and worrying, and honestly, I don’t blame him. So seeing him smile? Seeing him relax a little? It’s a good look on him.
Really good…
Quinn: Did anyone ever tell you that you could be a baby fashion stylist?
Porter: Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I just guessed.
Quinn: You did good. I’ll see you soon.
I put away my phone, put in a few orders and make a few drinks, and when I finally get back around to checking on my favorite ornery duo at the bar, they’ve picked up a guest.
And not just any guest. The woman who changed my life with a side-swept, short hair-do I’ll never forget as long as I live.
“Mrs. Metcalf? What are you doing here?” I sprint around the bar and nearly tackle my former middle school librarian. “Oh my God, it’s so good to see you.”
“Now, now, Quinn, you don’t need to be squeezing me, I’m not going anywhere,” she says with her light tone. “But it’s good to see you, my dear.”
I don’t know if this woman truly understands how much she meant to me when I was growing up. After I discovered my love of reading, I was a permanent fixture in her library. At first she thought I was pulling pranks in there—and given my track record, I don’t blame her for that. But soon we started talking. She was the first adult, maybe besides my parents, who I felt like was actually listening to me and not just thinking of me as Simon or Maeve’s sister. Or the girl who brought Crisco to school and greased all the doorknobs. We talked about books and life, and I’d tell her the drama going through Rolling Hills Middle School. While every other kid could only check out one book at a time, I was allowed five. She’d show me pictures of her cat, and I told her about how one day I’d have one of my own and I’d name it Turtle.
Oh, I can’t wait to tell her about real life Turtle!
Some days when I was having a bad day, or I just needed a break, I’d just go into the library to sit with her and read. She never asked questions. She never sent me back to class. She just knew I needed it.
She’s an angel. A saint. And I know for a fact that she changed my life.
“What are you doing? Are you still at the school? And wait—” I trail off as I realize she’s choosing to sit next to George and Harry. No one chooses to sit next to George and Harry. “What are you doing sitting next to these fools?”
“Hey!” George yells in protest. “This is my lady.”
If I had a drink, I’d spit it out. “You? And Mrs. Metcalf?”
“Quinn, my dear, it’s been more than twenty years since you’ve sat in my library. You can call me Shirley.”
I vehemently shake my head. “Absolutely not.”
“Well, you could call her Mrs. Baskins if she’d ever say yes to my proposal.”
“Mrs. Metcalf! Are you keeping this man dangling on the hook?”
She gives me a wink. “He knew when he first asked me out that I wasn’t interested in getting married again. But the man is stubborn and just keeps asking.”
George shakes his head. “I’m wearing her down.”
I let out a laugh. “Sure you are, George. Sure you are.”
Mrs. Metcalf and I keep chatting as I pour her a glass of Pinot Grigio. Turns out she’s still at the school library—when school lets out in a few weeks it’ll conclude her forty-second year of teaching. That doesn’t shock me. I always thought she’d die in that library. But what does shock me is that she and George have been dating for five years now.
“I didn’t think I’d date after my husband passed away,” she says.
“Why did you?” I ask.
She looks at George, and the soft smile she gives him through her bright pink lipstick gives me the warm fuzzies. “Sometimes you think something is wrong. You convince yourself all the reasons why you shouldn’t do it. But then one day you realize those reasons are a bunch of horseshit.”
I know I was paranoid earlier about people knowing about me and Porter, but does Mrs. Metcalf know? I mean, I always thought she was psychic, but damn, that one hit a little too close to home.
Also hearing my middle school librarian swear is weird.
“That and he drives a nice car. I’ve always been a sucker for a Corvette.”
“Damn straight!” George says, making everyone laugh before the room falls to an eerie silence.
I look toward the back hallway, where everyone seems to be looking.
Ah, now I get it.
“Everyone! I hear that I’m the topic of conversation these days,” Porter says, holding Grace in one arm and pushing her stroller in another. And wait. Did he put on a pink T-shirt to match her? Holy shit, he did. “So if everyone could have a seat, we’re going to clear the air and set the ground rules.”
I know teachers who didn’t have as much command over their students as Porter does right now. Seemingly everyone rushes to a seat, and as if somehow people know what’s about to happen, they start pouring in the front door. Was there an announcement? There had to have been, because how else would my brother Simon, who just walked in the door, be here?
“Everyone, this is Grace. Grace, these are the idiots who can’t keep their mouths shut.”
A chorus of little hellos in tones I’ve never heard from these patrons fills the air. I think Harry even does the baby two-finger wave. And poor Grace…her confused face is now scrunched and she buries her head into Porter’s shoulder.
“I’m not going to go into every detail of how Grace came to be in my care, because they’re none of your business, but here’s what I’ll tell you so you can all shut up. She’s my niece. Yes, her mother is my half-sister. And she has asked me to raise Grace. And I’ve agreed to do it.”
After a second of shock, the mumbles start mumbling. Which then grow into shouting. People are trying to ask Porter questions. Some are just talking loudly amongst themselves. Plain and simple, this is a middle school classroom gone rogue.
“Hey!” I yell, channeling my teacher voice that apparently hasn’t gone away. “Shut it so he can tell y’all the truth, so you can quit running your mouths!”
I watch as everyone’s eyes go wide, then they quiet and find their seats again.
“Thank you.”
I catch a glimpse of Mrs. Metcalf, who shoots me a wink. “I always knew you’d have that teacher voice in you.”
I return the wink as Porter starts talking again.
“This is going to be an adjustment for me, clearly. Which is also why Quinn is going to be staying with me.” The crowd starts ooohing and ahhing before Porter cuts them off. “And minds out of the gutter, people. This is nothing more than her helping me with Grace and helping me out here. We’re just roommates. Nothing else.”
I see everyone’s eyes turn toward me. “That’s exactly right. It’s nothing more. Just a friend helping a friend.”
Porter and I share a look of understanding before the mob swarms him to get a better look at Grace. Which is fine by me. Let them look at her. Because that means no one is looking at me.
Roommates only was my idea. It was my demand. I needed that boundary. We needed it.
So why does it hurt so bad?
“You know, Quinn, fences are meant to be burned down.”
I do a double take to Mrs. Metcalf, who I think is the only one in the bar not fussing over Grace. “What was that?”
Mrs. Metcalf gives me her warm smile that comforted me so many days all those years ago as she signals for me to come closer. “Fences. Walls. Boundaries. They’re never meant to be permanent. Even ones made of stone eventually fall.”
I think I know what she means, but that would mean she knows what I’m thinking, and that can’t be because she’s not really a mind reader.
I don’t think.
But, just to make sure, I offer a reply back. “But they’re meant for safety.”
“That’s true. But sometimes the danger is inside the house, and a fence doesn’t help with that.”
Yup. It’s confirmed.
She’s a witch.
Though I think by living with Porter, I’m the one about to get burned.