5. Quinn
quinn
. . .
M y dad’s tinkering with his motorcycle when I pull into the driveway. He looks up briefly, waves and goes back to whatever he’s doing. I run my hand over the chrome handlebar, over the gas can and finally over the leather seat. He’s had this bike for as long as I can remember, back when it was just him and I, cruising the streets of Los Angeles. When he bought it, my grandmother threw a fit, yelling about how he was trying to kill us both. Thankfully, I can say my dad, with or without someone else on the back, has never been in a wreck.
“Do you ever think about trading this in for something new?” I ask, pulling up a stool.
“All the time, but the memories outweigh what I’d get for a trade-in.”
“Memories are in your mind and heart,” I tell him. He pauses and looks at me. My dad and I are the spitting image of each other. At least that’s what everyone tells us. Right now, I’m his junior, with our matching style of dress, complete with beanies. I never intended to start wearing one until my mom bought me one for Christmas. I started using it because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I figured she thought I’d want to emulate my dad, and in some ways, I do. Once I started, I never took it off and now these hats are a part of me, part of who I am.
“Some are visual,” he says. “I can remember the first time I took you for a ride. You sat right here,” he points to the front. “And I drove all the side streets, so you’d get used to it and then I moved you to the back and showed you how to hang onto me. It was a few months before you were comfortable. There’s the time I made your grandma ride. I can still hear her yelling and laughing at me.”
“Or the first time you took Mom for a ride.”
My dad smiles, and his cheeks become flush. If he wasn’t so in love with her, I’d wonder what has him so embarrassed.
“What about when I added the sidecar?” he asks.
This time I laugh. “That was fun. The twins loved it.”
“So, you see, I can’t get rid of it.”
“Buy a new one. It’s not like you and Mom don’t go riding all the time. I bet she’d love one of the brand new bikes.”
“She tell you that?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Just an observation.”
“Huh. What brings you down?” He crouches down and starts working on whatever piece is giving him trouble.
“Thought I’d catch some waves.”
“Your mom won’t allow it. There’s a rip current right now, it’s nasty. ‘No swimming’ signs have been up for about three days.”
“Oh.”
Dad looks at me again and stops what he’s doing. “Want to go for a ride?”
I shake my head.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Didn’t ask how you’re doing or what’s wrong, Quinn. I asked if you wanted to tell me what’s going on.”
I can’t tell my dad what’s bothering me. I’m not sure he’d understand, and I don’t want to bring up old wounds. “I’m going to go see Mom.” I leave my dad in his garage and make my way into the house. There’s music playing, either a recording of my dad singing to my mom or the band’s latest album. I find my mom on the patio with her feet up, a book in her hand and a glass of wine on the table. Leaning down, I kiss her on the cheek and her hand instantly comes to my head, holding me there.
“This is a nice surprise.” She moves her feet, so I can sit down across from her. As soon as I make eye contact with her, her face falls. “What’s the matter?”
With her, I can’t hide. I’ve never been able to. She reaches for my hands, holding them in her smaller ones. “Tell me,” she begs.
Clearing my throat, I look anywhere, but at her. “Elle wants me to join her band.”
“Honey, that’s great! Oh, I’m so happy for you. It’s about time the world, other than the coffee shop, get to see your talents. Don’t get me wrong, Quinn. I love watching you play there, it’s so intimate, but you deserve so much more. Did you tell your dad?”
Shaking my head, I meet her gaze, watching as she seeks out the truth I’m trying to mask. Before she can ask me again, my dad steps out and hands me a beer. Mom leans back in her chair and tilts her head, welcoming a kiss from the love of her life.
It’s odd to think that I often wonder where I’d be if Mason hadn’t died. There’s no way we’d be the family we are if Katelyn and my dad didn’t end up together. That would mean there’s a divorce, which usually means there’s hostility. I can’t imagine not being close to my sisters, and I can’t imagine Katelyn not being my mom. I don’t want to think about what the alternative could’ve been, but I also hate thinking my sisters had to suffer for my happiness.
“Are you staying for dinner?” Mom asks.
“Yeah, I can. I don’t have any plans.”
“Don’t cook, babe. We’ll order something in. It’s too nice for you to mess around in the kitchen.” This statement earns another kiss from my mom.
I sit back and observe my parents, they have the kind of love I want. There isn’t a person on the outside who can’t see how in love they are with each other. I believe someone out there is meant for me but finding them is the hard part. I’ve never put myself out there and until I do, I’m not going to find my forever.
With my dad out here, my mood changes. What I was about to tell my mom, I don’t think I can tell my dad. I’m afraid of his reaction, not that I expect my mom to act any differently, but sometimes she’s easier to talk to.
My parent’s neighbors stop by and my dad invites them to join us. He starts the patio fireplace, even though it’s pretty hot outside and we all move over to it. I’m tempted to rummage through the kitchen and find the necessities for smores. For as long as I can remember, this house has always been stocked with chocolate bars, marshmallows, and graham crackers, mostly thanks to my aunt. She said we can’t live at the beach without this sweet treat and her penchant for it rubbed off on me, Peyton, and Elle. Noah and Ben even get in on making the gooey treat.
Conversation flows around me as I study the fire. It isn’t until my mom pokes my side and looks at me expectantly do I realize I’ve been asked a question.
“I’m sorry, I missed that,” I direct my statement to Mr. Carey. He’s been our neighbor for about fifteen years and is on his third wife.
“What are you doing for work these days?” he asks. Work. The dreaded topic.
“Still trying to figure things out,” I tell him honestly.
“Your sisters graduated from college, right?”
“Yep.” And no, I didn’t go. But hey, thanks for pointing that out in a roundabout way.
“My company is hiring. Entry level, if you’re interested.”
I catch my dad’s eyes, waiting to see if he has something to say. He doesn’t. Making eye contact with Mr. Carey, I smile. “Thanks. I may take you up on that.” I won’t. The tips I make on a Friday night are enough to last me each week and my trust fund pays for my apartment. I’m literally the definition of a spoiled rich kid, although my apartment isn’t expensive, flashy or what some of my peers are living in.
Mr. Carey offers me his card and tells me to call him when I’m ready. I thank him and slip it into my wallet. I can’t imagine I’ll ever be in a position where I need to call him and ask for a job in the mailroom. Maybe I should enroll in some classes and gain some work skills. That’d be easy if I knew what I wanted to do.
Music. It’s what I want to do, but when the opportunity presents itself, I run. That’s what I did the other night when Elle invited Dana over. I sat there, listening to everything this woman had to say, completely tongue-tied and unable to speak because all I wanted to do was blurt out how hot I thought she was. Instead of looking professional, I came off as an emo musician who couldn’t be bothered to even give her a reply. Elle was pissed when she left, but in my defense, I didn’t have time to mentally prepare for the business pitch.
The doorbell rings. I volunteer to go grab dinner, and when I come back, the Careys’ are gone. “They didn’t want to stay for Chinese?”
“Nah, they had to finish their walk along the beach. Frank does it to stay in shape,” my dad says.
“With a wife as young as her, he has to do something.” I didn’t want to comment on the fact that Mr. Carey’s wife is somewhere in her twenties or the fact that each time I looked at her, she was staring at me. I have a feeling wife number three won’t be around long.
Mom dishes up the food and we eat in silence. It’s halfway through dinner when Dad brings up the elephant in the room.
“Why didn’t you join Elle’s band? She seemed pretty pissed last night when she called.”
“She called you?” Of course, she did, he just said as much. “What I mean is, why does it matter?”
Dad sets his chopsticks down, rests his elbows on the table and links his fingers together. “I’m not sure it matters for anything, Quinn, other than the band set-up seems pretty solid and it sounds like a great way to start your career.”
“Are you saying this because Ajay is the drummer?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m saying this because the talent Elle’s lining up has the ability to really do something in the industry. I thought this is what you wanted.”
“I don’t know what I want. I’m content with the gigs I have.”
“You don’t want to at least see if you fit with the others? You have so much talent, Quinn,” Mom adds. She reaches across the table and places her hand on top of mine.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it, son?” Dad asks. “What’s holding you back?”
I look from my dad to my mom. It’s when I see her face, her kind eyes and soft features I about lose it. I excuse myself from the table and head out toward the ocean, needing to get lost in my thoughts.
The sand is warm where I sit, and the ocean is angry. Harsh waves crash toward shore, making me wish I were out there, catching the big ones. My mom would freak out though and it’s not worth seeing her cry.
From behind me, someone approaches. I turn to see my mom just as she sits down next to me. She hands me a beer and holds another bottle in her hand.
“Thanks.” I take a drink, letting the cold amber liquid cool my heated body.
“I hate beer,” she says, taking a drink. “I don’t know how you kids drink it.”
“And yet, here you are, drinking one.” I tilt my bottle and clank it against hers.
“I’m trying to be cool.”
I laugh. “I’m not sure any of us have ever thought of you as uncool.”
She leans her head on my shoulder and sighs. “You know, I’ve known you since you were eight. This shy little boy came into my life and showed me that I had so much more love to give.”
“Still shy.”
“Nothing wrong with that, Quinn. Is that why you don’t want to be in the band?”
I shake my head. “It’s Alicia.”
Everything goes silent. Even the waves have seemed to calm, and the birds have stopped chirping.
“Has she contacted you?”
“No, but I fear that if I’m out there, then she’ll reach out, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for that. I don’t want to meet her or have her in my business. I’ve gone all this time without knowing her and if I join the band and we do well, I could end up in her radar.”
“Quinn, look at me.”
I do as she asks. My mom’s so pretty with her dark hair and tanned skin. “Who’s your mom?”
“You are.”
She gets up on her knees and places her hands on my face. There are tears in her eyes, which spur mine to let go. “And you’re my son. No one can ever take that away from us, especially not Alicia. You, my son, are so talented and beautiful. I don’t want to see you wasting your dream because of a what if. The James don’t live that way. If we did, I would’ve never gone to your dad and asked for a second chance. If you want to be in a band or have a solo career or go work for Frank Carey, do it, but don’t let some woman who means nothing to you, who you don’t even know, hold you back. You’re worth so much more.”
My arms collapse around my mom as she hugs me. I cry into her shoulder, thankful to have someone like her in my life, but still fearful that the other woman, the one who gave birth to me, is out there waiting. And if she is, I don’t know what I’m going to do.