Chapter 2
Michelle is quiet on the ride home, giving me space to process what happened, but my mind is blank. It’s only when we’re inside, setting out the ingredients for smoothies on the kitchen counter, that she asks, “What did Tracy say?”
I shrug and toss a few frozen banana chunks into the blender. “It was fine! I’m fine.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I knew you would say you were fine, which is why I didn’t ask whether you were fine. I asked what Tracy said.”
Unsurprisingly, Michelle’s niche is “cool, wise older sister who takes no shit.” At least she feels like my older sister, after two years of living together.
A few weeks after I joined CycleLove, she offered to rent me a room in the house she and her husband, Tim, own in Mar Vista.
He’d recently gotten a big job in New York, so they were mostly long-distance.
My online hunt for a stranger to live with hadn’t been going well, so I was grateful.
We made the leap from roommates to friends a month in. One day, I came home from work to find her lying on the floor outside the bathroom, staring at the ceiling.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. Then she went quiet. It didn’t seem like an end-of-conversation quiet, though. It seemed like a this-is-hard-to-talk-about quiet.
I dropped to the floor and lay down next to her.
This was the right move, apparently, because she spoke again. “I got my period.”
Well, that was an easy problem to address. “Do you need…” I glanced toward the bathroom.
She rested a hand on her abdomen. “I thought this would be the month it happened. Tim was in town at the right time and everything.”
Oh. I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off.
“Please don’t try to cheer me up. What I really want is to go into the living room and do a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle in silence. Will you do that with me?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’d be honored.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t make it weird.
” Since I’d moved in, the puzzles had been her thing.
After that night, they became our thing.
Not just when she got her period, or when she started fertility treatments, or when her first round of IVF failed, although then too.
But also on Wednesday and Sunday evenings.
And while at first we did them without talking, eventually conversation began to flow.
I’d love to demand that we work on a puzzle in silence right now, but Michelle won’t let me get away with that, so I answer her question about Tracy. “She wasn’t thrilled.” I fill her in on the details while she opens a bag of spinach.
She groans in disgust. “You’ve been benched. Is that legal? I can ask one of my lawyer friends if you want.” Unlike me, Michelle is not a big Tracy fan.
“No, no,” I say quickly. “She’s one hundred percent right. Did you see me out there? A break will be good. I just have to figure out the best way to use it.”
Which reminds me, the last few days of my vacation are already accounted for. I scroll through my message log, looking for Bailey’s name. It’s further down than I expected. Guess what , I type.
She messages me back right away—not the norm, since the work days at her new dermatology practice are busy.
Bailey: ???
Bailey: I meant to text you earlier but I had a packed schedule all morning—Giana said something about a video of Caleb being an ass? Is everything okay?
Last night, after the video hit, I thought about calling her. But Bailey and I have been off for a while. Not fighting. Just out of sync. She was supposed to visit but had to cancel because of work, our phone calls fizzle out too early, and our taste in memes seems to be diverging.
Quinn: First of all, never apologize for being a badass who spends her days kicking the butt of every sketchy mole at the Jersey Shore. Second of all, I’m good! The video looked worse than it was. Plus, to make a long story short, it got me some unexpected vacation time, so GUESS WHAT I’M DOING!
Bailey: Ooh fun! Hmm…are you finally going to that public speaking workshop with the TED Talk lady you’re obsessed with?
Bailey: Or visiting the CycleLove London studio?
Unease fills my gut. I told my best friend I have time off, and it didn’t cross her mind that I might use it to go to her big thirtieth-birthday party.
Her expectations of me are nonexistent. And, yeah, I don’t always message her back, but I didn’t realize it was that bad.
She thinks I’d rather spend my vacation doing work-related things than see her.
Like I said: Caleb had a point about the coldness.
Quinn: Nooooo I’m COMING TO YOUR PARTY!
She doesn’t respond immediately, and the unease multiplies.
Usually she’s the one who’s good at staying in touch, but she’s been as bad as me lately.
I keep telling myself it’s because she doesn’t have time, between the new job, the friends she’s made, and the beach volleyball league she joined this summer.
But a stubborn worry keeps bubbling up: that she’s finally realized I’m not worth the effort, that the things I used to be good for—a fun time, a pep talk—aren’t things she needs anymore.
Finally, her response comes in: NO FREAKING WAY. I’m literally tearing up I’m so excited.
A flood of relief loosens the tension in my shoulders. It’s not too late to salvage this. I can be a better friend.
Quinn: What’s the theme again?
Bailey: I got rid of the theme. When I ran it by a few people they didn’t seem into it. I think the theme parties have run their course and it’s time for a regular party.
What? No. Bailey and I planned her first themed birthday party together when she turned nineteen.
It was epic. Making friends at that party is what saved me after the worst year of my life.
Every year after that, we tried to one-up ourselves, making the theme more ridiculous than the year before.
Like the “Early Bird Special,” which started at four p.m. on a Saturday and involved gray wigs and a mashed potato bar.
I’m not a party animal, exactly. What I love about them—at least the way we do them—is that when you’re with the right people, and you add some silliness and make it feel special, you get the kind of fun, unpredictable moments that turn into memories. That bring you closer together.
There has to be a theme , I tell her.
I wish, but I don’t have time to get people onboard , she replies.
I do , I answer immediately. Send me the guest list. I will make it happen. You’re getting the thirtieth birthday party of your dreams, okay?!
Months ago, she decided to go meta with the theme. Everyone was supposed to dress like characters from iconic TV and movie party scenes. It’s perfect, if I can revive the idea and convince enough of the guests to commit to it. That might take a bit of effort, but I have time. Lots of it.
I look up from my phone to see Michelle on her tiptoes, grabbing the protein powder from the top of the fridge. “What do you think I should do with three weeks off? I’m going to spend some of the time in Seapoint.”
She plucks off the Post-it note I left on the lid.
Today is going to be a great day! it says, with a happy face drawn in glitter gel ink.
Charitably, she resists pointing out the inaccuracy of my prediction.
“At Bailey’s party?” she asks instead, and I nod.
“That’s perfect. I’ll give you a card to bring her from me. I wish I could make it.”
The bond they have—as two people who’ve met a grand total of one time—is unnerving. Sometimes Michelle is better at staying in touch with Bailey than I am.
“But what should I do with the first two weeks?” I ask.
“Deliver Tim’s car.” Michelle bats her lashes with a cheeky grin.
Michelle’s husband recently decided to relocate from Manhattan to the Connecticut suburbs, so he needs a vehicle. He has one here but hasn’t had a chance to come fetch it yet.
She’s joking, but it immediately feels right. After all, the last time I felt like myself was when I drove from Philly to L.A. “That’s a great idea.”
I can take another road trip. With three weeks, I’ll be able to take my time getting to New Jersey. When I moved out here, I took the most direct route possible, straight across the belly of the country, making the minimum number of stops.
“I’ve always wanted to take the northern route,” I say. “I’ll do things in nature. Visit national parks. I’ll go for walks and breathe fresh air and listen to silence. It’ll be like Wild. ” By the end of the trip, my head will be as clear as an uncorrupted mountain spring.
Michelle shakes her head. “Have you actually read Wild ? Or seen the movie?”
“Sure. Parts of it.” The trailer, I think. Or at least the poster, with a resilient Reese Witherspoon wearing a backpack and contemplating something profound, a gorgeous landscape behind her. My fingers are itching to research routes and sights to see.
By the time this trip is over, I’ll be ready to focus on my goals again, make real friends here besides Michelle, and love the amazing life and job I have here in California. I’ll come back strong and composed and inspired, and nobody will be able to call me cold.
I type out a response to Bailey. Road-tripping to Seapoint! I love you so much I’m driving across an entire continent to see you. Please be waiting with a cocktail. There. Now I can’t change my mind.
Michelle turns on the blender, and I head down the hall to toss my sweaty clothes into the hamper. My room is small and tidy. Above Michelle’s old walnut guest bed, I hung a disco ball that scatters morning sunlight across the ceiling every day.
On the wall next to my closet is a collage I made when I moved in, with a grainy photo of me in my old studio in Philly next to my fancy CycleLove headshot.
I can do hard things says the little card I pasted below the two.
There are pictures of my friends: one of us sprawled out in the sand with frizzy ocean hair, another of us at the housewarming party Bailey and I threw when we moved into our apartment.
I only lived there for three weeks before I got the CycleLove job and had to scramble to help her find a new roommate.
Above the photos is a postcard featuring a sketch of the Santa Monica Pier and a piece of notebook paper with another quote I love: If you want to change your life, change your mind.
My fingers are itching to check what people are saying about me online, so I shove my phone in my nightstand drawer. Safer to keep temptation at a distance. Then, I shower, drink my smoothie, and chop the fresh celery and cantaloupe Michelle picked up at the grocery store this morning.
I used to buy precut produce, until I moved in with Michelle and she taught me that doing so was a convenient way of julienning my hard-earned American dollars. In fact, I used to make a lot of bad financial choices until Michelle taught me how not to be completely incompetent with money.
When I finally check my phone an hour later, my notifications are chaos. I skip a text from my mom, lacking the energy necessary to figure out why on earth she’s asking for a ring light recommendation, and go right to the Seapoint group chat.
Bailey: Just a PSA that the theme for my party is BACK ON. You all better get on it ASAP to avoid disappointing everyone with a half-assed ensemble!
Giana: What party?
Samuel: My grandparents’ anniversary dinner is next weekend. Maybe she means that?
Bailey: I hate you both.
Logan: AWW I miss Miguel and Margaret so much. I’d spend weeks planning my outfit if they invited me to celebrate their love with them
Nate: As usual, I’ll be half-assing my ensemble and feeling great about it.
At the sight of his name—proof that he’s out there somewhere, tethered to me by this group chat—my stomach flips. Which it shouldn’t, because it’s not like Nate and I don’t speak, or even see each other. We always spend time together when one of our other friends is in town.
Bailey: I hate you ALL
Bailey: Except Quinn. She’s driving three thousand miles to get here AND she’s volunteered to take on the role of costume enforcer. That’s love. You should all aspire to be more like Quinn.
Samuel: Quinn, you’re coming?
Logan: I’ve always aspired to be more like Quinn
Giana: Same but I wouldn’t drive three thousand miles for any of you. You’re lucky I’m coming down from Boston. Auggie is FERAL and will be allowed to use his iPad the entire drive, or at least until he throws up.
Logan: Wait Quinnie why are you driving?
Bailey answers for me, telling the version of the story I told her: time off work, scenic route, yada yada. Everyone is jealous, and Logan makes an impassioned case for me to stop in Tahoe, where he’s spending a few days with friends.
It’s not surprising that’s he’s traveling; Logan Forrester is constantly on the move, but his destinations are usually more, er, nightlife focused.
Maybe! I say. I am going north. Either way, can’t wait to see you all!
!! I scroll through the thread twice to see if Nate said anything else, but there’s nothing.
And then a message from him pops up, but not in the group chat. It’s only to me. I swallow hard and open it.
Nate: Hey. Can I come?