Chapter 3 #2
He braked hard, his flip-flops thwacking on the pavement as he skidded to a stop. His mouth was set in a hard, pissy line, but his blue-gray eyes didn’t hide a thing. I had scared him shitless.
I squeezed the steering wheel. “I’m so sorry!”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe I almost got killed by a purple Range Rover.”
“That would’ve been awful for so many reasons.” I exhaled. That weekend in Seapoint, solidifying my new friendship with Bailey, was supposed to be part of my fresh start. It could not begin with vehicular manslaughter.
He eyed the car again. I couldn’t blame him. It was so purple. Not a deep goth-y eggplant, and not a gray with subtle lavender undertones. It was a vibrant orchid color with a horrible Jolee bumper sticker on the rear, and it was eight weeks away from being repossessed, though I didn’t know it yet.
“You should find another spot,” he said.
That was when the adrenaline subsided enough for me to realize he was hot. In his faded sweatshirt and low-slung board shorts, he looked like the mysterious surfer boy I always dreamed of meeting as a teenager in landlocked Pennsylvania.
“I can squeeze into this one, but do you mind telling me when to cut the wheel? Please?” I made what I thought was a cute face. He gave me a skeptical look and pedaled off.
Back then, Nate was guarded and sulky. His dad had recently betrayed him in a mortifyingly public fashion, and the subsequent rerouting of his life was still fresh. Plus, I had just almost hit him with a six-thousand-pound motor vehicle. That was the end of that, or so I’d thought.
A decade later, here we are, together in a car that is—thankfully—a very normal gray. Winding north on the 405, a few miles closer to another September weekend in Seapoint to celebrate Bailey’s birthday.
Which reminds me. “Shit! We were supposed to call Bailey before we left.”
“Oh, right,” Nate says. “She told me the same thing. I’m supposed to…well, you’ll see.”
Bailey picks up his call on the first ring. “Hello, intrepid travelers!”
I grin. It’s been too long since I’ve heard her voice. “Hello, stunning birthday queen!”
“Hi,” says Nate.
“How are—”
“Are you—”
Silence. The kind that fills in the gaps of a conversation like rust when you don’t talk to the other person enough, when you forget the normal rhythms of your rapport.
“You go,” I say.
“Are you ready to begin your journey?” she asks.
“We already did,” I admit. “We left ten minutes ago.”
“Who’s driving?” she demands.
“Me.”
“Dammit, Quinn. You ruined my plan.” She sighs. “Okay, I guess Nate will have to open it.”
I glance at him. “Open what?”
He lifts a white-and-gold polka-dot gift bag out of the duffel bag between his feet.
“I got you something.” Her voice is eager. “A gift, to thank you for driving so far to see me and send you off fully prepared. I overnighted it to Nate so he could give it to you.”
“That’s so thoughtful!” I grin wide. This trip is my attempt to make amends. She doesn’t owe me anything. But it feels good to know she cares.
“Open it,” Bailey says.
“She’s driving,” Nate reminds her.
“Not her. You, Nathan.”
Here it is. A chance to show that I can behave like things are fine. Which they are, with Nate, and will be soon, with Bailey. “Yes, Nathan,” I add. “You also have to provide a vividly detailed narration, so I get the experience of opening the gift even though I’m not opening it myself.”
Bailey cackles. “And you have to react the way Quinn would, so I get the experience of hearing her reaction as she opens the gift even though she’s not doing it herself.”
Nate groans. “Or you could pull over here and let me out so I can walk the rest of the way.”
Bailey boos, and I join in.
“Okay, okay,” he relents. “I’d love to know why the universe decided I deserved this kind of torture.”
“Because you love acting like you’re being tortured,” I say.
“We’re actually your gifts from the universe.
” It feels good to talk to him like this.
Lobbing casual, ambiguous, near-flirtatious remarks at him.
It’s proof I don’t care for him in an intimate way anymore.
I will speak my indifference into existence if I have to.
“Gifts,” Bailey repeats. “Open them!”
Nate sighs, but then rustles around in the tissue paper. “Okay. We have a…tube of something. The label is in Korean. That’s all I’ve got.”
“React like Quinn,” Bailey reminds him.
“Fine.” He shakes his head at us. And then: “The colors on the packaging are really fun!” I’ll give him credit, I hear the exclamation point in his voice. “And I love that it’s a surprise. I can’t wait to find out what’s in the tube.”
Bailey snorts. “It’s sunscreen. This one is cosmetically elegant and highly effective. Since you’ll be outside so much.”
“Thanks, Bail,” I say. “That was really thoughtful.”
“There’s more! Two more things.”
More tissue paper rustling. “It’s a—Bailey, why did you buy her a plant? Is she supposed to carry it across the country?”
I peek over. He’s holding a tiny ceramic pot with a succulent in it.
“You put a plant in the mail?” I ask.
“You’re going to be away for a long time!” Bailey says. “It’ll make all the places you stay feel homier.”
I’m about to say aww, but I hold my tongue. “Go on,” I prompt Nate. “Be me.”
He clears his throat. “Aww.” It should not be possible to grunt that word, but he does it. “That’s super sweet.”
“A for effort,” Bailey says.
Nate pulls the last item out of the bag. “It’s a car fragrance diffuser. Is this a fancy version of a gas station air freshener?”
“Yes,” Bailey confirms. “And it’s awesome. See, I got one thing for the car, one thing for the places you stay, and one thing for the places you’re going to explore! That’s a perfectly crafted trifecta of presents. Now be Quinn.”
Nate sighs. “Quinn would say that it’s pretty and that it’s nice that it’s refillable and that she can’t wait to use it.”
“Why does that sound like an incomplete sentence?” Bailey asks.
“Because it would be a lie. Shouldn’t you know that? Quinn hates scents,” he says. “Perfume, laundry detergent, candles. Definitely air freshener. Things that smell on purpose.”
It might strike me as a ridiculous description, except those are the exact words I use in the rare instance I explain this quirk to people.
It wallops me in the worst way, fierce and unexpected.
You have no right to talk about me like you’re an expert, I want to snap.
It’s worse, somehow, that he remembers something that Bailey has apparently forgotten.
Tears turn the Civic in front of me into a black blur. I blink them away quickly, so my ridiculous overreaction doesn’t kill us both. How can one innocuous statement set me adrift in a sea of overwhelming feelings?
I thought I was an expert on him at one time too.
Such an expert that when I told him I had feelings for him, I didn’t consider the possibility that he felt differently.
When it turned out I was wrong, I thought I handled his reaction graciously, and I believed him when he promised we’d still be friends.
That was a lie, so I guess I never knew him as well as I thought. And he chose to distance himself, like it was nothing, like it was easy for him. The last thing I want to think about is how he knows me better than anyone and walked away anyway.
“Shit, Quinn. Of course I knew that. How did I forget?” Bailey asks.
Because we’re growing apart, I don’t say. “It’s fine! Maybe I’ll like this one.”
She’s making an effort, and that’s all that matters.
Effort. Like how after I moved to California, she’d call me a few times a week on her lunch break.
I’ll admit I picked up less frequently as the months went on.
It’s just—the flaws in my life are never as abundantly clear as when I’m catching up with my best friend.
It’s hard to put on a chipper veneer for her.
She dismantles it in three seconds. Whenever something was getting to me—work stress, Caleb being annoying, my mother—it was easier to let it go to voicemail.
It’s selfish, I know, because what if she needed me ?
I shake my head to try to clear away the traces of moisture in my eyes, but Nate misreads the gesture as a denial.
“Yeah?” he challenges. “You want to smell sugared grapefruit, plumeria, and sandalwood for the next three thousand miles?”
“I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions about what I do and don’t smell. ”
“So many options for jokes here,” Bailey says. “How do I choose?”
“Thank you for all the gifts,” I say. “I love the trifecta. I’m going to use the sunscreen immediately, and I already feel like the plant is part of the family.”
“Sorry about the diffuser. I’ve been so slammed at work, my brain is turning to mush.”
“It was a really nice idea.” For pretty much anyone but me.
We say our goodbyes, and I turn the music up. The rhythm of the road evens out my breathing. Mile markers ticking past, the freeway wide and sweeping.
I’m grateful that Nate invited himself on this drive. The emotions he stirs up in me aren’t healthy ones. Exposure therapy, I remind myself.
This drive is seven and a half hours on a good day, and I feel every second of it. I hum along to the music. We occasionally make strained small talk. He stares out the window a lot.
When he takes over behind the wheel, I send an email to everyone attending the party. If you think you might enjoy dressing on-theme, I strongly encourage you to do it! Many of us will be decked out, and the more people get into it, the more fun it will be.
I include a few ideas for costumes and call Seapoint’s vintage clothing store to see if they can set aside some options.
After that, it’s back to “have you seen any good shows lately?” and “what are you hoping to do in Tahoe?” with Nate until I can’t take it anymore.
I pop in my earbuds and pretend I’m on a conference call, periodically throwing out an “agreed” or “absolutely,” to make it convincing.
With an hour to go, we stop for a bathroom break. He trails me back to the car in silence, and I glance at him in the reflection of the rear windshield. He’s looking at me with stoic, perceptive eyes that stir up storm clouds in my chest, and I remind myself to feel nothing at all.