19. Kelsey
Chapter nineteen
Kelsey
I checked myself in the mirror. Again. Platonic or not, this was the first date I’d had in a decade, and my nerves were on edge. Was my mascara smeared? No, I looked fine. I brushed a loose strand of hair out of my face and felt a little silly. It was just Quentin, after all. We had spent so many hours together. He’d seen me without makeup dozens of times. Putting it on in the first place was almost pointless.
But then again, it was Quentin , the man who’d made me fall in love even though I’d been absolutely determined to stay single. With a sigh, I reminded myself that I was going to remain single.
Single, for all intents and purposes, at least. In theory, I was still a married woman. The divorce papers Arlene’s son had given me still sat on my desk, half covered by my study books. I’d looked at them at least half a dozen times by now, but I still hadn’t signed them. Casey had even called me, asking me why it was taking so long, and I didn’t have an answer for him. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t bring myself to sign the damn papers. My marriage was over, for months already. I did not want to go back to that life. I was happy here in Brightwater, but still, ending a marriage is pretty big and kinda sad. That was not what I’d wanted for my life, and it was hard to admit defeat.
I guess I just needed a little more time to mourn the loss of the marriage I’d hoped I would have. And it wasn’t like I was in any hurry since Quentin apparently wasn’t interested in me.
Platonic date. I had no idea if he really wasn’t interested in me in that way or if he was just scared, but for the time being, I would have to go along with this whole friendship thing. Even though nothing about it felt platonic, especially not the way my heart jumped out of my chest when he knocked on the door.
I opened up. “Hey there!”
He wore a white button-down shirt, jeans, and sneakers, just as every day. I felt a sting of disappointment. So no romantic dinner in a fancy restaurant then.
Quentin looked at me oddly.
“What?” I asked. “I’m overdressed, am I?”
“No,” he said, but sounding a little unsure, “You look… very good.”
“Let’s go, then.”
We walked down the stairs together, heading for the parking lot.
I wasn’t sure what to say, which was weird since I’d never had trouble finding something to talk about with Quentin before. The fact that he was acting even more uptight than usual didn’t help.
“Will you tell me where we’re going now?”
His face relaxed as he smiled. “Not yet, but soon enough.”
I rolled my eyes and hit his shoulder playfully. “You are such a tease.”
Quentin opened the door of his car for me, always the gentleman.
“Do you want music?” he asked as he was pulling out of the parking lot .
“What about that classical stuff?” I was hoping that would score me some points, but he scrunched his nose.
“I rarely listen to that,” he said. “It just calms me down when I’m… stressed.”
Great move. Ten minutes in, I’d already reminded him of his war-induced fear of fireworks.
“The radio, then?”
“Radio it is.”
Quentin took a route that led us out of Brightwater and onto the highway.
“Where are we going?” I asked with curiosity.
“Take a guess.”
“Knowing you, probably a museum about the American Revolution or something.”
He smiled a mysterious smile. “Wait and see.”
“A museum about the history of the book?”
“That actually sounds quite interesting, but no.”
“The museum of staplers?”
He laughed. “No, no staplers on the agenda, either.”
I continued my guessing game, each guess more ridiculous than the last. After suggesting the museum of buttons and the exhibitions of drying paint, I was about to try the dust collection museum, when the Stenton baseball stadium appeared on the horizon.
I sat up straight. “Wait a second! Are we going to the stadium?”
“Stenton Stinger versus the Greenfield Griffins.”
“No way!” I squealed.
“Do you like my idea?”
“I love it. I haven’t seen a game in ages. How did you know I’m into baseball? ”
“You mentioned playing softball in high school,” Quentin said as we drove into the stadium’s parking lot, making our way through the pregame bustle and hustle. “And you clearly enjoyed that high school soccer game, so I thought I would step it up a notch and bring you to a proper game.”
“Best idea ever!”
“Thought so,” he said with a satisfied smile.
Quentin parked the car, and we made our way through the crowd. The atmosphere was electric. Music was playing, and people all decked out in jerseys and hats, were chatting and laughing. Anticipation, excitement—it was infectious.
We showed the tickets Quentin had ordered online at the ticket booth and entered the stadium. It was a bright day, warm but not too hot, and I could smell the freshly cut grass when the lush green outfield came into view. We climbed the stairs to get to our seats.
“Do you want something to eat?” Quentin asked. “My treat.”
“No baseball without hot dogs.”
“Right away, miss.”
He got up and went after one of the vendors walking between the seats.
I made myself comfortable. This was the best I felt since… I couldn’t even remember when. Quentin had hit a home run with this date idea. He’d listened to me, paid attention to me, and figured out what I liked all on his own.
I tried to remember if Ryan had ever done something like that. We’d had dates, of course, and especially during the early days, he’d put on quite a show, but he’d never planned something for me just because I liked it—especially not baseball. Ryan hated baseball. He thought it was boring, so it wasn’t even allowed on the TV.
The seats around me started to fill up, and Quentin came back and handed me a hot dog with onions sprinkled on top, just as the players walked onto the field. The Stingers were in white-and-yellow jerseys, and the Griffins wore their trademark green.
The crowd cheered and roared, and the huge scoreboard lit up, displaying the home team’s players’ names and stats.
When the game started, I got completely caught up in everything—the announcer’s commentary booming over the stadium PA system, the cheers of the crowd around us, the crack of the bat as the hitter made contact. My eyes were fixed on the players in their vibrant uniforms, following every throw, every catch, every run.
I almost forgot Quentin was there.
“Did you see that curveball?” Quentin said, drawing me out of my baseball-induced haze. “That was really something.”
I looked at him, surprised. “What do you know about baseball?”
“Have I never told you? I played it myself in high school.”
“Really? What position?”
“Center field.”
“You are full of surprises.”
Once I realized I could actually talk baseball with Quentin, the game got even more enjoyable. We discussed plays, cheered for diving catches and risky steals, and booed at the umpire when he called a runner out that clearly had made it to base.
Time flew, and before I knew it, the sunny afternoon was giving way to the purple evening, and the stadium lights turned on and illuminated the field as the players went into the last inning of the game.
The home team was winning, I was full of hot dogs and root beer, and I was ready to tear Quentin’s clothes off and take him right there on the blue plastic seats, in front of the whole crowd. Maybe we would even make it onto the video wall .
I grinned at the thought.
“What are you smiling about?” Quentin asked.
I exercised my right to remain silent.
The Stingers won the game five to three.
By the time we reached the highway toward Brightwater, night had fallen, and the Stenton city center behind us was a collection of tall shadows and bright lights. The radio was playing eighties rock. I watched Quentin from the side, his face illuminated only by the faint city lights in the distance, and I marveled at his appearance. Those scars he clearly felt so self-conscious about mattered nothing to me. All I could see was how handsome he was.
Platonic dates? No way. There was something between us—that, I was sure of. I had no idea why Quentin was as reserved as he was, but I was determined to climb that wall he hid behind and to find out.
Quentin must’ve felt me looking at him because he glanced over for a moment and smiled at me before focusing on the road again.
“Did you have fun?”
I laughed. “Do you really have to ask?”
“I’m glad. You deserve the distraction, with everything going on.”
“Everything going on?”
Quentin glanced over again, but that time, he wasn’t smiling. “The divorce.”
I shifted in my seat un. We’d talked little about my past or my reasons for coming to Brightwater. I hadn’t even explicitly told him I was married, let alone about getting a divorce.
“Arlene mentioned it,” he explained. “I didn’t want to intrude on your privacy, but you know how Arlene can be. ”
“I don’t mind,” I said. “I’m not shedding any tears over the end of my marriage. The divorce is basically a formality at this point.”
A thought suddenly crossed my mind. Was that the reason he held back? Because I was still married to another man? I’d never thought about it that way because after months in Brightwater, I thought of Ryan as a memory from a different life. But maybe it bothered Quentin.
I wanted to say more, explain why Ryan didn’t matter to me anymore, but I couldn’t find the right words. Or any words. It was Quentin who broke the silence.
“What happened?” he quietly asked.
Oh God, where to begin? After such a wonderful day, I was reluctant to dig around in my messy, painful past, but I felt like I owed Quentin some kind of explanation. “He wasn’t as good a man as I thought he was.”
“What do you mean?”
I took a deep breath. “On paper, he looks like a good guy. Good-looking, good job, but… he wasn’t good to me.”
Quentin’s jaw tensed up. “Did he abuse you?”
“He never hit me or anything like that, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I said. ”Maybe I wasn’t good to him, either, I’m not sure. He certainly was unhappy with me often.”
“Kelsey, I’m sure it wasn’t you.”
I wasn’t so sure. Ryan had always been popular with people and always had a lot of friends. If I was the only person who constantly got into fights with him, then it must have been my fault, at least partly. Yes, he was an asshole. But maybe I had made him into one.
I shrugged and wrapped my arms around my body. “Either way, we weren’t good for each other. I wish I would’ve realized that sooner. Ideally before marrying him, because this makes everything so much more complicated.”
“I’m not a lawyer, but if you ever need help with anything, you can always count on me.”
I nodded, eyes fixed on the road, but there was nothing to see to distract me from my uneasy thoughts, just endless gray asphalt cutting through the pine forest. We spent the rest of the ride in weighty silence.
Quentin parked the car in front of Sunset Apartments and accompanied me to my door.
“Well, good night,” he said.
“Thank you for this,” I said. “I had a lot of fun today.”
He pushed his hands into his pockets and smiled. “I’m glad you liked my idea.”
For a moment, we just stood in front of each other, looking into each other’s eyes. My gaze flickered down to his lips. Usually, when a date goes well, this was the moment people kissed. And maybe invited the other person in to stay overnight. But according to Quentin, this had been a platonic date. I knew little about Plato, but I was pretty certain that meant kissing was off the table. And so was sex. Which was a shame, because he’d never looked more appealing to me.
What I wanted to say was good night , but what came out was, “Do you want to come in?”
I immediately regretted my words when Quentin’s face went from a relaxed smile to surprise and then fear. He looked at me like I’d just pulled a gun on him. Damn! Big misstep. Abort mission. Retreat immediately. Before he could stutter a rejection, making this even more humiliating, I tried to save the moment with some improv. “I mean, do you want to come… to my birthday party?”
Quentin’s fear turned into confusion. “Birthday party?”
“Yes, I turn thirty-five this Friday. I’m throwing a little party. Do you want to come?” My birthday was coming up, but I hadn’t planned on celebrating it. I had enough on my plate already, and birthdays were a bit of a mixed bag anyway, once you were past thirty. Oh well, I was going to have a party now.
He relaxed a little. “I would love to.”
“Great,” I said with as much fake enthusiasm as I could muster. “Good night, then. See you on Friday.”
Fantastic. Now, I was sexually frustrated and had to plan a birthday party.