Chapter Ten
“You’re doing what?” Quinn’s fork, stabbed through a tater tot, was suspended halfway between her plate and mouth.
“Planning Kate and Ben’s wedding. I thought I told you that already.” I looked up and frowned. I hadn’t expected her response to be one of overwhelming disbelief.
“I’m pretty sure I would have remembered if you’d told me. Mostly because I thought you didn’t like weddings.”
I shrugged. It might have been on purpose that I hadn’t told her.
“So, not only are you planning one, but you’re planning one with a guy you don’t like?” Her skepticism was a bit disconcerting.
“I like him,” I corrected. “He’s just annoying sometimes. We have very different personalities.”
“Do you think that’s good for your mental health right now?” She raised an eyebrow and pointed her fork at me.
I had recently confided in Quinn about why I didn’t drink. How I’d hit rock bottom and almost slept with someone Kate had had a crush on before she and Ben had gotten together. If I hadn’t stopped myself, my best and longest-lasting friendship would have been ruined. I still wonder what my life would be like now if I hadn’t finally admitted I had a drinking problem. My chest tightened as I remembered the other secret I had revealed to Kate that night. But, as I was wont to do, I swallowed all of my terrible feelings and soldiered on.
“My mental health is fine.” I peeled the plastic lid off my take-out Cobb salad. “I’m sure I’ll be able to handle a hearty dose of positivity a couple times a week. Besides, he’s very organized; something that I am not.”
“I’ve noticed,” she said, not unkindly.
I glowered.
“Is he cute at least?” She popped another tater tot into her mouth.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. If you like bigger men, I guess.”
“Bigger how?”
“I don’t know. He’s very tall. I wouldn’t say he was slim by any means.” I thought about it for a minute. “He’s stocky. Like, not super muscular, but, you know, sturdy.”
“Fat,” she said bluntly.
“It doesn’t matter to me how much he weighs,” I protested. “He’s just not the kind of guy I usually go for. It has more to do with his personality than anything. I prefer men to be more….”
“Like assholes?” Quinn smiled.
“Basically.”
Quinn laughed in response as Ethan walked in, Marty the office dog trotting along behind him. From his bag, Ethan pulled a giant Tupperware container of what appeared to be spiral pasta and plopped it on the table. “Carb loading,” he said when he saw my eyes widen. “I’m training for a winter half-marathon.” He looked at Quinn and then back at me and then back at Quinn. “What’s going on? Did I miss something?”
“Nothing,” Quinn said. “We were just talking about how what someone looks like isn’t always the best measure of what kind of a person they are.”
I raised my arms in protest. “That’s not what I was say—”
“Totally,” Ethan said as he sat down, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was speaking. “I mean, I work hard to look like I do. I take care of myself.” He beamed. “But if that’s not your jam, whatever.” He shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth.
“So, if people don’t look like you, that means they don’t take care of themselves?” Quinn tipped her head in mock confusion.
Ethan’s smile started to fade and he looked at me, eyes widening, begging me to help. I smiled as if to say, “Sorry, buddy, you’re on your own.”
“No. I mean, um….” He swallowed his pasta. “I just said that I do. Other people can do whatever they want. I don’t care if people are thin or…whatever.”
“You can say fat,” Quinn said.
“Fine, fat.” Ethan cleared his throat. “I’ve dated people who weren’t super skinny and I still thought they were hot.”
“How very big of you.” Quinn rolled her eyes again.
Ethan glanced at me and I shook my head. I did not want to be a part of this conversation.
“Well,” he said, putting the lid back on his pail of carbs, “I should probably get back to work. Award-winning artwork doesn’t create itself.” He got up from the table and basically jogged out of the kitchen.
“People like him are the reason body image issues exist.” Quinn popped her last tater tot in her mouth and pushed the container away.
“Ethan? I don’t think he meant any harm. He’s just not very smart,” I said, registering a flicker of motion to my left and noting Marty staring up at me, eyes wide, head tilted. “I don’t have anything for you,” I whispered. “Go find Marc.”
Quinn shook her head. “I don’t mean what Ethan just said; I meant how he acts in general. Have you seen his Instagram?”
I shook my head. I’d deleted all my social media accounts when I stopped hooking up with randoms. I didn’t need the temptation.
Quinn grabbed her phone, clicked on the app and started scrolling.
“Look at these,” she said, holding her phone up to my face. “All pictures of him in the most flattering positions possible, all filtered almost beyond recognition. I bet he takes ten pictures before he posts the best looking one.”
I shrugged. I honestly didn’t see the issue. I used to do the same thing. Why would I post unflattering pictures of myself? And if filters helped smooth out my face or make my eyes look brighter, what was the harm?
“Do you know how many kids—and also adults, by the way—look at manufactured pictures like these and think that it’s normal? That this is what beauty looks like? That this is who they should strive to be?”
I shook my head. I guess I had never thought about it that way.
“Look at how many followers he has. I wonder how many of them think that if they just worked hard enough, they could look like him one day.” She sighed. “And the sad thing is they will all be disappointed because no one can look like someone who has been digitally manipulated to this extent. If you hadn’t noticed, he doesn’t look this good in real life.”
She flipped her phone over. “Whatever. I’m just glad there wasn’t social media when I was younger. I had enough problems feeling like an outsider in high school because I didn’t look like the popular girls. But I just had TV and magazines to show me that I didn’t belong. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a kid these days.” She rubbed the furrowed space between her brows with her thumb. “Sorry, this kind of stuff just gets to me.”
I nodded like I understood.
“Anyways,” she said, her anger dissipating on a long-exhaled breath, “have you noticed that Ethan has been coming in here at lunch more and more lately?” She grinned.
“Hard pass,” I said and she laughed. “And even if I was interested, which I’m not, past events have taught me that hooking up with colleagues isn’t the best idea.” I looked down, suddenly uncomfortable.
Quinn nodded slowly, giving me an opening to tell her more. “Okay,” she said, after it was clear I wasn’t going to. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, obviously, but, at the risk of overstepping, I will leave you with this: a lot of people, women especially, who have had something bad happen to them in their past have the tendency to self-sabotage. Have you considered that perhaps that might be the reason you tend to go after assholes?”
I truly hadn’t.
“Something to think about,” she said as she got up and stretched. She walked out of the kitchen with a tired wave, leaving me to digest that nugget with my new best friend Marty, who was currently staring at me like I had a treat hiding in my pocket.
“I don’t have anything for you,” I said, looking at him pointedly. “Why are you always hanging around me? Go find your owner.” I stood up and returned his steady gaze. “Stay,” I said, holding out my hand and stepping back, ready to return to my desk alone.
Marty sank to the ground with a sigh, head resting on his legs, sad eyes lifting to meet mine. Dammit, I thought as my heart broke. I hated when my emotions got the better of me.
I sighed. “Fine. I would prefer not to be alone with my thoughts right now anyways.” His head lifted and his ears perked up, likely knowing he had found his mark. “Come on then,” I said and he jumped up, tail wagging furiously.
Poor lonely Marty,I thought, looking around. Confident that there was no one else within hearing distance, I squatted down, cupped his tiny face in my hands and whispered, “I know how you feel, buddy. I know how you feel.”