32. Quinn
CHAPTER 32
QUINN
I ’ve forgotten how good this feels. How freeing it is to draw and not care about anything except putting down what I want, dirtying the crisp, white paper with thick, heavy lines, experimenting with smudging the chalk however I feel like smudging it.
I feel like I’m young again, with not a care in the world. The music from my headphones blasts in my ears and I’m singing loudly, uncaring that my boyfriend is probably sitting on the other side of the wall wondering how crazy I am.
Whatever. He’s stuck with me now.
After another round of slow, sensual fucking, Knox and I reveling in our love for one another, I decided to spend the day embracing this newfound creativity, and have been working on my final project for drawing class all day.
It’s been going incredibly well. I’ve never been so focused, so excited for the final result. Not even the looming deadline can shake me from this feeling.
Sitting back with a happy sigh, I admire what I have so far. Only a few more finishing touches until I’m done, and I can’t wait. I’m thrilled with how it’s been going, letting my hands do the work while keeping my mind from straying.
For my final Drawing 201 project, I chose to morph myself with a swan. Not only for the fact that it had been an ode to my younger self, but also because of their representation of the awakening of power and self-esteem. I’ve learned so much this semester about myself, and in the beginning, I was unsure of where I fit in in the creative world, but after learning the stories of so many around me, Knox’s included, it has made me realize that I need to create art that I love and that I’m proud of, and not let others dictate my decisions.
I also chose to morph myself into the swan because of their grace. Grace in dealing with others—Knox’s gnarly attitude, Slate’s cheekiness, Ace’s cockiness, Reid’s snark, and Rory’s hidden relationship. I’ve learned a lot of patience and made some amazing friends this semester.
I’ve come such a long way since then, especially now that I’m deeply in love with the neighbor that had been a thorn in my side for all these months. Knox is as sweet as ever, though he still distracts me from my work these days, it’s no longer with rowdy music.
Speaking of, the song cuts out as my phone rings and I decide that now is as good as any time for a break. My mom’s contact picture flashes and I smile. It’s been a week since I’ve last talked to her. I’ve been so busy with studying for finals and projects that I haven’t had a chance to call.
Dusting my charcoal laden hands on my pants, I can’t help but think of how Knox had done the same thing when I climbed into his lap one night while he was working on his own drawings.
I shiver as I remember the hungry look in his eyes at the charcoal fingerprints he scattered around my body .
“Hey, mom,” I answer, shoving that thought far, far away from my mind.
“Hi, Quinnie,” she greets cheerily, and the sound of her voice makes me ache.
Only one more week until I’m home for winter break and I couldn’t be more excited. Rory and I booked our flights long ago, and as sad as I am to be apart from Knox, I’m excited to see Sam and my parents and the rest of our family for the holidays.
Knox isn’t going home. Instead, he’s going to Colorado with Ace to spend the holidays with him and his family. It’s something they’ve done the past few years, even before Knox’s father found out about his secret art school status. He and his father haven’t seen eye-to-eye in a long time, and when I offered my sympathy, he only brushed it off, saying that I shouldn’t feel sorry for him because he’s more than happy with the decisions he’s made.
“How are you doing? How are your classes?” Mom asks, always straight to the point, always wondering about my future in art.
It’s something that I know I have to talk to her about, these feelings that I’ve been harboring inside of me since I gave up drawing for myself. It might be a hard conversation, but it’s one that I know will have me feeling lighter in the end.
“They’re good,” I answer, trying to appease her. I wince, already falling back into old habits. “Actually, I’m glad you called, because I wanted to talk about that.”
“Oh no,” she gasps, already thinking the worst. “You’re passing all of your classes, right Sweetie?”
“Yes, mom,” I sigh, rubbing my hands down my jeans again in a nervous motion. I stare at the streaks of charcoal embedded into the denim and smile. “I, um, don’t really know how to have this conversation,” I admit, and she must hear the slight quiver in my voice because she sounds alarmed when she responds.
“Quinn, are you alright? What’s going on?”
“I’m fine, mom. I just—” I sigh, moving over to my bed and falling onto it. The ceiling is drenched with afternoon sun and I count the stripes where my blinds are casting shadows between them. “For a long time now, I haven’t been feeling like I could be the artist everyone wants me to be.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line and I chew my lip, worrying about how she’s going to respond.
“Sweetie, what do you mean?”
I take a deep breath and admit everything to her. I admit that I’ve lost my way in the art world, lost my spark, and that I’ve been struggling to find it again for as long as I can remember.
“Quinn, I had no idea that you’ve been feeling this way,” she says, and I hear the concern thick in her tone. It makes my heart twinge with guilt.
“That’s the thing mom, you wouldn’t have known because I hid it for so long. I was afraid to disappoint everyone, especially you and dad, when you’ve both done so much for me and my art career.”
She makes a choked sound that I think is her trying to smother a sob. It makes my own tears spill and I wipe them from my cheeks, uncaring that the charcoal left on my hands is going to mix with them and leave me with dark streaks down my face.
“I wish you would’ve told us sooner,” she murmurs, and I hear her shuffling throughout the house, the opening of a door. Her voice echoes and I know she’s entered her bathroom, probably searching for a box of tissues. “We will support you however you need, Quinn. Even if it means following a different passion of yours.”
Those words hit me harder than I thought they would. Of course, I know that my parents would support my decision to give up art if I wanted to, but I also know that I’d always feel that dread-like cloud hanging over me like I’ve disappointed them when they’ve poured so much into helping with my art career.
I swallow thickly. “I know that,” I say because it’s the only thing I can.
“So,” mom says, clearing her throat. When she continues, she sounds stronger, more than ready to listen. “Is this the end for artist Quinn?”
The thought is like a twist of a hot knife to my gut. I love being an artist and have since I was a child and the thought of giving it up isn’t something I’ve ever actually considered. I always had hopes that my creativity would come back, that my love for art would always be here. It has, finally rearing its head again, and while it may not be the exact same feelings I remember from when I was younger, I’m more than ready to accept the newness of the creativity sparking in my veins and rolling with it.
“Not a chance,” I answer her, unable to keep my grin tucked between my teeth. But there’s something else tugging at my mind; something else I want to share with her.
“Your head was always stuck in that drawing pad of yours,” mom chuckles wetly and my nostrils prickle with emotion. It’s never easy hearing her upset. “You hardly ever wanted to play with your brother. Sam had to drag you away from your drawings to get your attention, and it only worked when he offered you a different craft or a bowl of ice cream.”
She’s right. When I was younger, I didn’t care about anything besides art. Drawing, coloring, painting, I loved all of it. I remember always begging my mom to buy me something from the craft aisle, even though most of the things I picked out screamed that a mess was to be made while playing with them, she always encouraged and supported my desire to explore the arts.
We laugh together as we reminisce and my shoulders ease. “I remember that. Actually, I think he still owes me a bowl or two.”
“I’ll be sure to remind him the next time I talk to him,” mom says. “Maybe over winter break the four of us can go get some together.”
“I’d like that,” I answer softly, wiping a tear from my cheek. My phone buzzes in my hand and I pull it away from my ear to check the screen. A text notification from Knox is sliding away, the name Douchewaffle making me smile. “Hey mom?”
“Yes?”
“You know that neighbor I’ve been complaining about this semester? The one who stayed up really late and was always playing loud music?” I chew on my lip, unsure of why I’m suddenly nervous to tell my mom that I’m dating the man I swore to hate for the next two years of my time at Vulcan University.
“Yes…” She answers, somewhat uneasily. “What about him?”
“Well, his name is Knox, and he’s my boyfriend now,” I breathe, squeezing my eyes shut tight as I await her response.
It’s silent on the other end of the line for so long that I pull my phone away to make sure our call hasn’t disconnected.
And then my mom bursts into laughter.
“Oh, of course he is, Quinnie.”
“Hey,” I grouse, “What’s that supposed to mean? ”
“Quinn.” Mom’s voice takes on a scolding note that makes me feel like I’m ten again and arguing with her about bringing my markers to the grocery store. “I’ve never seen you move so fast as to when you were shoving your father into your apartment after they showed up on your floor. You were blushing bright red after you slammed that door in their faces. I’m pretty sure you’re the only one in the room who didn’t know you were head over heels for that boy back then. Leah and I talked about it almost the entire way home.”
“Oh my God,” I slap a palm to my forehead, utterly mortified.
“What?” She answers my groan, “It’s perfectly normal, Quinn. He’s cute and I can’t wait to formally meet him. Maybe he and Rory’s boyfriend can come up for New Year’s.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised. My family always spends the night celebrating the new year with the Wilsons. It’s an extravaganza with a lot of food and even more drinking and it’s always the best time. Mom’s suggestion of inviting Knox and Ace makes my heart kick happily in my chest.
“Of course, Quinn. You deserve to be happy. I love you, Sweetie.”
“Thanks, mom. I love you too. See you soon.”
“Thank you for meeting me,” is the first thing I say to Reid when he sits down in the seat across from me.
He looks good. He always does, and I don’t know why I’m acting like it’s been an eternity since I’ve seen him when we share the same class two times a week. His hair is a little longer, fluffier today, and his eyes are just as vibrant as they always are, even though they’re filled with a hint of sorrow.
Things have been tense between us since he found out about Knox and I. We still sit together in class, but he always chooses Rory to be the buffer, sitting on her other side as we work through our class periods.
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt. I’ve missed the easy banter between us, teasing each other about our majors and our lives over coffee.
I slide a cup of his usual over to him and he thanks me with a tight smile.
“Reid,” I sigh, unsure of what route to take with this. We’re friends, and if there’s some hidden feelings, I haven’t been made aware of them. I know that he’s hurt because all I’ve done all semester is complain about Knox, but I wasn’t expecting to fall so hard for him either. “I’m sorry.”
His brows furrow as he looks out the window. The sun streaming inside makes the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose more noticeable. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Quinn.”
“What?” I almost splutter my drink, pounding on my chest to dislodge the drops from my esophagus. “Explain, because you’ve been acting weird around me since you found out about Knox and I.”
Reid winces and I immediately regret phrasing it like that. He did seem like he was upset about the entire encounter. He even walked away from me after Knox showed up outside of class to pick me up that one afternoon
“I’m sorry that it came off that way,” he starts, fingering at the cardboard sleeve wrapped around the hot cup. “I’ve been going through my own shit, and finding out that you’re dating Knox felt like maybe we weren’t as close of friends as I thought,” he sighs, settling back into his seat and I feel like a total piece of shit for being so caught up in myself that I didn’t even notice Reid was acting out of character because of his own problems in life.
“I’m sorry, Reid. I should’ve told you but it was still shocking and new to me at the time. I didn’t know how to tell you. Is it your family giving you trouble again?” I ask, reaching out and placing a consoling hand on his arm.
“Amongst other things.” He shrugs, and I don’t miss the way his gaze flits over to the counter where the same barista from the day that frat bro had made a fool of himself is making drinks. Her piercing eyes are already on us, lashes narrowed. She startles when I catch her, ducking her chin back into her work.
“Oh,” I tease, crossing my arms over my chest, unable to hide my shit-eating grin. Reid stares at me like he’s begging me not to bring it up, but I can’t help myself. I think he understands this, too, because he rolls his eyes at me before I can get a word out. “Does the ‘other shit’ involve a certain pretty barista? You should ask her out.”
“Yeah,” he scoffs. “Someday, maybe.” Reid checks his watch before shoving his chair back and offering me a hand. “C’mon, time for review. Are you ready?”
“Yep,” I answer, and he seems surprised at my cheer. I haven’t been excited for a drawing critique this entire semester.
“I can’t tell if you’re happy because it’s the last critique of class or because you’re actually excited about your project,” Reid says, leading me towards the door with a hand against my lower back.
I peer up at him over my shoulder, “Definitely the latter, Reid.” Then softly, to myself, I echo, “Finally, the latter.”