Chapter 22

Tyler

Rachel’s first day at her new school corresponded with my first day working full-time in San Francisco. Graciously, Hank let me out of after-work beers and tech chats to go pick Rachel up from her science-track elementary, where she’d actually be working with lab equipment and doing real, data analysis. Walking across the Mission, past the jangling streetcars and through the swarms of bright-colored, fresh-looking people, I felt overjoyed. We had done it. We had moved across the world, to a different life—one with greater advantages for both of us. And Marnie was officially off our backs for good.

Moving had happened quickly. They’d needed me out here as soon as possible, and I no longer felt good about leaving Rachel at Marnie’s. Especially after everything that had happened. Will arranged the paperwork, and I collected boxes, putting our little two-bedroom colonial on the market (cutting the price nearly in half, due to the kitchen, which was being fixed in the coming weeks). Samantha had found us an apartment, just in the nick of time, and I’d sent our small things across the planes, opting to buy us newer, better furniture once we arrived.

Quinn hadn’t been home when we left. In fact, she hadn’t been around often—seemingly throwing herself into her job and allowing us to leave without too many strings attached. Even seeing Rachel seemed too difficult. Rachel asked her a few times, over quick, takeaway meals and in between packing sessions. I’d shrugged, saying we couldn’t worry about her any longer. “We have to go our own way.”

I dreamed of her. She swam in and out of my unconscious mind, naked, her breasts gleaming in the moonlight, as she’d been that last time we’d been together. There hadn’t been any finality to it. We hadn’t said any proper goodbyes. Perhaps I would always wonder about her. Perhaps I’d never be able to find room in my heart for another woman.

Or perhaps, I would move on. The way people often did.

Rachel was sitting outside her school, five minutes after the bell rang, wearing her school uniform and letting her black Sunday school shoes hang down. Her neck was craned over her schoolbook, making her look intent and focused. I felt I could see our next 10 years, almost perfectly. Her gradual ascent to the top of her class. Her college years. And all the while, me, alone, but by her side: making sure she took all the right steps.

Could that be enough?

“Hey, squirt,” I said, placing my hand on the top of her head and shaking her hair. “What’s up?”

“Hey!” Jumping up, she hugged me. We began our walk toward the road, as we bantered about the things she’d learned that day. Just like our past days in the old truck, which had clunked down the road until I’d sold it before leaving for good.

“They’re know-it-alls, Dad, and they think I’m an idiot from the east coast. But I’m showing them. And you won’t believe it. We’re covering bugs for the next three weeks. Most of the stuff I already know all about! I have to run home and call Quinn.”

My heart quaked at the name. We hadn’t spoken about her openly, not since leaving North Carolina, and I’d thought Rachel sensed this was a topic we needed to stay away from. But her eyes sparked with excitement, waiting for my response.

Did she know exactly what she was doing?

“I don’t think we should call Quinn, baby,” I said, leading her down the road. “Why don’t we grab some tacos on the way home?”

“Dad. You can’t ignore Quinn for the rest of your life,” Rachel said, her eyebrows drawing tight over her eyes. “I’m not stupid, Dad. I know what you guys meant to each other.”

“All right. All right.” Placing my hand on her back, I guided her to the taco stand across the street. Without answering, I busied myself with the cook, asking for three al pastor for myself and three chicken for Rachel. She crossed her arms over her chest, rolling her eyes, sensing my tactic. But when we sat at the picnic table next door, with our sodas, she changed the subject. She knew I wouldn’t cooperate.

The tacos were enough of a peace offering, at least for the moment.

That night, I was meeting with a photographer, who wanted to do ‘new faces in San Francisco tech’ article. Rachel came along to the shoot, bringing her textbooks for a brief study session. I prepped in the side room, donning an expensive suit and sweeping my hair into dark waves. Then, for about thirty or forty minutes, the photographer positioned me in various statue-like forms. With buttons unbuttoned and my cuff links up, near my ‘chiseled jawline,’ as he put it. With my eyes penetrating, ferocious at the camera, leaving the cameraman to scowl back: “This is remarkable,” he said. “Really good.”

Rachel had no use for it. I already sensed she wouldn’t have use for makeup or pretty things in the future and the sheer fact that I’d spent 40 minutes in front of a camera probably disgusted her. As I approached her, post-shoot, I realized she was sitting with Samantha—slim, wearing a bright pink dress, and perched alongside her, feigning interested in Rachel’s science textbooks. Rachel was speaking with spastic motions, telling her about one bug or another.

What was she doing there?

The moment I appeared at the table, Samantha peeked up at me, her eyes bright. She gestured toward the textbook, giving a fake grin. “Rachel here was just explaining the—something beetle? South—“

“It’s from Brazil,” Rachel said, rolling her eyes. “I said that five times.”

“Rachel,” I said, bringing my hands to my waist.

“You were really remarkable out there,” Samantha offered, not bothering to pretend she was paying attention to Rachel any longer. “I booked the shoot, so I knew you’d be here.”

Her attraction to me was apparent as if you could smell it in the air. Rachel was staring at me, her mouth pressed into a frown, as she listened. Samantha continued, hunting for my approval.

“Anyway, I know you mentioned today was Rachel’s first day. So I brought her a little present.” Reaching into her bag, she drew out a small notebook, coated with pink-lined flowers. She presented it to my daughter, whose eyes looked abrasive, with all the anger of her mother.

As she wrapped her hands around it, I heard her scoff—slightly, quietly. Then, after a brief look from me, she responded. “Wow. Thanks.” But her words were fake, ill-formed. It was clear she wouldn’t find any use for someone like Samantha; big-breasted, bright-eyed, hopeful, without the brains of Quinn.

Nobody would replace Quinn in Rachel’s eyes. And not in mine, either.

After a long, awkward pause, I traced my hands through my dark hair. After giving Samantha a lukewarm smile, I suggested she come over to our place, for a ‘thank you’ drink. “You did so much for us, helping us move here. Really, it would mean everything to us if you could come.”

When we arrived back after I’d poured two glasses of wine for Samantha and I and a soda for Rachel, I sensed the tension wouldn’t pass. Samantha was asking Rachel sterile questions about her studies, about any friends she might make in San Francisco, about what she thought of the city so far. Rachel responded with clipped sentences, making my stomach curdle. After she had sipped the rest of her fizzing pop, she lifted herself from her kitchen chair and excused herself, whipping her ponytail behind her as she left.

“Wow,” I said, collecting her pop can and her glass. “I can’t even imagine what the teenage years are going to be like.”

“Oh, I can tell you they’re going to be miserable years for you,” Samantha laughed. Her cheeks were crisp, red with alcohol. Her smile was sloppy and welcoming. She was falling for me, or at least very near it. Why did she want this so bad?

“I’m sorry. I think she’s just stressed out from the move. It was a lot of change very quickly.”

“Sure,” Samantha whispered. She rose up on her feet, joining me near the sink. I was rinsing the soda cup, over and over again, watching the water spill out below. “You know California has a drought, don’t you?” she asked.

“Ha,” I laughed, feeling strange. “Right.” I turned off the water and turned to her, finding her lips to close to mine. “I guess I should probably look over my notes for the presentation tomorrow.”

“Why would you do that?” Samantha cooed. “You’ve had a long day, as it is. And you’re looking too good, after that photo shoot, to waste it.”

I sensed my dominance taking hold. I stretched out my height and set my jaw, staring down at her. If I wanted to, I could thrust her against the wall and fuck her little blonde brains out. But just thinking about it, entertaining the idea for a mere second, I knew it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to be alone; alone with the constant spinning thoughts in my head. Instead of kissing her, as she wanted, I led her toward the door and opened it, knocking my head toward the well-lit hallway with its beige carpet and white-washed walls.

“I guess I’ll see you there tomorrow.”

I didn’t watch her go.

When I shut the door closed, I stood against it, pressing my palms flat. Rachel appeared behind me, giving a gruff sigh.

“I don’t know why you brought her here,” she said, her voice darker than normal. “You know what she wants from you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rachel.”

“Of course you do, Dad,” she said. “She wants to be your girlfriend. But Daddy, I wanted Quinn to be your girlfriend. Why did you—“ She trailed off, blinking up at me. She looked tired, finally giving into the tirade of emotions from the previous few weeks. “Why did you leave her behind?”

“It’s more complicated than that, Rachel,” I almost shouted, locking the door with a click. I immediately regretted using that tone with my daughter.

“It’s not more complicated. It’s as simple as anything else in science. Two cells, coming together. You match each other, down to your electrons,” she said, her voice becoming small, like a string.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rachel.” I brought my fingers to my face, scrubbing at my skin. “Quinn needed to stay behind in Raleigh. She needed to start over, without us,” I answered, pouring myself a large glass of wine. I sensed Rachel was in the mood for an argument, that she would trash anything of reason. Despite her smarts, she saw the human world in shades of black and white, without nuance.

Quinn and I loved each other, and we were meant to be together. If only it were as simple as that.

“Well, that woman is certainly nothing compared to Quinn,” Rachel sniffed, sensing that I wouldn’t stand for this conversation. She drew herself back from the room, rolling her shoulders. Her lips were purple from grape soda. “And I don’t think Quinn had a life without us. And I didn’t have a life without her. Did you ever think of that?”

She rushed from the room, tossing herself onto her bed and then slammed the door closed with a kick of her foot. With a last, haggard exhale, I guzzled a full glass of wine, knowing she was absolutely right.