CHAPTER ELEVEN
Owen
was ready to face Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, but I was not ready for the other dinner guests. Trent met me in the doorway with a glass of wine. I almost wiped the cheeky smile off his face with my fist. Mrs. Thomas' white carpet was the only thing that saved him.
"Do I know you from somewhere?" I asked Trent.
His smile slipped a little but he brightened with malice when Quinn joined us. "I'm Quinn's boyfriend."
"Ex-boyfriend," she said.
I handed her the wine that Trent had given me. "The cheater," I said. "Little late to be kissing up to the family, don't you think?"
"Advice you might want to take yourself," Trent said.
My father bolted to his feet. "Barbara, why don't you come help me in the kitchen."
It was too late. My mother was already weaving to her feet with a red-painted fingernail pointing straight at Owen. "How dare you come in here. How dare you come anywhere near Quinn. You must be the devil sent to steal my daughters. I can see horns on his head, can't you?"
Nicky was too afraid to answer and tried to hide behind Trent.
"I can, Mrs. Thomas," Trent said.
"Barbara, dear, why don't you lay down before dinner? I can handle things down here," my father interrupted.
Her eyes were already filling with tears, the medication no use against the beginning of a downswing. "None of this would have happened if… I don't want any of this, anyway." My mother flew out of the room and up the stairs.
Just when I thought we could clear everyone out and be done with the whole disaster, my father said, "Quinn, why don't you help me set the table for dinner?"
"Are you kidding me?" Quinn hissed as her father pulled her into the adjoining dining room.
"Not at all. You created this mess, and you damn well better deal with it," Mr. Thomas said. "This kind of reckless and frankly disturbing decision-making is exactly why I've asked you to start coming home on weekends. Now, I don't care what kind of discomfort it causes you, you are going to serve dinner and we are going to act like civilized hosts."
I stepped towards the door to intervene, but Trent sidled in front of me. "Now, now, you should know better than to interrupt family affairs."
"This isn't entertainment. I'm going to help Quinn," I said.
Trent jutted out his chin and smiled. "Or what, you're going to punch me? That would be so perfect, don't you think, Nicky?"
"I think we should go, Trent," Nicky said. He rubbed his mesh-covered arms. "Who cares about dinner? Let's just go dance."
"You're making everyone uncomfortable," I said.
"Me? I'm not the one trying to trade in the dead sister for the younger one," Trent countered.
I clenched my fist then stopped. It was exactly what Trent was hoping I would do. I forced myself to turn around and sit down in the high-backed chair across from Nicky. "Let me guess, you had no idea what you were walking into," I said.
"He said family dinner then a night in Vegas. Sounded alright to me," Nicky said.
"Nothing about the ex-girlfriend that he cheated on or the overprotective family?" I asked.
He shook his head. Trent came to sit next to him and poor Nicky almost flinched.
"Oh, don't worry, there is so much more. I thought dinner and show before dancing would be the perfect second date," Trent said.
Quinn came back in the room looking pale and hurt.
I stood up. "Are you alright? Do you want to leave?"
She shook her head. "He keeps talking about your intentions. Nothing about him or this whole mess or even how any of this could possibly be making me feel."
"Oh, sweet princess, we're just having a little fun. Come on, you can't tell me you don't want to see your father this uncomfortable," Trent said. "Really, I'm doing you a favor. Compared to me, Owen looks a lot less of a creep. Am I right?"
For once, everyone in the room was in agreement.
"I'll just let them think my interests lie elsewhere," I whispered in her ear. I would have kissed both Trent and Nicky if it would erase the worried furrow across her brow.
Quinn nodded as I opened another bottle of wine.
"I was just at the Wynn the other night." I topped off everyone's glasses. "I don't know about the dance scene there, but I had a great time. A friend of mine had the most amazing suite, one of the villas."
"You have friends that stay in villas?" Trent asked.
"Well, one friend really. Anya. She's one of those drop-dead gorgeous jet-setters that also happens to play video games. We meet up at tournaments from time to time," I said.
Trent gave me an assessing look and then turned to study Quinn. She was looking even more miserable. I had obviously chosen the wrong plan.
"So, you and this Anya chick, huh? Guess Quinn wasn't lying about the whole 'he only kissed me to help make Trent jealous thing.'"
I was about to backtrack when Mr. Thomas walked in the room. "Who’s Anya?"
"Owen's girlfriend," Trent said.
Mr. Thomas slowed down and gave me a less angry look. I finally saw Quinn relax a little. Maybe it was not such a bad idea, after all.
"She flew in for the tournament last weekend. Then, he drove her up to L.A. and decided to visit me," Quinn said.
"Dinner's on the table," Mr. Thomas said. His face was regaining a normal color. "I'm sorry to say that Barbara will not be joining us, but please, let's eat."
We settled around a table where take-out from a local restaurant had been artfully displayed as home cooking. For a few minutes, everyone passed the plates and there was hope for an almost normal meal.
"So, Owen came back to UCLA, huh? That must have been hard. Was that before your parents dropped the whole house arrest bombshell?" Trent asked.
"Why would it be hard for him to come to UCLA?" Nicky asked.
I jumped in. "Did you catch up on everything, Quinn? How's the nursing program?"
Quinn gave me a thankful smile. "I'm actually caught up. I have a few big chapters to read tonight, but then I'm free."
"She's actually a really good nurse," Trent said. "When we first started dating, we went to this outdoor concert. People were just getting loaded all over. So, naturally, I was having a great time. Until I fell down this embankment and cut my arm on a signpost."
Trent launched into an animated retelling of his bloody injury. While he was monopolizing the other end of the table, I turned to check on Quinn.
"I'm sorry, I had no idea," she said.
"Why are you apologizing? Just say the word and we'll leave right now," I said.
She smiled. "I would. I really would, but I honestly think it would only make things worse."
"What? Leaving your father with your jealous ex-boyfriend and his painfully uncomfortable boy toy?" I asked.
Quinn smiled again. It felt like a knot came loose in my chest.
"I really didn't think this would be so bad. I actually am caught up with my coursework. I thought I'd read my chapters like a good collegiate tonight and meet you for pancakes in the morning," she said.
"Pancakes in the morning? What am I, your eighty-year-old aunt?" I asked.
"No. You're just my buddy dating an amazing jet-setter named Anya," Quinn said.
"I only said that to take the heat off you." I reached for her hand under the table. "She is the farthest thing from my mind when I think about that tournament."
"What's the first thing that comes to mind?" Quinn asked.
"Blood spurting everywhere. Remember, Quinn?" Trent asked.
She pulled her hand away. "All it took was a little pressure to stop the bleeding. It was just a nick on your wrist. No big deal."
"I still have the scar," Trent said. He held up his wrist. "The best part was her bedside manner, or should I say trenchside manner. Only Quinn would be able to calm down a raving drunk in the middle of a crowd of raving drunks while the band goes into their loudest number."
"So, I'm not such a monster for making you stick with it," Mr. Thomas said.
"It’s not that," Quinn said. "I'm just not sure I really want to become a nurse."
The good will in her father's eyes disappeared. "Nonsense. Think about how excited Sienna was to have you at UCLA and in the nursing program. Don't you want to see it through for her?"
I felt the wine turn to acid in my mouth. "You would think Sienna would want her little sister to be happy."
"You are the last person I want to hear speculating on what my daughter would have thought," Mr. Thomas said.
Trent gave me a malignant smile. "Why don't I help clear some of these dishes?"
"Thank you, Trent," Mr. Thomas said.
Quinn jumped up to help them. When they all went through to the kitchen, I let out an angry sigh.
"Who's Sienna?" Nicky asked.
"You don't want to know," I said. "If you leave now, I'll cover for you and get a cab for Trent. Go dancing and have fun."
"You're sweet," Nicky said. He got up and moved into Quinn's seat. "I can see why Quinn loves you and why Trent hates you."
"That'd be nice if it were true," I said.
"What? That Quinn loves you? Oh, honey, no one's going to buy that girlfriend in Vegas story. Even I saw how you two are like magnets," Nicky said. He patted my hand.
"Hell, you have nothing to lose. Want to tell Mr. Thomas to let his daughter live her own life? I swear, if you do it, I'll spring for a suite at the Wynn for you. You don't even have to tell Trent where you're going unless you want to," I said.
"Honey, all you have to do is ask me nicely," Nicky said. He clinked his wineglass against mine and it was still ringing when Trent came back into the dining room.
"Really, Nicky? You are a total slut. I brought you here and now I find you flirting with him?" Trent asked.
"He's nice. And gorgeous," Nicky said. "Besides I drove and you know this has been a disaster."
"I can call him a cab right now," I said to Nicky.
"That's it, I'm leaving!" Trent said. He flounced to the hallway door. "Thanks, Mr. Thomas. We're heading out to Vegas!"
Nicky patted my hand again and got up to follow Trent. I poured the rest of his wine into my glass and sat back to take a long drink.
#
. Thomas came back to the dining room first. "They left?"
"Yes," I said. "I guess Nicky was anxious to hit the dance clubs. I told him they were open all night."
"Well, I guess a quick farewell is better than sticking around after the party is over," Mr. Thomas said.
"Need a hand in the kitchen?" I asked. I stood up and stacked the dishes closest to me. Before he could make up an excuse, I moved past him and into the kitchen.
Quinn was at the sink, rinsing the dishes. The recycling was bulging with the take-out containers. She saw me notice and she smiled.
"I sure do miss my mother's home cooked meals," she said.
"Your mother isn't well," Mr. Thomas snapped from the doorway.
Quinn looked at me and bit her lip. Mrs. Thomas' wild mood swings had always been cause for concern, but her husband was still pretending everything was normal. Even after Sienna, whose personality could be the perfect mirror image of her mother's, had suffered for it.
"I'll just grab the last of it," I said. I headed back to the dining room and considered going right out the front door.
"You're right, Father, she isn’t well. Don't you think she might want to see a doctor?" I heard Quinn ask.
"That's not what I meant. She's just sick of seeing you so far off track," Mr. Thomas responded. "If you could pull yourself back together, your mother wouldn’t have to be so stressed and worried."
I gripped a fork hard enough to leave an imprint on my palm. I knew Mr. Thomas tried to find excuses for his wife's erratic behavior. But this was the first time I had ever heard him place the weight of it squarely on Quinn's shoulders.
"I'm worried too about her. Don't you think after what happened to Sienna, we should ask her to see someone?" Quinn asked. Her voice was faint but I could hear the resolve in it.
"What you should be worried about is ridiculous scenes like that dinner. Do you see now what a mess you're making of everything?"
I strode back into the kitchen and forced myself to place the dishes lightly on the counter. The saucers still rattled harshly and Quinn jumped. The look in her eye begged me not to say anything.
I pointed downstairs and then turned to Mr. Thomas. "Thank you very much for dinner, sir. Do you need a hand with drying or should I say goodnight?"
"Goodnight," Mr. Thomas said.
I left the kitchen and went down the hallway past the guest bathroom. The next door led to the basement and I slipped down it. Mr. Thomas generally retreated to his office after dinner and would not notice my car still parked out front.
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and heard the blood pounding in my ears. I was angry. Angry that a father could ignore the problems of his family and pretend everything was perfect. Angry that people really expected life to be perfect and they fell to pieces when it wasn't. I could not watch Quinn give in to that way of thinking. It would destroy her and the thought made me see red.
"I think you should go home," Quinn said. She jogged down the stairs. "It’s been a pretty rough night. I can't believe you stayed."
"I was going to tell you the same thing," I said. I caught her hands and held them tight.
"It’s okay, really," Quinn said, but she would not meet my eyes.
"Fine, we won't talk about it," I said. "Maybe we do better when we don't talk." I kissed her, hard.
When our lips met again, I realized why I had felt so restless. I felt as if I had been taking on water, sinking lower and lower. All it took was Quinn's kiss to buoy me back up. I hoped it did the same for her.
It was impossible to read her chocolate brown eyes. She pushed against my chest, broke the kiss, and looked up at me for a long time.
"I'm worried, Quinn," I said. "I don't think this is you. You are the woman I saw in Vegas. Confident, inspired, and open."
"You mean carefree and fun," Quinn said. She turned away. "Sorry, Owen. This is my real life."
"Why?" I asked. "Why do you think you have to stay here? I know they are your parents and I know you love them."
"And I owe them," she said.
"Not as much as you owe it to yourself to live your own life."
Quinn stepped back and crossed her arms. When she turned to face me, her eyes flashed. "And how am I supposed to do that?" she asked.
"By leaving here. By telling your parents that you quit the nursing program. Go out and find what you want to do. I know of a job. You'd be an amazing Beta Tester. Your win at the tournament and a recommendation from me would get it for you no problem," I said.
"So, that's it?" Quinn asked. "I ask how I'm supposed to live my own life and you have an answer all ready? You even have a job lined up for me. Tell me, Owen, if I jumped from my parents’ house to your apartment and this whole vision you have for me, is that really living my own life?"
"That's not what I'm saying, Quinn." I reached for her, but she stepped back farther. "I saw what you were like in Vegas at the tournament. That's what I want for you. That freedom and self-confidence."
"Why does everyone think they know how to live my life better than I do?" she asked. "Everyone around the table tonight. Trent, my father, you, and probably even that poor Nicky. And Sienna sure thought she could live my life better, but now she's dead."
I dropped my hands. "You're right, Quinn. I'm sorry. It’s up to you. I just hope I get to be part of it."