Chapter Eleven - Rochelle
“So then what happened?” Bric asks.
We’re sitting at our booth in the White Room. Before I left, I’d sit in the middle of the bench, Quin would sit across from me in a chair, and Bric would sit to my left.
Bric is still to my left, Quin isn’t here yet—if he’s coming at all—and Adley is in her baby seat on my right.
Everything is familiar—but off.
“Then he went to bed.”
“What’d you do?”
“I sat there on the couch for a while trying to figure out what happened.”
“What did you come up with?” Bric is looking very intently at me. Like everything I’m saying is critically important.
“He hate-fucked me, that’s what I came up with, Bric!”
“Rochelle,” Bric says, throwing me one of those Don’t overreact looks.
“I’m serious. There’s no other explanation for it. He hate-fucked me. Revenge fuck. Whatever you want to call it. That’s what happened last night.” I sigh and try not to feel depressed and sad. “And then this morning I got out of bed to go check on Adley when she woke up, and when I came back, he was gone.”
“Gone?” Bric asks. “Where’d he go?”
“Just left,” I say. “I texted him. Asked if he’d be here for breakfast. And he never texted back.”
“He’s just mad,” Bric says.
“I know.” I huff. “He told me that last night too. He spelled it out very clearly. He was worried about me. Sad about my leaving. But then when I came back—”
“Now he’s just angry.”
“Right.”
“It’s a pretty typical reaction,” Bric says.
“I realize that. Which is why I’m not going to make a big deal about this. But I don’t know if this is going to work, Bric. He might not want me. He might just want to hurt me. Exactly the way I hurt him.”
“No,” Bric says, like I’m being ridiculous.
“I’m not being ridiculous,” I say. “Maybe he’s not out to hurt me. But he’s doing something, Bric. He’s playing a game, but I’m pretty sure we’re not all playing the same game.”
“He’s mad, Rochelle. You have to expect that. He’s gonna come around.”
“What does that mean? Come around? Do you really think he’s gonna fall back in love with me the way he was? Because I don’t. I think he’s here for us. Me, you, and him together. And that’s all.”
Bric rubs his hand across his scratchy jaw as he thinks this over, so I check on Adley. She fell asleep in the car on the way over here and hasn’t woken up yet. Bric is still thinking.
“I don’t want an us, Bric.”
He looks me in the eye and says. “I do. But I get it. And I’m fine with you and Quin getting your little happy ending. But I’m telling you, Rochelle, he’s just trying to protect himself right now and the best way to let him work that out and ensure you two get back together is to have an us.”
“He said he doesn’t trust me.”
“He has a good reason,” Bric counters.
“I know that,” I say, starting to get angry. “I understand that. But the whole point of us doing this… game… or whatever it is, was so that you can help me figure this out. I want him, Bric. You’re supposed to help me.”
But as soon as the words come out of my mouth I realize how stupid that is. I trust no one and I have very good reasons for that. I’ve learned over the course of my life that people are selfish. People are out for themselves. People are liars. I have a lot of experience in being lied to.
Elias Bricman definitely fits all those assumptions I have about people. And then some.
Adley starts whining. Our conversation probably woke her. So I reach over, unsnap her safety belt, and pull her into my lap.
“Hey, pumpkin,” Bric says.
Adley buries her head into my sweater and rubs her eyes.
“I’m having all the Christmas decorations put up early,” Bric says, reaching over to tickle Adley’s chin. She squirms in my arms and then giggles through a mouthful of bubbly spit.
I can’t help but smile at that.
“Are you hungry, Adley?” Bric asks, picking up a section of mandarin orange from my plate. He offers it to Adley, who makes grabby fists and stuffs it right up to her mouth and begins to suck. I will have to write that down in her baby book. She’s never had oranges before.
“Christmas is coming early, huh?” I ask. “That’s a first.”
“Well,” Bric says, leaning back in the booth. “First year I’m a father.”
I throw him a look of caution. “You don’t know you’re the father. You might not want to think that way.”
Bric shrugs. “We’re never gonna know, so might as well think that way.”
That’s very confusing for me, but I don’t have time to think about it, because Quin walks up to the table and scoots into the booth next to Adley’s seat.
Not across from me.
I asked Quin once why he always sat in the chair and never sat next to me in the booth. He told me, “Because I like to look at you.” So apparently even that has changed.
I frown and concentrate on Adley.
“What’s up?” Quin says, looking over his shoulder for the waitress. She comes up, pen and pad ready, and Quin says, “Coffee and cornflakes.” Which kinda makes me happy again, because Quin and cornflakes go together like bread and butter.
At least that’s still the same.
Quin moves Adley’s seat, placing it on the empty chair, and then scoots in closer to me. Puts his arm around me. Leans in and kisses me.
I kiss him back. But just when I start to get in to it, he pulls away.
I look at Bric. Bric is smiling. Like this is a good sign.
This is not a good sign. He didn’t mean that kiss. He’s not sitting across from me. He walked out on me this morning without saying goodbye.
Everything is wrong.
“Hi, Adley,” Quin says.
Adley has turned her head now to face Quin. She’s got her tangerine slice smeared all over her face.
“Do you like that?” Quin asks in a low voice as he touches her pudgy fist.
Adley turns her head away, smearing my sweater with tangerine juice, and goes back to staring at Bric.
Quin sits back in the booth, and when I look over at him, he’s frowning. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I don’t think she likes me.”
“She doesn’t even know you, Quin,” Bric says. “It’s been two days.”
“She seems to like you well enough,” Quin says, picking up the coffee the waitress just set down and sipping it. “And you hate kids.”
“Other people’s kids,” Bric corrects. “Why would I hate my own kid?”
Quin says nothing. But I can read his mind. She’s not yours. She’s mine.
“So what are you guys gonna do tonight?” Quin asks. “Big plans?”
I stare down at Adley’s head. It’s my night with Bric.
“I was wondering if you’d like to join in,” Bric says.
I look up at him, then over to Quin.
Quin shrugs. “I guess. I have a late meeting today, so I’ll probably just show up after dinner.”
When I glance over at Bric he’s got a smug look on his face that says, Leave everything to me.
But show up after dinner? To me, that means, I’ll show up to fuck.
“We can have dinner together,” I say, testing out my theory. “We’ll wait for you.”
“Nah,” Quin says. “I’ll get dinner at work and then come by around eight.”
Eight. Yup. Just for the fuck.
The waitress brings Quin’s bowl of cornflakes and a small pitcher of milk, so I spend the next several minutes watching him eat as Bric talks to Adley. Quin misses none of that interaction. His eyes are on Bric and Adley the whole time.
He never once glances at me.
At one point, Adley holds her arms out for Bric, like she wants him to pick her up. And to my surprise, he obliges her, taking her from my lap and placing her in his, as he makes faces and talks about all the different kinds of untouched fruit on my plate.
Quin pushes his cereal away and places his hand on my leg. I look over at him, startled that he’s actually touching me. He slides his hand up my thigh and then presses his fingers against my pussy, stroking me through my jeans as he leans in and kisses me on the mouth.
His lips are cool and sweet and taste like milk. “Have a nice day,” he says, still kissing me. And then—again—just when I begin to kiss him back, he pulls away and slips out of the bench, opening his wallet and throwing down a twenty-dollar bill. “See you guys tonight.”
Bric and I both watch him walk away.
“Did you see that?” I ask, after we sit there in silence for a few seconds.
“Yeah. I think it went well.”
“Are you kidding me?” I ask.
“What?”
“That didn’t go well,” I say. “That was a disaster. He didn’t sit across from me, he sat next to me. He kissed me, but pulled away the second I tried to kiss him back. And he’s not coming to dinner tonight, he’s coming at eight. All he wants is the threesome, Bric.”
“You’re reading way too much into this, Rochelle.”
“Am I?” I snort. “I know him, Bric. I know him very well. And that was a very bad start to this new relationship.”
Bric thinks about this for a second as I take the mushed-up tangerine slice from Adley’s hand, grab a wet nap from my diaper bag, and start cleaning her up. She fusses and balks, trying to bury herself into Bric’s suit coat.
“You’re going to regret holding her,” I say, “when you figure out you’ve got sticky juice on your lapels.”
He grins and looks down, where, yes—there is a dark spot on his lapel. “Might just be drool. But hey, there’s worse things than smelling like a tangerine baby all day.”
“Who are you?” I laugh. “And what have you done with Elias Bricman, hater of children and Christmas?”
He shrugs. “Like I said. I only hate other people’s kids. And I’m looking forward to Adley’s first Christmas. I’ve already started thinking about gifts.”
“She doesn’t need gifts,” I say. What she needs is two parents. And by that, I’m not referring to Bric and me.
But that’s definitely how this is starting out. And I’m beginning to think Elias Bricman has no idea who Quin is anymore. He’s changed. Something about him has changed.
I’m the reason he changed.
“This isn’t going to work,” I say.
“Just stop it, Rochelle. Give it more than one day, all right? He just needs a little time. And don’t worry. We both know he’s into the threesome stuff. So we’ll just enjoy that until he comes around.”
“I guess,” I say, to placate him. But I don’t think he’s right. I think we might be starting something very dangerous. Something that could rip Quin and I apart for good.
“Anyway.” Bric sighs. Like he knows what I’m thinking. Probably does. We’ve been friends for a long time. “What are you guys doing today?”
I shrug and take out a bottle of water from my diaper bag. “I dunno. It’s weird being back here after so much time away. Maybe I’ll drop by the gallery and see Chella?” I pick up a slice of tangerine and squeeze it into the water to flavor it.
“She doesn’t work there anymore,” Bric says.
“Oh,” I say. Of course she doesn’t. Why should anything stay the same?
“But I’m sure she’s probably next door.”
“Why would she be next door?” I ask, reaching for Adley, who is busy patting Bric’s cheeks with the flat of her hands. I cannot believe Elias Bricman is into babies. What were the chances of that happening? Adley fusses when I take her back, but she eagerly accepts the bottle of tangerine water and settles into her seat. I buckle her up and tuck a strand of hair away from her closing eyes.
“We’re opening up a tea room. Turns out, Chella’s dream was to be a pastry chef. And she came up with this tea room idea. You know,” he says, waving a hand in the air. “For the Club women. But open to the public.”
“Oh. Well, that’s sorta cool. I never pictured Chella as a baker.”
“It sorta makes sense to me,” Bric says. “In a weird way.”
“All that school. A PhD and everything. Just to make pastries.”
“Sometimes,” Bric says, sliding out of the booth. “Sometimes the road to satisfaction is long and twisted, Rochelle. Who cares what she does with her education? I’m sure whatever she got out of that degree is helping her now. Even if it’s in some small way not easily identified.”
I watch him as he gets out his wallet and pays for breakfast. It always intrigued me how he pays for things here. Even his drinks at the bar. He always pays his way. “What time are you coming over?” I ask. And then I wonder if I sound needy.
I sorta feel needy.
“Since Quin isn’t coming until later, you wanna to go out to dinner?”
I look down at Adley and shake my head. “I like to stay in, to be honest. She’s still on new baby schedule.”
“OK,” Bric says. “I’ll bring something with me then. Have fun with Chella.”
I watch him walk off, pointing at people sitting at other tables as he makes his way to the front. He stops five or six times before he finally makes his way to the front podium and whispers something to Margaret. They both look at me, then Margaret nods, as Bric disappears to start work.
Margaret comes towards me, pushing my stroller. “He said you were ready to go,” she says, stopping at the table. “And to bring you the stroller.”
“Thanks,” I say, scooting out of the booth with Adley’s car seat. Margaret holds the stroller as I snap it in, then adjust Adley’s blankets.
“Chella is next door,” she says. “Bric says you were looking for her.”
“Oh, yeah, thanks. Is it literally right next door?”
“We have a connecting door,” Margaret says. “Would you like to go through that way?”
“Sure.” I follow her as she leads me into a short hallway, then through a revolving door—a smaller twin of the one in front of Turning Point Club—until we finally come to the tea room. “Thanks, Margaret,” I say. She smiles and disappears.
I bet she is so confused about why I’m back.
Hell, I’m starting to be confused about why I’m back.
“Hey,” Chella calls from across the room. She breaks away from another woman and starts walking towards me. When she’s close enough, she takes both my hands and we do cheek kisses. This is something I have always loved about Chella. She is money. Sophisticated, smart, and wise to the ways of socializing.
It’s a life not many can relate to. But I can. Three years with Bric has taught me a lot about that kind of stuff.
Chella is so put together today. She’s always wearing tailored suits that show off her long legs. And her hair is always pulled back into some sort of fashionable bun or braid.
Today she’s wearing cream-colored leggings with a pale pink fringe cape, and light suede over-the-knee boots. Her long dark hair is pulled back, except for a few curly tendrils that frame her face.
She looks like a fashion model.
I look down at my outfit. I’m wearing an old pair of denim jeans with more frayed holes than I can count, a blue Pagosa Spring t-shirt, shearling winter boots that have seen better days, and an old army jacket that is three sizes too big.
The only thing that saves me from looking homeless is the thousand-dollar stroller I’m pushing and the Prada tote I’m using as a diaper bag.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I was having breakfast with the guys and Bric told me you’re not at the gallery anymore.”
“No.” She laughs, wrapping my hands around her arm and pulling me to a table in the back where there are no workers. “I quit about six months ago, after I talked Bric and Smith into this tea room idea.”
“I heard. Pastry chef? I had no idea, Chella. None.”
“Well,” she says, beckoning me to take a seat. I do, and she does the same, sitting across from me. “You know how you think about doing things, when you’re little and stuff, but it’s so impractical?”
I laugh. “You mean like… playing guitar at street fairs and poetry bars?”
“Yes,” Chella says with a big smile. “I guess you know all about that. Well, to be honest, I was kinda jealous of you for that.”
“Me?” I ask, pointing to my chest and laughing. “How could you ever be jealous of me?”
“You always had your dream. And you just went for it. So one day Smith and I were just sitting around the house and I was watching some bake-off show on TV. And I said, ‘I could do that.’ And he said, ‘So do that.’”
I look around at the tea room. It’s not done yet. There are a dozen people here working on things. But I can tell it’s going to be fabulous. It’s got Chella written all over it. Everything is very rustic, yet modern. Not how you’d picture an old-fashioned tea room in movies and books and stuff. Her style. Her taste. Her dream. “And you did it.”
“Yeah, Bric has been great about it. He gave me the space and just said go for it.”
Bric seems to be great at everything these days.
“Do you see Quin much?” I ask.
“Oh, all the time,” Chella says. “We meet for lunch every Tuesday. We were meeting at the Club this past Tuesday when you called. That’s why everyone came over to your hotel. We were already together.”
“Oh,” I say, almost wistfully.
And it’s in that moment that I realize—I have missed this life. These people. Even Chella, who was also part of my world back then. But separate. She’s probably the closest friend I’ve had in like… ever. Which is sad because we only knew each other for six months before I disappeared.
“He called me this morning,” Chella says.
“He did?” I ask. “When? He slept at my new place last night. But then he disappeared early.”
“I know,” Chella says. “He told me.”
“What did he say? Did he talk about me?”
Chella frowns and nods. “He said you had a fight.”
“We didn’t fight,” I say, more defensively than I should. “He was just… mad at me.”
“I know. He told me that too.”
“What exactly did he tell you?” I’m kinda pissed off that Quin is shutting me out and sharing everything with Chella now. I was that girl last year. I was Chella. And now… I have no idea who I am anymore. I can’t even say, Well, you’re Adley’s mother. Because Bric and Quin are here too and it’s almost like they are taking some of that identity away from me. Before I came back I was all she had. Now she has two fathers. I feel… left behind.
“He just said he was confused. I mean, look, Rochelle, you did disappear. And have a baby, which might be his. And you never called.”
I did call. Yeah, it was six months later, but I did call. And I can’t even tell him that because stupid Bric kept it a secret. And I can’t out Bric and cause trouble between him and Quin, because let’s face it—Bric is the only one in my corner at the moment.
I realize Chella is still talking. “And he asked if Smith and I wanted to go to dinner with him tonight.”
“Hmm,” I say, instantly angry. That jerk. “Bric and I invited him to eat with us tonight, but he said he was working.”
“Oh,” Chella says. “I didn’t realize it was a secret. Well”—she waves her hand—“Smith won’t go to dinner. So it will just be Quin and me. Smith doesn’t like to have the three of us together too much. He thinks Quin wants…” She blushes. Shakes her head.
“Quin wants… what?” I prod.
“You know. Smith thinks Quin misses me.”
“You?” I ask. What the fuck is happening?
“Not me. Us, I guess.” She blushes again. “You know. The whole quad thing. But without Bric. Tuesday was the first time they talked in… hell, months.”
I feel like I’m having a stroke. Like I’m hearing her words and they make no sense.
“It’s weird too,” Chella continues. “Quin’s never like that when it’s just him and I together. He doesn’t want me, Rochelle. It’s like he wants…”
“The us,” I say, filling in the blank.
“Yeah.” She nods. “I think he misses that. The us.”
So there you go. That’s where I’m at.
The us.
I can have Bric, or Bric and Quin, but not Quin alone.
These are the new rules, I guess.
It’s just another game to them.
That’s all it’s ever been—a game.
“I have something for you,” Chella says, bringing me out of my horrible realization. “If you let me drop you off at home, I can swing by my house and get it on the way.”
“Sure,” I say. I wait patiently as she does a little business, then we get in her car and drive over to the Little Raven house. Adley fell asleep in her seat, so I wait in her car. A few minutes later she comes back with a box I know very well.
“Here,” Chella says, handing it to me as she gets back in the car. “I can’t keep it. Not after reading what Quin wrote to you in there.”
I take the lid off the box and unwrap the book. It feels heavy in my hands. It feels right. Perfect. I open it up and read the inscription.
Dear Rochelle,
Mistakes are measured in wasted time
Falling to your knees, asking for another chance
Longing’s just an aching mind
Giving in to circumstance
The future is closer than your past
And loving you is not a crime
So if you don’t want to turn back
We can handle the aftermath.
Love,
Quin
The book is filled with inscriptions, but not all of them are from Quin. It’s like this book has been passed around between lovers for decades. And each time it changed hands, the person giving it away wrote something about their longing.
Quin wrote in this book a lot over the time we spent together. Every now and then he’d see it in my closet, or on my shelf, or my bedside table because I was reading it. But I’ve never seen this poem before.
“Thank you,” I say as Chella smiles at me. But God, my heart hurts for him. He must have written this while I was gone. I hold it to my chest and sigh.
“I know it means a lot to you, so I need to give it back. And don’t try to pay me for it. I don’t need the money.”
“Thank you so much,” I repeat. “I just wanted to sell it. It was a way to start the process of leaving, you know? And you’re right. Those words Quin wrote to me…” I close my eyes. Feeling heavy with dissatisfaction. “I knew there was no way out of the game if I didn’t leave. And if I kept these words, held on to them, well, I’d never have the nerve to leave him behind. It made me feel desperate back then. Desperate to cling to what little we had. And selling this book gave me strength. Getting rid of it got rid of my longing, you know? Or so I thought.” I sigh, looking down at my book. “It’s not gone though, Chella. My longing is as strong as ever. It scares me,” I say. “I don’t trust people easily. I trust you because you don’t need anything from me. But—
“But you think Bric and Quin need you for the game.”
“Yes,” I say. I take a deep breath and let it out. “I’m gonna get hurt. I’m falling for it again, Chella, and it’s not good.”
“Hey,” she says, placing a hand on my arm. “It’s going to work out, Rochelle. I know it is.”
But I’m not so sure about that. Bric isn’t the man I thought he was. He can’t be that selfish asshole and be so sweet to my daughter at the same time. Unless he’s only doing it because he thinks she’s really his?
And Quin isn’t making any move to leave the game.
I’m not winning this time. Because I want to trust them. I want them to be real and I know they’re not.
I’m so off my game. The rules have changed and no one bothered to tell me.
I’m an amateur. All my moves are clumsy, all my motivations jumbled.
I learned a long time ago that you can’t trust people. I have lived with too many lies and disappointments to count. I have learned the ways of the world through the lens of dishonesty. Deceit. Cheating and backstabbing. I have wounds from those lessons. I have deep scars.
I’m gonna lose, I realize. I’m gonna lose this game. Because I desperately want to trust these men and I know it’s a bad idea. I want them to heal me, but they have long claws and sharp teeth.
Bric is trying to claim my heart by going through my daughter. And it’s working. I like him so much more now than I ever did before.
And Quin has always had my heart. But now I don’t have his.
No. There is no win in my future.