Chapter Twenty-Five - Quin
By the time we get home, Adley is exhausted and ready for bed. “She should sleep with us,” I say, taking off my coat and grabbing Rochelle’s to hang it up.
“Yes,” Rochelle agrees, kissing Adley’s flushed face. She’s still red. And the hives are still there, but not as bad as they were before. The doctor thinks it will go away in a few days as long as she doesn’t scratch it. They put some cream on it to prevent that. “I can’t even think about leaving her alone in that bedroom.”
She walks off towards the bedroom and leaves me behind.
I really fucked this up. I feel terrible. My first night alone with my daughter and it ends with a trip to the hospital. I didn’t even get to make a video. I totally had that planned, but I forgot. I didn’t get one picture to commemorate our night together, let alone a video. And we did a lot of stuff together before I practically killed her.
Bric didn’t forget.
Mango allergy.
I’m not a doctor. I’ve got no idea how allergies work, but pretty much everyone knows they are hereditary.
This whole time I’ve been convinced Adley is my daughter. One hundred percent. Hell, I even talked myself into believing she had my eyes.
I slump down into one of the chairs in front of the window, trying to come to terms with this new development.
If it turns out Bric is the father… what will happen to us?
Will Rochelle feel differently about me? Will I feel differently about her? Will we stay together?
I want to say no, no, and yes. But I’ve been in a lot of plural relationships. I know how precarious they are. The dynamics are fragile. It takes a lot of self-control to avoid jealousy and confusion. And even though I don’t want to admit it, most of my clarity this time around was based on the knowledge that Adley is my biological daughter.
The elevator dings and Bric walks into the loft. “Hey,” he says, taking off his coat and hanging it up. He walks over to the chair next to mine and takes a seat. “What’re you doing?”
“Thinking,” I say, curter than I intend.
“About?”
I give him a sidelong sneer. “What do you think?”
He sighs, props a foot on one knee. “Will it change things?”
“Will what change things?” I know what he’s talking about, but I want to hear him say it.
“If she’s allergic to mango?”
“Because that would mean you’re the father?”
“I mean, look, Quin. You and I both know the chances I’m the father are probably small. I have always assumed it was you and I’m still here. So I really fucking hope you’re not gonna walk out if it turns out the other way.”
“Maybe walking out wasn’t what I was thinking?” I don’t look at him because that right there, that was fucked up. But I’ve been thinking it. So might as well just test the waters now.
“What are you saying?”
I turn a little to look him in the eyes. “If you are her father, I don’t know how I’ll feel about that, Bric.”
“So you’d want me to walk away?” He says it evenly. His tone is normal. Polite, like always. “You’d really want me to leave?” But his jaw is clenched. And when I glance down at his hands, they are gripping the chair so tight, his knuckles are white.
“I said I don’t know. But I do know I love Rochelle. You know I love Rochelle.”
He nods. But he’s angry, I can tell. “And you won’t love Adley? If she’s not yours?”
“Don’t be fucking stupid,” I snarl. “Of course, I will. You don’t turn off love.”
“So I’m just supposed to turn it off? And let you have your little fantasy?”
“Look,” I say, trying to fix my fuck-up real fast. “I’m not saying any of that, OK? I’m just saying… it will be an adjustment. I’m not sure I’m ready for it.”
“Should we not go to the allergist?” Bric asks.
“Don’t be an idiot. Of course we need to do that. We already have this knowledge, Bric. We can’t just pretend things are the same tonight as they were this afternoon. Everything has changed.”
“Nothing has changed, Quin. Nothing. We’re still the same. She’s ours. Both of them. They’re ours. Don’t fuck it up, man.”
I sigh and look out the window again.
“Come on,” he says, standing up. “We don’t know anything yet. It might not be mango. And even if it is, she might still be yours. Don’t jump to conclusions. Just come to bed.”
He waits for me. Gives me several long seconds to think this through. And when I realize he’s not gonna let me sit in front of this window feeling disappointed and confused, I stand too.
We go in to the bedroom. Rochelle is in bed with Adley, looking down at our daughter with a mixture of love and concern. Adley’s eyes are closed and she’s sucking on her lip. Rochelle watches Bric and I strip down to our underwear, and then Bric gets in one side and I get in another.
Somehow, even though I don’t want there to be, there’s a message in this.
We are on opposite sides now. And maybe it’s always been this way? Maybe I just never noticed because I was so sure Adley was mine. That my claim on this relationship was pure and inevitable.
But Bric has changed everything. He was never invested before. He viewed Rochelle as someone to play with. Something temporary. I’m not stupid. I know he saw her as an opportunity. When Rochelle came home he probably thought it was the perfect way to get me back in his life. And it was. Here I am.
I don’t think that’s why he’s here anymore.
I don’t think he’s here for me. For our friendship.
I think he’s here for them.
“So, what do you know about allergies?”
“Yeah, that sucks, man,” Smith says. I called him up from work to get a second opinion. I know this is Bric territory, but Bric is the last guy I want to talk to. “Chella told me this morning. Rochelle called her.”
“Are you allergic to anything?” I ask.
“No. Why?”
“Because I’m not either. But Bric is. Says he’s allergic to mango. And they think…” I stop talking.
“They think? What?” Smith asks.
“I’m gonna be devastated, dude. They think Adley might be allergic to mango too. And that means…”
“Fuck,” he says. “Do they know that for sure?”
“No. We have an appointment with the allergist in two weeks. We tried to get in sooner, but they’re booked up and they say this isn’t urgent. Just don’t feed her anything new until we get it sorted. I guess they’re gonna prick her with needles and we’ll know for sure. God,” I say, running my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know how to feel about this.”
Smith is silent.
“How should I feel about this, Smith?”
“I dunno,” he says. “Does it matter? I mean, you guys look happy. Everything is working out the way you want it, right?”
“Yeah, but…”
“But?”
“But that was before, you know. When I was sure she was mine. If she’s not mine—I mean, I’m not leaving them over this. If it turns out Bric is the father. But… I think if we know for sure, it will change things.”
Silence.
“Are you there?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m here. Just thinking.”
“Well, you got any answers for me?”
“Just…” He sighs. “Just wait it out. See what happens. I mean, I don’t think she looks like Bric, you know? She doesn’t have his eyes. And she doesn’t have Rochelle’s eyes, either.”
“She does have my eyes, right?”
“Sure,” he says. But then there’s a bunch of yelling in the background that takes several seconds to die down. It gets silent again and he’s back. “I had to go outside. Goddamned gym rats. Think they know what’s up. Little fuckers.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“Listen, I gotta go. I’m at the gym with the kids, you know? I gotta kick their thug asses today. They got me good again last time, but third time’s the charm, right?”
I chuckle picturing Smith boxing with wild teen boys who think they own the world. “Right. I’m gonna laugh my ass off when you come over on Monday with a black eye.”
“Don’t say that. These kids are serious about kicking my ass. They have this pool going to see which one of them will knock me out first. I’m not as young as I used to be, man. Fucking teenagers.”
“All right then. You going to Chella and Bric’s tea room party tomorrow?”
He laughs.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“Well, I’ll probably have to put in some kind of appearance. You know, be supportive and shit. Why are you going?”
“Yeah, Chella hit me up too. Rochelle is going. So… Sure. Why not.”
“OK, I gotta go take care of business. These punks are calling me maricón now. You know what that means?”
I just laugh.
“Never mind, asshole. Later.”
I hang up still smiling. Fucking Smith.
Robert knocks on my office door. “Hey,” he says.
“What’s up?” I ask, pulling myself out from my personal problems.
“You done for the day?”
“Yeah,” I say, looking at the papers on my desk. “Pretty much. Why?”
“You wanna take off early? Hit the bar? I’m done too.”
I check the time. It’s only two. And I’m about to say, Yeah, why not, when I get an idea. A sneaky idea. An innocent, perfect, sweet idea. “Nah,” I tell him. “I’m gonna go home early today.”
When I get home, Rochelle and Adley are sitting on the couch, half asleep. “What are you doing here?” Rochelle asks. But the question comes with a big, happy smile.
“I missed you,” I say, dropping my keys on the kitchen island. I walk over to the couch and sit down carefully. Adley’s eyes are heavy and she’s almost out. “How’s she feeling?”
“She’s fine, Quin. I really hope you don’t think this is your fault. Like Bric said, it was going to happen, no matter who actually fed her the food. And the rash is almost gone. It’s not going to be a big deal.”
Her neck is still a little bit red, but Rochelle is right. She’s fine.
It’s me who’s struggling.
“Let me put her in her crib and I’ll be right back, OK?”
“Sure,” I say. Rochelle gets up, shushing Adley as she walks down the hall to try to keep her asleep.
I don’t want to lose them. I don’t want to lose Bric either, but I’m willing to give him up for them. I need this to work out in my favor. I really do. Because if it doesn’t… if it doesn’t, I see a really fucked-up life in my future. A future that validates all the preconceived notions I have about myself. A future that validates the reason I started playing this game with Bric and Smith in the first place.
It might ruin me.
I get up and walk towards Adley’s room, listening to Rochelle talking quietly to the baby. She’s a good mother. She’s the perfect girlfriend too. We have argued more recently than we did in the past, but we had big problems. We talked through them. We got over them. And yes, Bric was a big part of that. I’m gonna be thankful for his help, no matter what.
But they’re mine. He has to know that. He has to.
Rochelle walks to the door, slides them closed, and smiles at me. “What are you doing?” she asks, coming forward to press her head into my chest and wrap her arms around my middle.
“Thinking about how much I love you guys. What a great mom you are.”
She leans back so she can look up at my face. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”
“I can guess,” I say, wrapping my arms around her too.
“Now tell me why you really came home early.”
She knows me. She gets me. That’s the reason I fell in love with her in the first place. And I know her. I get her too. We get each other.
“I wanted some time alone with you,” I confess. “Both of you, really. Just the three of us. But I’m not afraid to say, I’m kinda happy Ads is sleeping.” I stop hugging her, take her hand and lead her towards the bedroom. “Because I’d be lying if I said I don’t want you all to myself. I don’t want to share you, Rochelle.” I look over my shoulder as we enter the bedroom, then, once she’s inside, I slide the doors closed.
“You don’t want to share?” she asks. Hesitantly.
And I’m not sure if that means she’s hesitant for what that means for Bric. Or if she’s happy I have finally been able to admit this to her. To myself.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t feel like sharing anymore.” She’s wearing a thick cable-knit sweater, which I begin to unbutton.
She blushes like a girl as I do this. And when I slip the sweater down her arms and let it fall to the floor, she lowers her head, like she’s embarrassed. She stands there like that. Her bra is pink and made of cotton and not black and made of lace. Something sweet. Something a girl would wear. It feels so much like a beginning, I want to die.
“Undress me,” I whisper. “Slowly. So I can enjoy it.” So it feels like it used to, I don’t add. But that’s what I mean. We used to have all these moments together. No one else to think about. No one else to interfere.
We wasted our beginning on doubts and fear. We pretended our way through a two-night-a-week relationship. But it’s just not enough. None of what we’ve been doing will ever be enough for me.
She takes off my tie. Tugs my shirt up out of my pants and starts unbuttoning from the top down. When she gets to the last button, her hands slip inside my shirt and she presses her palms against my skin as she slides them around my back. She leans in. Sighs into my bare chest.
“I’ve been waiting for this for a very long time, Quin Foster.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, reaching down to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear so I can see part of her face. “I have loved you for so fucking long, Rochelle Bastille. None of that has changed. My feelings for you have not changed. It’s how I feel about myself that’s changed.”
She pulls back and takes off my cufflinks. Sets them on the dresser. Makes my shirt slide down my arms. Unbuckles my belt. Looks up and gives me a shy smile.
Yes, I decide. This is definitely a beginning.
She unbuttons me. Unzips me. I do the same to her. And then we take off the rest of our clothes and face each other.
Naked. Stripped bare. Nothing to hide.
“We’re gonna make it,” I say.
“I know, Quin.”
I lead her over to the bed and sit down. She climbs onto my lap and holds me tight.
We sit there for a little bit. Just enjoying each other. We’re not in a rush. There is no hurry. So we take our time. We kiss. We touch. And when we’ve had enough of that, I lie back on the bed and she straddles my hips. Puts me inside her.
My cock slides in and fills her up. She closes her eyes and moans as she begins to move. Rocking her hips. Pressing into me and leaning forward so she can rub her clit across my lower stomach.
I place her hands on my chest. Flat. One of them over my heart so she knows how much I like this.
I make love to her. Slowly. I burn each moment into my brain. This is us. This is what’s real. There’s no game. There’s no rules. There’s no doubts.
We’re in love.