Chapter Thirty-Three - Quin
The door buzzes.
I don’t get up.
It opens and closes.
I stay right where I am. Sitting in a chair, looking out the window in the second bedroom. It’s dark out now. I didn’t watch the clock today. I forced myself to stay in here where there is no chance of glancing up above the fireplace and seeing what time it is.
Three o’clock came and went hours ago.
I can see Rochelle’s reflection in the window when she finds me. There’s just enough light seeping through from the main room so I can see her clearly. She leans her hip against the door and waits.
I do not move.
“I see you made some changes to the living room,” she finally says. “It looks nice,” she says. “Very homey now.”
“I did,” I say. “And homey was what I was going for.” But we can talk all about my new décor later. “
Where’s Adley?”
She holds up the key to my apartment. “With Chella. She gave me Smith’s key to your condo. Did anyone call you?” she asks.
“No,” I reply.
“Why didn’t you show up?”
I take a deep breath and exhale. “Because I wouldn’t be able to take it.”
“You’re her father, Quin.”
I turn around, so angry that she’s so clueless. “I don’t need a fucking DNA test to tell me that, Rochelle. I have been telling you she’s mine for weeks. I know she’s mine. There was never any question in my mind that she was mine. And for the record, I never thought you cheated on me. Give me a fucking break, OK? I know you better than that.”
Her face scrunches up. Like she’s not sure what to make of that outburst. “Then why did you ask for a test? Why walk out angry? Why, Quin?”
“I didn’t need the DNA test, Bric did. And the reason I didn’t show up wasn’t because I can’t handle the truth. I stayed home because I couldn’t…” I sigh. This is harder than I thought it would be.
“Couldn’t what?” she asks.
“I didn’t want to see Bric’s face when he found out she was mine, OK? I couldn’t do it. I don’t want to hurt him, but he forced me. He was fucking everything up, Rochelle. Can’t you see that? He never loved you.”
“So you say,” she says.
“No, I know. Bric likes to pretend he’s invested, Rochelle. And this time his little fantasy got out of hand. Those lies?” I shake my head. “I wasn’t mad at you for that. I knew you’d never do that if he didn’t fill your mind up with his stupid bullshit. He manipulated you. Just like he manipulates everyone. It was all him. And I know I’m the easy-going one here, I get it. But I have to draw a line somewhere. So I did. Those lies were it for me as far as Bric is concerned. I asked for that test to bring him back to reality. He walked out, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” she says softly. “He did.”
“I knew he would. And even though I feel bad because I know somewhere, deep inside him, he feels bad tonight too, I also know it won’t last. He will be right back to the way he was by tomorrow. He’s gonna go to the Club, fuck a girl, get drunk, and pretend all this never happened. You just watch.”
“So you hate him now?” she asks.
“Hate him?” I laugh. “I didn’t go through all that bullshit because I hate him. I love him, for fuck’s sake. But he’s got to learn that people are real. They’re not objects. They’re not things to manipulate. I didn’t do this to hurt him. I did it to help him.”
We think about this for a little bit. She comes over to me and sits in my lap. “Well, I guess we’ve got him all taken care of. What about us? Where are we now?”
I shrug. “I dunno.”
“You don’t know?” She scoffs at me. “Either we patch it up, Quin, or we go our separate ways. And I’m not talking about leaving town with Adley, so don’t say ‘Let’s patch it up’ because you’re afraid I’ll take her away. I won’t.”
I don’t think she’d do that. Not now that she knows I’m Adley’s father.
“I’m just afraid, Rochelle.”
“Of what?”
“Not being enough for you.”
“You’re kidding, right?” She laughs and squeezes me. Puts her face in my neck and inhales. Like she’s missed my scent this past week.
I let my arms fall around her. It feels so right. But is it really?
“I don’t even know why you’d say that,” she whispers. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”
It takes me almost a minute to articulate the doubts inside my head. All the fear and uncertainty. “My mom is crazy, right?” I say. It’s as good a place to start as any, I guess.
“I love your mother. She’s called me every day since that tea party fiasco.”
“She’s so cool. She’s fun, and happy, and just… she loves everyone, you know?”
“Totally. And I think everyone loves her too.”
“But my dad never made her happy, Rochelle. He never could. When I was a kid she was so much crazier, but in the very best way. She likes costumes. She decked our house out for Halloween. Dressed up like a witch.” I laugh, just picturing it. “She was Mrs. Claus on Christmas Eve. At Easter, she wore bunny ears. It was just… part of her. But my dad used to tell her she looked ridiculous. Shame her, almost. So she stopped. I was about six, maybe. And she just stopped. And then I forgot all about that crazy stuff until he died and she started doing it again.
“I realized then he never made her happy. He worked too much. That’s why I took our days off work when we were together last year. He put the family first, and that’s great. He went to work every day. He mowed the lawn every weekend in the summer. He coached baseball. But while he was busy putting the family first, somewhere along the way he decided to put her last. Everything came before my mother. The house, the job, the lawn, the neighbors, the kid. Some people might say”—I laugh—“some people did say that my mother was the selfish one. That she never appreciated him. It could be true, I guess. But I lived in that house. I saw how it went down. He ruined her, not the other way around.
“And yeah, she was sad when he was gone, but she was much happier as time went on. Now, she’s almost like she used to be. And I think my dad just never had it in him to be what she needed.”
“Are you afraid you’re too much like your dad and I’m too much like your mom?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’m just me. Just boring Quin.”
“Boring?” She leans back and looks me in the face. “Are you kidding me? Mr. Eagle-Scout. Mr. I-Help-Old-Ladies. Mr. I-Take-Casseroles-As-Payment. I don’t think you understand how much I want a family like yours. How much I want and all your so-called boringness.”
“I don’t know how that could be. I really don’t,” I say. “I like sharing women with Bric and Smith because there was never any pressure to be perfect at everything. Smith compensated for me in ways… well, I’m not sure how. But he did. I know he did.”
Rochelle laughs, shaking her head at me.
“And Bric was the same way. He was good at things I wasn’t. He was someone you could enjoy who was totally different than me. I liked the us, Rochelle, because I thought it was the only way I’d ever keep a woman like you satisfied. I come from a perfect family and even my dad couldn’t do it right. And when you stayed, I mean, good fucking God, when I realized you were staying—that things were working, you know?—I just couldn’t picture me being enough for you. I couldn’t picture you being satisfied with just me.
“How can I compete with weird Smith? How can I compete with Bric’s dominance? Isn’t it better to let them do what they do best? And me do what I do best? It worked for a while. I just finally gave in and decided you’d never want me all by myself. You’d say you did, but you’d be wrong. Just like my mom. And one day I’d wake up and tell you to stop wearing those ridiculous clothes. One day I’d wake up and realize I’d ruined you.”
“No,” she says, pressing her face into my beating heart.
“It could happen,” I say. “It might take you a lifetime to realize it. Like my mom. You could wake up one day and realize you’re happier with me dead than you ever were with me alive.”