“Tomorrow morning, first thing.” I glanced at Quinn. “I’ve been up here since before Christmas, so it’s time to get back down to Richmond.”
“It’s off-season, though. What’s the rush?” Tucker cocked his head.
He wasn’t wrong. The Rebels had ended the season with a decent record, but as I’d expected, not quite good enough for post-season play. I was free now until off-season conditioning began in the middle of May, and with the uncertainty about Nate, I hadn’t made any plans. Still, I was ready to be out of South Jersey, ready to go back to the city where I felt like a responsible adult, not a kid living in my parents’ house. I liked my life in Virginia. I liked my friends, who were mostly my teammates and their wives. I liked my townhouse, which was both comfortable, and (thanks to my mom’s hard decorating work) welcoming. I liked the city’s social life, the bars and restaurants; being Rebels earned us primo tickets to concerts and the other sports teams’ games.
“No rush.” I propped my feet on the coffee table, after looking around to make sure my mother wasn’t around anywhere. “It’s just time to get back.”
“What about you, Quinn?” Zelda tilted her head. “What’re your plans now?”
Quinn sunk a little further into the sofa. “I’m not sure. I haven’t really thought about it. When Nate was still here, it felt wrong to worry about what would happen after he ... wasn’t. I mean, he was always trying to talk about it. He kept pushing me to think about a new job, or moving away from here. Somewhere.”
She glanced at me, a mixture of question and hesitancy in her eyes. I knew she was wondering what was going to happen next between us. Maybe she was waiting for me to say something, to make some kind of move.
But fuck it all, I’d promised Nate I was going to give Quinn time and space. And even if I hadn’t, there was no way I was going to come on to her at his funeral, when she still looked shell-shocked and wounded. I needed to get away from all this and let her heal a little bit. I had to think about what Nate had advised, now that it was more than just a hypothetical decision. It was no longer what I might do when Nate was dead ... the choice was real now, and it was more complicated than I could have known.
So when her gaze rested on me, searching for any sign of what I might be thinking or feeling, I forced myself to look away. I couldn’t meet her eyes.
“You can always come stay with me for a while.” Zelda stretched out one long, black-stocking covered leg and nudged Quinn’s leg with her toes. “My apartment has plenty of room, and we already know we can live together. We did it for four years.”
“Thanks, sweetie.” Quinn patted her friend’s foot. “I’ll keep that in mind. I don’t want to leave my job if I can help it—my editor, Dawn, was so good to me all this time. She was really flexible, no matter what was going on. I’d hate to run out on her now.”
“Well, I’m conveniently located in the city, right near the high-speed line. And I’m already handling the rent on my own, so there wouldn’t be any rush for you to kick in.”
“I’d offer to let you stay with me, too, but all I’ve got is a couch, and that’s seen better days. If I were you, I’d live with Zelda. I’m only a lowly grad student and under-paid assistant at the third most popular local television station in the Delaware Valley.”
“Hey, a job’s a job. Plus, you said it’s got lots of potential for you to get promoted, right?” I gave Gia a quick side-hug. “If I know you, G, you’re going to be running that place soon.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe. Anyway, like you said, it’s a job. At least I’m not living off my dad and mom anymore.”
“You should be proud of yourself, Gia. You’re working in your field, even if it is entry-level. You’re going to grad school. We’re actually all pretty lucky to have work we like.” Quinn laid her head on Gia’s shoulder, the top of her hair teasing my fingertips where they rested around Gia’s back, tempting me to reach just a little bit ...
Shaking my head, I tried to focus my attention anywhere else. “Zelda, what’re you doing? I don’t think you were settled on a job the last time I saw you.”
She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, which should have looked ridiculous, but somehow only seemed adorable on her pretty face. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Tuck shift uncomfortably in his chair.
“Oh, I totally sold out, didn’t you hear? I was supposed to be living in genteel poverty, interning at a farm-to-table co-op. But instead, I’m working for a political action committee, advocating for increased funding for farmers who are growing food using sustainable practices.”
Whoa.“You lost me right after ‘committee’. Can you say it in English?”
Zelda grimaced. “Basically, I’m doing a lot of talking and meeting with politicians to try to get more government money for farmers who are committed to raising crops in a way that’s better for the environment.”
“It’s not selling out. Don’t pay any attention to her.” Quinn shook her head. “She just says that because she always thought she was going to end up living on a commune with hippie farmers, raising organic crops.”
“Are there still hippie farmers out there anywhere?” I wondered.
“If there are, Zelda would find them.” Tucker spoke up for the first time, his gaze resting on her. “But what she’s doing now is helping even more farmers. Just because something pays well doesn’t mean it’s selling out.”
“I think that’s the actual definition of the term, but whatever, right? It lets me have a bitchin’ apartment in the city. One that has room forallmy friends.” She stared pointedly at Gia. “I told you, G, you can share with me. It’s closer to the television station, and I’d love the company.”
Gia nodded. “I know, and I appreciate it. But I want to be on my own for a little while. It’s important for me to know that I can do it. And right now, I’m not very good company for anyone.”
We were all silent for a few moments. We knew why Gia wanted to be on her own. Between her wildly dysfunctional family and the rollercoaster ride that had been her relationship with Matt over the past four years, and then his suicide ... we could all understand why she needed some space. I wondered if I were the only one worried if giving her too much space was that good an idea. I made a mental note to be more consistent about staying in touch with her.
An older couple I didn’t know came into the den, pausing in front of Quinn to say goodbye and offer one last bit of condolences. I watched the wall go up over her face as she sat up, shoulders stiff and smile forced. Only when they turned away, heading for the front door, did she slump again.
“People are beginning to leave, I think.” Zelda met my eyes, both of us thinking the same thing: what came next? How long did we stay?
On Gia’s other side, Quinn stretched her neck and resettled herself into her corner of the couch. “You know, this is the worst part.” When Gia frowned at her, questioning, Quinn continued. “Last summer and last fall, when we knew Nate was going to die, sometimes I’d think about how I was going to get through it all. You know, when my dad died, it was so sudden that we didn’t think about anything before it happened. We couldn’t. But with Nate, we could see it coming. So I thought, well, when we say goodbye to him, when he’s aware for the last time, that’ll be hard. When he actually dies. When they come to take his body away. When I have to sit through his funeral. And all of those were pretty horrible, don’t get me wrong. But this ...” She looked around at all of us. “This has been the best part, being with all of you. And now that everyone’s leaving, it’s the worst part, because it means I have to start living again. And I have to figure out how to do that.”
