“Sounds like you’re a scaredy-cat,” she says.
We’ve hashed out this conversation dozens of times over the years. But she doesn’t really care about this topic today. This was evasion, pure and simple.
“Mother—”
“Ooh, you know it’s serious when you bring outmother.”
“Please stop playing around.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll ease up,” she says, lifting the hand not holding the phone before her eyes go soft. “I’m so proud of you, sweet boy. This big, beautiful life you’ve built for yourself. People who love you and the world to explore and a fancy job you get to do forever.”
Despite all the time and effort she’s put into understanding my life, she’s never fully grasped what the “tenure track” portion of my job title means. I’m not even close to lifetime security yet. There are plenty of reasons someone on the tenure track may not get tenure, and losing tenure at Billings would put me back at square one. Or worse, in the adjunct faculty pool, where contracts are unreliable and pay is shittier than underpaid elementary school teachers. And if I lose my position, there’s no way I’d be able to pay for a kitchen renovation. Shit, we’d probably have to sell Momma’s house.
I drop my head forward. I can feel the weight pushing my body down on itself. I won’t fail her. I can’t.
There’s a familiar pang—a combination of fear, frustration, guilt, and regret. I could have chosen something more stable. I knew, even back then, that it was my job to help my family. Yet I gave up my business degree for something that wasn’t a guarantee. I’d been miserable with all of those numbers and metrics freshman year of college and I love my life now, but enjoying my work will mean nothing if I can’t support my mother.
“Will you at least think about telling Quinn how you feel?” she asks, bringing me back into the moment and the perfect girl sitting thirty feet away.
“Of course,” I answer. “I’ll think about how I’m not gonna do it.”
She barks out a laugh. “You’re a pest.”
Her smile’s bright enough to shine across the Atlantic, and I feel a tug deep in my gut. “I had to get it from somewhere.”
After we say our goodbyes, I turn back to our restaurant and spot Quinn with Inez, head thrown back like she’s bowled over by her amusement. Her laughter—my favorite sound in the world—echoes off the concrete and cobblestones, settling into my bones and easing some of my anxiety. We aren’t together, but she’s by my side, easing some of the stress and fear, and that’s enough.
7
QUINN
MAY — TWELVE WEEKS TO WIN OVER THE FACULTY
I’m going to collapse.Any second, my tiredness is going to win the fight against the multiple espressos pulsing in my veins, and I’ll drop to the ground like Sleeping Beauty.Here’s your precious princess.
I spent the past week putting out fires with Inez, everything from talking down freaked-out parents to finding out that the school space we’d rented has also been rented to another university for part of the summer and we’ll have to share. She’s been on a problem-solving high all week, right up until yesterday, when she remembered the orientation she has to host today.
We sat up all night practicing, finally going to sleep a couple hours before the sun came up, and I don’t do well on little sleep. I either turn into a hyperactive, sleep-deprived clown or an over-emotional demon, but I don’t have time for a nap. So here I am, hyped up and pacing our living room.
When the bathroom door flies open, I try to stop my pacing in its tracks, but the combination of caffeine jitters and sleep-deprived sluggishness don’t pair well together, and my feet endup tangled underneath me. My body continues forward, and I reach out to brace myself, only for my hand to come down on Colton’s wet, hard chest. He grips my hip to steady me, but not before my body lines itself up perfectly with his.
My brain short-circuits. It’s the only logical explanation for why I can’t pull my eyes away from the contrast of my pale hand against his bronze skin, or why my fingers push more firmly into the muscle, testing the strength buried beneath. I can’t be responsible for the deep breath I take, inhaling the woodsy scent mixed with something so undeniably him, laced with memories of laughter and tears and so much love.
Colton bends his knees slightly to catch my gaze, his brows pulling together in confusion even as his lips kick up. “Quinn?”
I push away from him faster than I’ve done anything in my life, taking a solid five steps back until my legs hit the coffee table.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Where are your clothes?” I ask manically, apparently combining both of my sleep-deprived identities into a hyperactive demon.
He glances into the bathroom and then back at me like I was speaking Aramaic. “I… just got out of the shower.”
I sputter, trying to latch on to something logical. “I just think if we’re all sharing this apartment, we should keep our clothes on.”
He rolls his lips together, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that makes his biceps do ungodly things. “Does my nakedness bother you, Chaos?”
Yes, his wet, naked body bothers me, but he can’t know that.
