This Is Home

by Lisa Duffy

  “What didn’t he want?” I ask. “The family or to be home?”

  “Either,” she says quietly.

  I look down at the picture. At Quinn’s husband. And suddenly, I’m certain. The nose. His lips. He’s the guy at the party at Jimmy’s. The one in the crowd in the kitchen, moving, shifting, just out of reach. Disappearing right in front of me.

   14

  Quinn

  All week she’s avoided Bent. She can’t shake the feeling that he’s somehow on the other side of this—on John’s side—is how it forms in her mind. The conversation by the fire replaying in her head over and over all week, the way he said doesn’t mean he was a good husband.

  He’s hiding something from her. Protecting John in some way. Maybe she’s just imagining it, but he’s avoiding her too. They used to pass each other when she left for work or came home, and she hasn’t seen him once this week, but she hears his footsteps on the stairs after her door has clicked shut. Quick, as though he’s rushing to leave so he won’t run into her.

  Then she feels paranoid for thinking this.

  Midweek, she got tired of herself. Sick of waiting for her life to make sense again. Once, she gave over to the feeling, to the overwhelming unknown, and Desiree’s face popped in her head, the way she’d asked Quinn why she hadn’t unpacked.

  There was something in her voice when she’d said it—as though she was sizing up Quinn. Wondering if she was the type who needed a man to guide her. The type who couldn’t even unpack by herself.

  As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she realized how absurd it was—she’d been doing this life all by herself anyway. With John overseas, she was basically single—no different than what she was now.

  And the way they all just did it. Like they were on some sort of mission. Desiree had returned with the picture-hanger thingy, Lucy behind her. While Quinn unwrapped dishes and glasses and silverware, Lucy and Desiree assembled the table and hung the heavy mirror and moved couches and bureaus and Quinn’s massive headboard.

  She painted the kitchen and the dining room, getting up early before work to paint the trim and rolling the walls after she got home from work, the radio on and the windows open, the apartment finally looking as though someone lived there.

  Lucy came back on Friday to help her finish decorating.

  And for the first time in her adult life, Quinn likes her house. No—loves. She loves this house.

  The way the light streams through the windows in the morning and the sounds she falls asleep to at night.

  In the dining room, there’s a built-in hutch filled with her mother’s china, unpacked for the first time ever—there wasn’t space for it in their duplex—and every time Quinn walks by it, she pauses and studies it, feels her mother right there in the room with her.

  She’s thanked Desiree and Lucy over and over for their help—even left a thank-you note and a plate of brownies by their front door—but it still doesn’t seem enough.

  Which is why when Desiree asked Quinn to come to her yoga class, she agreed. Quinn thought the idea sounded odd—power yoga in the backyard—and Libby overheard Desiree talking about it and whispered to Quinn: She just needs bodies—live subjects.

  Quinn wasn’t overly fond of yoga—she’d rather go for a run or take a spin class. But Quinn said yes anyway. How could she say no when Desiree had been so helpful? She even agreed to bring a friend, but then she realized she’d lost touch with everyone from high school except for a couple of girlfriends who didn’t live in Paradise anymore, so she mentioned it to Madeline, not expecting her to come.

  But she did, bringing the twins with her, walking into the backyard and over to Quinn, who was standing on her mat wondering what the hell Madeline was thinking bringing the boys to a power yoga class, until Madeline leaned over and whispered, “There isn’t babysitting here?” Quinn explained, for what seemed like the millionth time, as if it weren’t obvious, that this was not a gym and the instructor lived here.

  Madeline squinted at her, looking confused, and the boys saw Libby on the back porch and raced over to her.

  Before Quinn could follow them, Desiree started the class, and when Quinn turned around, Libby and the boys were gone.

  Now the class is over, and Quinn’s soaked in sweat.

  She has been sitting on her mat, pretending to watch Desiree demonstrate a headstand pose that looks suicidal, but really, she’s just too tired to get up, and the sun feels warm on her face.

  Madeline is next to her, lying on her back with her eyes closed, as though she didn’t arrive with two children who have been gone for the last hour. She probably thinks Libby is the babysitter instead of just a girl who also, like the instructor, happens to live here.

  Quinn sighs and stands up to go in search of the boys, when Desiree walks over, hands on her hips.

  “Okay, Miss I’m not very good at yoga,” she says to Quinn. “Not bad for someone who doesn’t do yoga often, never mind someone who’s preg—”

  “Madeline—the boys are back!” Quinn interrupts, her voice jarringly loud.

  Madeline sits up and blinks, looking behind her while Quinn shifts her eyes to Desiree and shakes her head to signal that Madeline can’t know about the baby. Desiree claps a hand over her mouth.

  The boys are playing on the grass nearby while Libby talks to Lucy, who had started the class on the mat next to Quinn, not following along and doing her own poses until Desiree marched over and whispered something in Lucy’s ear. Lucy frowned at Desiree, then picked up her mat and moved to the back of the yard, behind the last row of students.

  “Well, that was a success for a first class!” Lucy says brightly. “There must have been fifteen people here.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you were taking this class,” Desiree snaps. “I’m trying to teach, and you’re distracting everyone.”

  “No one cared besides you. Plus, I’m just trying to prepare you. When you start teaching in a studio, there will be distractions exactly like that. You’ll be dealing with strangers. Not just friends and family.”

  “Yes, because so many strangers pay for a yoga class so they can show up and not follow along,” Desiree replies sarcastically. Lucy sighs and purses her lips.

  “Well, I would come to all your classes,” Madeline says. “So many instructors are into that spiritual crap. You have sort of an angry shut-up-and-do-it vibe.” She smiles after she says this, and Quinn holds her breath, but Desiree shrugs and thanks Madeline, as though this is somehow a compliment.

  “They’re soul mates,” Libby whispers to Quinn.

  “We made you cards,” Nick says, walking over to Madeline and holding two folded pieces of brightly colored construction paper out to her, likely Libby’s idea. “For your birthday.”

  “It’s your birthday?” Lucy asks Madeline in an excited voice.

  Madeline rolls her eyes and nods. “As much as I don’t want it to be. But forty-five is the new twenty-five, right? Or something like that.”

  “But she’s not having a party like we did,” Nate says sullenly, and Nick nods. “Not even any presents.”

  “You gave me a present,” Madeline reminds him. “The mugs you made with Quinn—I love them.”

  Her voice is full of excitement, but the boys scowl and wander away while Madeline watches them with a worried look.

  “You don’t want to celebrate?” Lucy asks. “Desiree is like that too. She hates birthdays.”

  “You talk about me like I’m not standing right here,” Desiree says. “I don’t hate birthdays. They’re fine when they’re not mine. Not everyone likes to be the center of attention.”

  Madeline sighs. “I just feel bad for the boys. They’re excited to celebrate, and somehow I don’t think the lamb lollipops I have planned for later are going to measure up.”

  “I love lamb lollipops,” a voice from behind Quinn says, and she turns to see Bent standing behind them, an arm thrown over Libby’s shoulders.

  He’s in his police
uniform, and the twins stop what they’re doing and walk over to him. Nick’s eyes are on Bent’s gun belt, mesmerized.

  Madeline giggles, a sound Quinn has never heard before, and after they’ve been introduced, Bent drops to one knee, talking with the twins, who stand so close to Bent, they’re almost in his lap.

  Nate reaches out and touches the badge on Bent’s shirt, while Nick eyes the flashlight on his hip so intently that Bent finally hands it over, shows him how to turn it on. He tells them to take it into the garage, where it’s dark, but to be careful, and they run off, arguing over who gets to hold it.

  Next to her, Madeline is staring at Bent, studying him so intensely that Quinn takes a step away from her.

  “I’ve never seen a real gun,” Madeline says breathlessly. “It’s much bigger than I thought it would be.”

  “I get that a lot,” Bent replies innocently.

  “I bet you do,” Desiree says in a flat voice.

  “It’s Madeline’s birthday,” Lucy announces to Bent. “She’s making lamb lollipops to celebrate.”

  “Just for me and the boys,” Madeline explains. “Just a small celebration. Single-mom-type birthday, I guess.” She giggles again, and Libby rolls her eyes at Quinn behind Bent’s back.

  “Well, you’re in good company,” Bent says. “It’s Sully’s birthday too. He’s doing free apps for an hour and disco bowling tonight. You guys should all come down and have a drink.”

  “I want to go bowling,” Nick shouts, sticking his head out from the garage. Nate yells that he does too, and Madeline looks over at Quinn.

  “Oh, will you meet us? We should all go! How about you guys?” she says to Lucy and Desiree.

  “I’m the bartender, so I’m getting paid to be there,” Desiree says, holding up her hands like she doesn’t know how she was included in this impromptu invitation.

  “I’ll go. I can do my poses under the disco ball,” Lucy says, her arms in the air, and Desiree glares at her before she turns and stomps into the house.

  Madeline turns to Quinn. “Say yes. I promise it won’t feel like you’re at work. I’ll be on kid duty, I promise.” She doesn’t have a chance to answer before the boys are all over Quinn, tugging her hands, begging her to go.

  “Come with us,” Bent says to Quinn, his arm around Libby again.

  Libby looks up at him. “Us?” she says.

  “Come on, Libs. There’ll be free nachos. Hang with your old man for one night.”

  “I’ll stay for the free hour, but that’s it. I have plans.”

  “What kind of plans?” Bent asks, but Libby ignores him, and he looks away like he really didn’t expect her to answer anyway. “Come with us,” Bent urges Quinn again. “Seven o’clock?”

  She feels herself nodding, because he’s looking at her and what else is there to say besides yes. Bent smiles at her and waves, takes the steps two at a time, and disappears into the house.

  She walks with the boys, one on each side of her, swinging her hands, to the minivan parked out front.

  Madeline is trailing behind her slowly, and Quinn thinks she’d probably stay at her house all day if Quinn invited her. Which is why Quinn is buckling the boys in their seats, busying herself until Madeline has no choice but to get in the driver’s seat. Quinn says goodbye to the boys, shuts the door and steps back on the curb. Madeline motions for her to come closer, and Quinn walks forward, leans in through the open window.

  “Well, he’s attractive,” she says to Quinn. “If I wasn’t such an old lady . . .”

  “You’re not old, Madeline.”

  “Well, invisible, then. But it’s not an age thing. I’ve always been invisible to men. Skinny, high-strung, socially awkward scientist is a hard sell. Probably why I’m still single.”

  “You’re single because you work a million hours a week and hang out with two five-year-old boys on the weekends.”

  She groans, puts her head on the steering wheel. “You’re right. I have no life.”

  “You have a life. Just not a social life.” Quinn studies Madeline. “What about online dating? Make a profile somewhere. Go out on some dates.”

  “I tried that already. It falls apart in person. I’m more attractive in virtual mode.”

  Quinn laughs. “Who isn’t? You know what—don’t worry about it today. Come out and have fun tonight.”

  “I’ll need a stiff drink. All those hands on the bowling balls.” She grimaces, and Quinn gives her a look, and she holds up her hands. “I know, I know. Let it go. I’m trying, Quinn. Give me that, at least. You can’t say I’m not trying.” She waves through the window, toots the horn, and drives away.

  Quinn watches her leave, then turns and looks at the house.

  Her windows are open, and a new pair of curtains, white and clean, hang inside like a blank canvas. The hibiscus she planted has bloomed, the petals spread wide, soaking in the bright sun. Her house looks welcoming. More than that—it looks lived-in. It looks like her.

  She walks up the steps into her new home, thinking of Madeline. How maybe they’re not so different.

   15

  Libby

  I’m in my bedroom, staring at the picture of Bent and Quinn’s husband, when there’s a knock on my door. I stash the frame under some papers on my desk and yell that it’s open.

  Desiree appears in the doorway.

  She’s barefoot, still in her yoga pants, her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head, and no makeup. She looks so different that I can’t wipe the look off my face before it’s too late.

  “What?” she says, looking down at herself.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly. “What’s up?”

  “Don’t what’s up me. Why’d you just give me that look?”

  “I don’t know. You just look different.” I point to my face. “You know, no makeup.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Bad different?”

  I shake my head. “You should go without more often.”

  She walks in and looks in the mirror on the wall. Turns her head side to side, frowns.

  “No makeup reminds me of being a kid. A fat kid.” She puffs her cheeks out.

  “You weren’t fat. I’ve seen the picture books. You were just normal.”

  “Not according to my mother. Now, Lucy—she was a different story. Lucy and my mother were born like this.” She holds up her pointer fingers. “Straight up and down. And me, well I got the T & A—from my dad’s side.”

  “Your mother called you fat? Bent always tells me how sweet she was. How he wishes I’d met her.”

  “Oh, she wouldn’t say it like that. She’d tell me she had the most wonderful dream and in it, I was thin and beautiful and glowing. Or she’d buy my clothes too small, and when they didn’t fit, she’d tell me just to hold on to them, that with a little work, I’d get there. It wasn’t just me—Lucy got her fair share. My mother would tell her that no man was going to want a wife with her head stuck in an astrology book all day. A girl with her head in the clouds, she’d say to Lucy.” She laughs at the expression on my face. “Don’t look so traumatized. She was from a different generation. Married my father young and stayed home and raised us. She was happy, though. She wanted the same for us.”

  “And Bent? I can picture him as a mama’s boy.”

  “Oh, he was. But he also had to deal with my father. I remember he took a baseball to the mouth when he was seven or eight. A line drive right at him. Two teeth knocked out, and the only thing my dad said was stop crying about it. If you’re dumb enough to use your mouth as a glove, that’s what happens.” She laughs. “I think that’s why he became a cop. He’s going after the bullies one by one.”

  She turns, looks at me.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for today. I didn’t expect anyone to bring kids. Guess I should’ve thought of that.”

  “No problem. They’re easy.”

  Desiree had asked me yesterday to set my mat down in the back and follow along—she wanted the class to look fu
ll for one of her clients, a woman who was looking for an instructor to teach a two-week yoga retreat at her house on some tropical island.

  I overslept and rushed down the back stairs in the same shorts and T-shirt I’d slept in, and there were the twins—a lifesaver, in my mind. I’d sat on the floor and watched them make birthday cards instead of twisting myself into Desiree’s torture poses.

  “How’d it go?” I ask. “Did you get the job?”

  She shrugs. “She seemed impressed. I had her sit in front, so she didn’t see Lucy acting like a lunatic. With any luck, I’ll be spending the holidays in the Caribbean.”

  “So you and Sully are really over, then?”

  She shrugs again. “He’s still all, I don’t want my kid in day care,” she mimics, her voice low. “Translation: Desiree is the free day care.”

  “Why don’t you get a nanny, then? Like Quinn.”

  “What do you think, we’re the Rockefellers?” She twists her face at me.

  “It’ll work out. Look at all the couples who have kids,” I offer, aware that I have no idea what I’m talking about. My mother thought of our home as a jail.

  Desiree looks at me like she can hear my thoughts. “Well, it didn’t work out for my friend Liz. She’s got three kids, quit her job ages ago to stay home, and now the oldest is off to college and the youngest is in middle school and her asshole husband screws his secretary—you think it’s cliché, but it happens all the time—and now she has to find a job. You know what she’s going to be doing? Folding sweaters at the Gap for minimum fucking wage.”

  “Maybe just have one kid, then?”

  “Only children are self-absorbed. Everyone knows that.”