The thing is, I mostly believe him. But he’s wrong. Something did happen. He planted doubt. There was one thing that was always certain for me—and that was that I could trust him. And what he did, took that away.
“You disappeared. Wouldn’t answer my calls. Didn’t tell me where you were or when you’d be back. Because you were with your ex? You can’t undo that. If it was so innocent, why didn’t you at least tell me what was going on?”
“You’re right. I screwed up. But after what happened the last time Caroline came to stay with them…You were so far away, and I was worried about what you might do.”
“There it is!” I jump up from the sofa and walk to the door. “I knew that was coming. Way to throw my mistakes in my face. Thanks for giving me even a little credit, Ben.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, shit! I don’t know what to say. I just want us to be okay.”
I pull the door open.
“Well, we’re not. And you need to leave.”
“Quinn, can we just talk about this?” He keeps reaching for me, and I keep pulling back, each time, yanking the front door open wider and wider. He wants to touch me. Like that will be the cure for this toxic situation. But it won’t. It’ll only make me hurt worse.
“No. And I’ll tell you why. Because I can’t stand your face right now. Go stay with Carter. Run back to Caroline. I don’t care. Just leave.”
He grabs the duffel bag he dropped by the front door on his way in and walks out. Gone. And for the second time, I’ve told Ben to leave. I’ve pushed him out of my life.
Maybe for good.
Alone.
Again.
Seventeen
QUINN
I wake up on the sofa, drool running onto my hand, and the sound of knocking on the front door pounding in my ear drums.
I open the door just wide enough to see who it is.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. I fidget with the end of my braid, weaving my fingers in and out of the hair.
Ben pushes past me without bothering to answer.
Come on in, please.
“I know you asked me to go last night, I know,” he says. His eyes are heavy. Red. Wounded.
“I did. So, maybe you could like, respect that?” I clutch my hip, trying to look like I’m standing firm, when really I’m just trying to steady myself.
“You’ve just got to understand. You’ve been gone for weeks. I haven’t seen you. I haven’t touched you….” I’m pissed. Beyond pissed. But the mention of his touch forces a chill down the length of my body. “And now you’re back and I’m supposed to stay away?”
His hand grazes over my shoulder lighter than a whisper. More like a memory.
“We’ve been over this,” I say.
“We’ve been over a lot of things.” he says. He rubs his scruffy, unshaved cheek. “We made it through last year. We can figure this out, too.”
“Maybe. Or maybe we just don’t work. I mean, really. Did we ever even really have a chance? Did you ever feel the way that you said you did? Or is it that once you got me, you didn’t want me anymore?” I start back toward the front door and open it for him.
Take the hint, Ben. I don’t have the willpower I used to. Not after everything we’ve been through.
“Don’t say that. I can fix this. We fixed it before.We can do it again.”
“I’m not sure you can. I just— I just need to figure something’s out. I need some time.”
“I’ll give you all the time you need, baby, just please don’t end this. Please.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing right now, Ben. I need sleep. And to try to make sense of why in the world you would up and leave to go visit your ex. I need to—”
“Marry me.”
He wraps his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me in.
I’m stunned to silence.
“What are you talking about?” Is all that I can choke out.
He presses his forehead to mine. It’s the closest we’ve been since we said good-bye at the airport last month. So much has changed since then.
He’s changed.
I pull away. In all the ways it’s possible to pull away from someone. I back away until I’m across the room and slouch into the windowsill, wishing it would swallow me up. That it led to some gateway to a magical place where hurt like this doesn’t exist.
“Don’t you understand that I trusted you? You of all people know how hard that was for me, Ben. And you killed that.”
“You told me a long time ago that beautiful things never last. But I think you’re wrong. I think they can. If you fight for them. If you let them change, Quinn. They can morph into something even better. If you make it work.”
I do remember saying that to him. On the deck at my parents’ house, the summer we first met. When I first fell in love with the boy who opened doors for me, refused to kiss me the first time without permission, and wouldn’t make love to me until he was certain I loved him back.
He closes the space between us.
“Marry me,” he repeats.
I push him away. “I’m not marrying you, Ben. I’m not. And I really think you should go.”
“That was part of the reason that I was late coming home,” he says. He tosses an envelope onto the coffee table and runs his hand along the back of his neck.
“Don’t bullshit me, Ben. You already told me the reasons. She was the reason.”
“You’re right. I was a bastard. I know that. I know I never should have gone there in the first place. And I never should have felt tempted, but I did. And when I was, I knew I needed to get out of there and back to you. I went back to Atlanta not knowing what the fuck I was looking for, and what I figured out was that there is this part of me that can’t ever be changed. And it’s because you own that part.”
“What does that have to do with this?” I ask, picking up the envelope and hitting my palm on one of the corners over and over again.
“Open it.”
I open the envelope and pull out a small piece of paper. I have to admit, I was expecting a photo. Something dramatic that would somehow articulate how Ben feels about me and everything would be good again. Instead, it’s a check. A big check. More money than either one of us thought we’d see till we were long out of school and established, respectable, real-life grown-ups.
“What is this for?” I ask. The check is made out to Ben.
“I sold a photo. Well, a pile of photos, actually.”
I want to rush to him and congratulate him.I want to tell him how completely proud of him I am, and how I knew all along that this day was coming for him—sooner than later. It’s what he’s wanted for for so long. But I can’t. I just can’t.
“Before I left town, I got a call from Ron that a friend of his owns a company that wanted to acquire some of my prints. They wanted to turn them into posters to hang in restaurants and offices and stuff. I had already arranged to meet the guy that day that I came home. I had to stop by his office on my way home and sign the paperwork and pick up the check.”
“I’m happy for you,” I say. I mean it. Or I’m trying.
“Aren’t you going to ask which pictures I sold?”
“They’re all good, Ben. Which ones?”
“The photos of the sunsets that I took for you. Ones that I had had all along, that I didn’t put enough value on.”The same way you didn’t value us.
He’s slowly walking toward me. I back up into the kitchen. I’m running out of places to back away from him.
“I will earn your trust back. I just need you to give me some time. I can fix this, I promise.” he says.
“Really? You broke my heart, Ben. Can you fix that?”
He reaches out for me again, but I put my hand up to stop him.
“Please, I can’t do this right now. Please just go,” I say.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I slide down the length of the fridge and crumple onto the checkered linoleum floor that I hate so much. I
pull my knees up to my chest and bury my face in them, not caring that my hair is plastering itself to the sides of my face with tears. What happened along the way that made Ben stop caring about me? What did I do? What would drive him to pay for a plane ticket that he can barely afford, to go and see a girl he shouldn’t be seeing?
Part of me aches to know every detail of what happened between them. Did they kiss? Did they do more?
The image of them kissing isn’t nearly as bad as the thought of Ben, in that moment before you kiss someone. How you have to connect with someone in order to get there. Is that what he was doing with Caroline? How many moments like that did they share? How many times did he pull her into his arms—the arms that are meant to hold me?
The doorknob turns, and even though I just asked him to leave again, my first reaction is to hope that it’s Ben. But it’s not, it’s Shayna.
“Hey, Carter said you were home,” she says. She crosses the room and sits next to me with her legs crossed. “I missed you!” She wraps her arm around me and pulls me in.
“Are you going to pretend like you don’t know what’s going on?” I ask.
“Of course not, are you crazy?”
“Good. Did he stay at your place last night?”
Shayna shakes her head. “But Carter saw him on the way out, or, to be clear, Carter saw him punch his car in the parking lot and went to intervene. It’s a nice car, you know?”
“Right,” I say.
“I think he was going to stay up at work or something. But doesn’t it make you feel a teensy-bit better to know that he isn’t as perfect as you always gave him credit for? That he’s way more human than any of us thought? I tell you one thing, I’m relieved. I know you must be, too.”
I never thought about it like that, but it doesn’t make me feel any better now that she’s pointed it out. Ben was my solid. The one that I didn’t have to doubt, or wonder if he was on the verge of screwing up.
We sit in silence for a few minutes. I should ask her how her Christmas was, what kind of loot she got from her folks, but I don’t care about any of that, and I can’t even fake it right now.
“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” Shayna asks.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s New Year’s Eve? What are we doing? Carter and I can come over and watch movies, or something. We won’t even expect you to cook. We’ll spring for the takeout!”
I bury my face again and start to sob. I can’t help it. Ben and I were supposed to be spending New Year’s Eve together. Why are we having to spend another holiday apart?
“My parents got me a shit-ton of gift cards to restaurants in the area, so you can pick. They had it in their heads that since I don’t have a job, I’m not eating well. Clearly they didn’t realize what a culinary force you are—” Shayna finally takes a breath when she realizes that I’m shaking. “Wait, are you crying? I thought you were laughing, Quinn. Shit, did I make you cry?”
“I’m not laughing,” I say. I look up at her, my face stained with tears and makeup and pain. “And I don’t want to do anything tonight. Just leave me alone, please.”
“No.”
“Huh?”
“No. How long is this whole Kurt Cobain-flannel wearing-I wish it were the nineties-thing going to last? Because it’s ridiculous, and so not you, Quinn.”
I look down at my flannel shirt. I love this shirt. And I sort of hate Shayna right now.
“Shayna, just go away. You and Carter go and do something fun, I’m great here.” The shirt stays, Shayna goes.
“Quinn, I’m not leaving you here alone, in this pitiful pool of tears,” Shayna says.
Oh, for the love of Christ, why do I call this person my friend?
“Please. I just want to be alone right now.”
“No.” Shayna shakes her head at me. “We talked about this at school, how when you’re hurting and you push the people away that are trying to help you, you are only dragging your pain out. Get dressed. Put on some make-up. It’s the whole fake-it-till-you-make-it thing. Embrace it.”
“I can’t,” I say, pathetically. “Not this time. I don’t know how to be okay right now. I just want everyone to go away.”
Shayna hoists herself off of the laminate floor, grips my shoulders and looks me dead in the eye. “You can do this, Quinn. You can do this without falling apart. He fucked up, and you’re entitled to feel hurt and anger and like complete and total shit. But don’t let yourself become a victim of your victimhood. Don’t let this destroy everything you’ve worked so hard for. You are not that same girl from high school. I know it. And you know it, too. Now, buck up. And put your party dress on.”
Eighteen
QUINN
I don’t put on a dress, but Shayna and I do compromise. I take a shower at least, and put on fresh clothes so that we can drive to pick up Chinese. It’s not much, but I’ll give Shayna a little credit, it does feel good to be out of the apartment where Ben’s stuff is everywhere.
“Carter called while I was inside picking up the food,” Shayna says, arranging herself in the passenger seat and piling the bags of takeout between us. I pull a wonton out of the bag and pop it into my mouth, even though it’s really too hot to be eaten yet. It’s one of my bad habits— never waiting for food to cool before I eat it. Ben is always mocking me for it— how I claim to love food so much, but I don’t even wait for it to cool off so that I can actually enjoy it, rather than dancing around the kitchen, fanning my mouth and complaining about how hot it is.
“And, do we need to stop somewhere else on the way back?”
“No. Don’t get pissed—”
“Too late.” I interrupt. With that kind of warning, on today of all days, it’s a sure bet.
“So, I guess Ben showed up at your apartment while we were out. And Carter told him he could stay with us until you guys figure stuff out.”
“Traitor.” And he calls himself my brother.
“Quinn, come on. Where else is he going to go?”
“You’re right, it’s fine. It’s completely fine.”
“So, he can come hang out with us for dinner and stuff, right?”
“Pushing it, Shayna.”
“Think about it, at least. Do you really want him sitting in our apartment, alone, while we’re all ringing in the New Year three doors away at your place?”
I reach down and turn the heat up, since it’s actually pretty chilly in So Cal this week, and it almost feels like a proper winter. “We should have gone to Claim Jumper and got some chicken noodle soup,” I say.
“We got wonton soup,” Shayna says.
“Yeah, but I love that soup on cold nights. Oh well, I guess I can make some tomorrow.”
“Sure thing. I love how you’re pretending that soup is on the forefront of your mind. Not that, I don’t know, you kicked your boyfriend out.”
“I had to,” I say, warming my hands in front of the vent until the traffic light turns green and it’s my turn to go.
“No, no you didn’t. Listen, I know he screwed up. I totally think it’s insane that he flew all the way out there to help some broad out. And I especially think it’s crazy that he didn’t even bother to tell you. But boys do ridiculous, insane things all the time. He’s really good to you otherwise, Quinn. And you know this.”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m doing what I think is best, I’m sorry if it doesn’t live up to your expectations.”
“That’s the thing, it does. It totally lives up to everyone’s expectations of the old-Quinn. But you aren’t her.”
But I am.
I glance over at Shayna and out her window, I see a man standing on the corner. He has no coat in this weather, a bag over his shoulder, and his thumb up in the air. Shayna follows my eyes over to him.
“Don’t even think about it, Quinn,” she says.Her voice is firm and laced with a little fear.
“It’s freezing out, Shayna. He looks harmless.” I steer my Prius toward the hitchhike
r. As I get closer, I realize he doesn’t look as benign as I first thought.But still, it is cold out. He must realize that I’m planning on picking him up, because he lets the large duffel he has on his back slide down on his arm and onto the ground, and he flashes a big, toothy (and fine, a little bit creepy) grin at me.
“So help me, Quinn, if you pick him up I am walking home. That means that you’ll be alone with that killer.”
“Judgmental much? He’s not a killer. Or, it’s not probable.” I shrug. I pull my car over to the side of the road and hit the button to unlock the doors. Shayna reaches back behind her seat and slams the lock back down into place.
“Okay, I was wrong. You are the same Quinn. The same, reckless, dumbass Quinn. You made your point. Now take me home and then pick up all the strange men you want.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I’m scouring my fridge for food that isn’t expired since Shayna took all of the Chinese goodies to her apartment and isn’t talking to me, but it appears that Ben hadn’t shopped for anything but Ramen noodles and microwave dinners while I was gone. No wonder he wants me back, how could he survive on this shit?
I finally find a few ingredients that I can manipulate into a halfway decent meal when the pounding on the door begins. It’s not a knock. It’s so loud it makes me wonder if the person is getting a running start and careening into the door.
“Christ on a cracker, hang on!” I yell.
I open the door and for the second time today, Ben pushes past me.
“You picked up a god damned hitchhiker! Really? What the hell were you thinking, Quinn?”
I stare back at Ben. Shocked that after what he did, he’s standing here. Angry at me.
“I didn’t—”
“How about we don’t do this whole routine of self-destructive bullshit just because you’re hurting again.”
I slam the cabinet shut and stomp toward him.
“Number one, I didn’t pick him up. Number two, if you think that I’m going to risk my safety because you were an asshole, you greatly overestimate what you meant to me.”
I watch the sharp words leave my mouth, twist through the air and pierce into him.
Beautiful Things Never Last Page 12
