by Ivy Jordan
The sight of Quinn, relaxed against the counter with a coffee mug in her hand, talking to my mother as she flipped pancakes caught me by surprise. I hadn’t been in touch with her since the last time we’d slept together, and though I certainly wasn’t hostile towards her, I had some things I was trying to work out on my own. Still, I could hardly duck back into my room and pretend I hadn’t seen her. She smiled at me and waved me over.
“Good morning,” she said.
I offered her a smile in return. Did my mother call her over? The more disturbing thought was that she’d hunted my address down to talk to me. Mom was making pancakes, though, not asking questions as I knew she would if Quinn had sought her out.
“Sawyer, aren’t you going to say anything?” Mom squeezed my shoulder.
“I…”
“He smiled,” Quinn defended. She handed me a mug of coffee. “Is Sawyer always quiet?”
“We thought he was mute for a time,” Mom said.
“Mom,” I protested. I carried a platter of pancakes to the table and mentally prepared myself to be ruined for ever being taken seriously by Quinn again.
“It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption,” Mom pointed out. “You didn’t say anything until you were almost two and a half. And then you spoke in complete sentences!”
“What?” Quinn raised an eyebrow.
I wondered if there was some sort of psychology that revealed itself to her when she learned that. If, by knowing that I was a late talker, she could deduce everything about my personality. I frowned and began to serve myself as everyone sat down.
“It was the darndest thing!” Mom exclaimed. “One day we were all sitting around the table, and Sawyer looked up at me and said, ‘May I be excused?’”
Quinn laughed as she served herself a pancake.
“Scared the devil right out of me and his father both.” Mom shook her head.
I didn’t see Dad around. I presumed he’d gone to work early. Being an accountant, I imagined, was a terribly high-stress job that demanded intense hours on the weekends—that or he was avoiding me again.
There was a slight lull in conversation, so I thought to ask the question that bothered me most.
“Quinn, what brings you by?” I asked. I tried not to be too point-blank about my questioning. I knew I tended to be too blunt and I didn’t want her to think I didn’t want her there. Although, part of me didn’t.
“I called her over,” Mom cut in. She raised an eyebrow at me like she knew exactly why I was suspicious and didn’t want me raising hell about this. Which was absurd—I wasn’t particularly offended, or even upset. I was just confused as to why Quinn was in the kitchen on a Saturday morning.
“She just wanted to talk to me,” Quinn said.
“I thought I ought to get to know her better,” Mom said. “Since she’s been helping you out in therapy and all.”
The woman knew how to play her guilt cards. Both of these people knew I’d skipped the last meeting, and without even saying it outright, they’d brought that issue front and center, forcing me to acknowledge what I’d done.
“I will certainly do what I can do make the process easier,” I said since that didn’t explicitly state what I’d done wrong.
“I’m not worried about it,” Quinn said. “Honestly, three times a week is a lot to keep up with. A little room to run around is good for some patients. It helps them to develop independent plans.”
“I don’t know that Sawyer has those quite yet,” Mom said. “All due respect, honey, just that you got back so soon.”
I took a sip of decaf. “Actually, I had some plans of my own,” I said.
“Oh?” Quinn and Mom both looked up.
It was hard not to feel bad that they were so shocked to hear I was getting a move on from the whole therapy business. The truth was, I didn’t feel like it could help any more. Talking to Quinn probably could, but I didn’t need to be in therapy to talk to Quinn. At least, I didn’t think so. There was so much we still needed to talk about.
“I wanted to go out and look at houses today,” I said. “I don’t have a lot saved, but I have enough to start seeing what’s available.”
“That’s a lovely idea!” Mom cheered. “You know, you should take Quinn. She knows the area!”
“I know the area,” I retorted. I didn’t need to be chaperoned.
“A lot has changed since you left,” Mom said. “And the real estate market has changed enormously, especially in the city. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone around who knows it.”
“I bought my house pretty recently,” Quinn said. “But if you want to go alone, I understand.”
“No, no.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“It’s a lot first thing in the morning,” Quinn reasoned. She smiled, and I couldn’t see any trace of irritation on her face. How she managed to remain so patient with me, I would never understand.
When we finished breakfast, I started to do the dishes.
“No, I’ll take care of it,” Mom said. “You two go on.”
“You made breakfast,” I insisted.
“Don’t you argue with me, Sawyer.”
And so we went. I led Quinn out to my car and held the door open for her. I wasn’t sure exactly what to say to her. The last time we’d spoken, I’d run off, and I’d made a big deal about ignoring her since.
She spoke first as I pulled out of the driveway.
“Where are you looking to get land?” Quinn asked.
I twisted my mouth to the side, thinking. “I’m not sure exactly where,” I said. “I know I want somewhere with some land. I want some kind of a farm, not anything huge, but you know. Away from the noise, with some dirt.”
“Doesn’t your friend Pete have a farm?”
“Yeah. But I’m not looking for something that big.”
“Well, you won’t find anything in the city, then,” Quinn ascertained. “There’s a suburban area right outside of Austin, but I think you’re looking for something a little past that. There’s a good stretch of nothing if you take thirty-five; you get to a bunch of farmland that way.”
“That’s where Pete’s farm is,” I said. The very first time I’d visited, years ago, I’d accidentally ended up in San Marcos because I’d missed that exit. “I don’t want to get too close to the college in San Marcos, though. It can get kind of backed up, and they party a lot there.”
“I know,” Quinn said. “One of my old boyfriends from college went to school in San Marcos. He was barely ever available outside of parties.”
I made a face. “That’s not a good look.”
“Nope. But dating in college is largely stupid.”
“I don’t feel like I missed out on anything,” I agreed. From what I heard, it was a lot of angst and tests, and even if I hadn’t had a massive issue that led to me needing to join the military, I probably would have done it anyway. “I wouldn’t have been able to stand college.”
“Really?” Quinn leaned back and set her hand on the side of the door, tapping the window button but not pressing it. “I loved college. You just take your tests and don’t worry about anything else.”
I nearly shuddered. “Yeah, but all those classes? Hours and hours of lecture, sitting at a desk, learning about some shit that happened years and years ago…”
“Maybe in history,” Quinn said. “But that stuff is still important.”
I shrugged. “I’m certainly glad that you went to college. It wasn’t ever going to be for me.”
“Can’t you get college for free with veteran’s benefits?” Quinn asked.
“I think. I’m not sure.” I yawned and started getting off the freeway.
The first patch of land we found was ideal. It was a small house, two bedrooms and one bathroom, with a decent kitchen and a little living room. The people selling it weren’t home, but I sat outside with the paper from the sign outside for a moment, looking over what it said sat in the interior. There was a nice
porch in the back, and in the front, too. It came furnished, which was a big plus.
“Is this enough land?” Quinn asked. She held her hand to her forehead, squinting at the sun as she looked out onto the area. Now, in the spring, it was as alive as it was going to get, with bluebonnets sprawling in every direction and some Indian paints twining up to meet them. I set a hand on my hip and looked out onto the scene.
I could see a vegetable garden being set up behind the house. It sat on a small hill, not so big as Pete’s but then the area wasn’t as big either. A vegetable garden would fit nicely behind the house, and then downwards I could do something with that land or just let it grow. I took a few steps to get a better look behind the house and saw a tank.
“Oh, shit.” I grinned to make sure I wasn’t mistaken. “There’s a tank back there.”
“A tank? Like a military tank?”
I laughed. “No, no, like a small lake.”
Quinn peered around the house. “They’re called tanks?”
“Yeah, they’re manmade. You can put fish or whatever you want in ‘em.” I rubbed the back of my neck and smiled. “They’re great for fishing in the spring and fall. You can get catfish, too, for the summer.”
When I turned around, Quinn was watching me with a sort of all-knowing smile on her face. “It’s definitely quiet,” she said. “You don’t think it’s going to be too isolated?”
I shook my head. “Couldn’t get too isolated.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“It’s not that I hate people,” I said. “I just like the quiet. It gets to be too much sometimes, all the people with their cars and impatience and nonsense. Out here all you have to do is work a little and mind your own business.”
We walked back to the car. Quinn looked out the window at the house.
“What if you get lonely?” she asked. “What if you want someone to talk to?”
“I’m not going to the moon,” I pointed out. “I can always drive into town.”
Quinn twisted her mouth to the side and adjusted the air conditioning vent. “Well, I would get lonely,” she said. “But it’s not my house.”
“You like the city?”
“I love it. It keeps me awake, in a way. Reminds me that I’m not quite so important.”
“I think you’re important.” I frowned at her insinuation.
Quinn didn’t say anything more a moment, and I worried that she didn’t want me to make any advances—and I hadn’t intended to make any advances in my remark anyway, but I wasn’t about to argue about that if she’d taken it that way.
Right as I was about to apologize, she spoke.
“You know, I think you should still see a psychiatrist,” Quinn said. She rubbed her wrist bone. “Even if you don’t see me, I think you should see someone.”
“I don’t know.” I put my blinker on and got on the highway. “I don’t think another psychiatrist can help me all that much. It’s rare for me to be able to talk to people.”
“You should at least try.” Quinn shook her head. “Look, it’s not… I’m not saying that you’re guaranteed a super great meeting with a different therapist. But I can’t help but feel awful with what’s happening. I basically ruined your shot at a professional therapy experience with me, and you shouldn’t not see one.”
“You did not act alone,” I reminded her. I was every bit as responsible as she was, if not more so.
“Maybe. Still, I… I can’t rest easy knowing that something happened that you’re not talking to anyone about.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Are you?”
I frowned. I’d been stupid to argue.
“Exactly.” Quinn ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “I don’t know. You don’t have to, obviously. But I think you should talk to someone.”
“Is that in your professional opinion?” I asked, attempting to lighten the mood.
“As a matter of fact, it is,” she returned, with much attitude and a smile.
“Well, then I guess I have no choice but to think about it.” And I would think about it, whether I was thinking about doing it or thinking about how I wasn’t going to do it.
“That’s a relief,” she said. “Thank you.”
I hoped she wouldn’t hold me to it for long. I didn’t want to deal with finding someone else, trying to adjust to someone else, and spending hours in a therapy office with a person I didn’t like burning money I couldn’t afford to burn. But most of those things were an insult to Quinn, so I kept them to myself.
“On one condition,” I said. I had an idea forming in my head.
“What?”
“I’ll give another therapist another go,” I said, “if you’ll agree to give me a second shot at dinner.”
“What do you mean? Dinner went well, I thought.” Quinn adjusted herself in the seat to face me more.
“Dinner itself, yes. But I recall embarrassing myself enormously shortly afterward.” As we drew closer to Austin, I turned off of the highway and onto a feeder road.
“Oh, that wasn’t so bad,” Quinn insisted.
“I want a shot at redemption,” I reiterated.
“Then you can have it,” she said. “I’d certainly like to go to dinner again. Tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night,” I agreed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
QUINN
I did my best not to show that I had something else on my mind during the day while Sawyer and I went out and looked at houses. Well, looked at a house—he’d gone home after the first, seemingly set. I didn’t understand how he could live so far out in the middle of nowhere and be perfectly happy. I needed to live in a city with Chinese takeout and excellent cell service. It wasn’t that I was pampered, it was just my lifestyle preference.
Either way, the entire day I sat on the conversation that I’d had with Stacy the day before. When I got a call from Sawyer’s mom, I’d almost expected it to be about Stacy, but it wasn’t; she’d merely wanted to have me over for breakfast to talk about Sawyer. We hadn’t ended up talking about him, not much, but it was good to see her all the same.
I was too involved with him, a part of me knew. At this point, it wouldn’t be easy to just walk away. I’d made connections with his mother, talked to his ex-girlfriend, and had spent a large amount of time with him. Although I’d already deemed our patient-doctor relationship hopeless a few times, it was worth naming it hopeless once more.
Seeing him looking for houses, making progress, it was enough to keep me from sharing any details about Stacy. I didn’t want to burden him. I didn’t want to drop any bombshells on him unless I knew for sure he’d be able to handle it, and I didn’t know that for sure. He wasn’t seeing a therapist, after all—we hadn’t discussed it explicitly, but it seemed Sawyer wouldn’t be coming back. I thought about what Babs had said and wondered if I could still help him as a romantic partner.
No. Not the same way. There was a special part of the patient-therapist bond that brought many people to it—patients didn’t have to worry about their relationship with their therapists, for the most part. They could share whatever they wanted about themselves and not worry that the therapist wouldn’t like them, or that the therapist would be angry. Now, I was in a place where Sawyer’s perception of whether I liked him or not mattered. That threw everything out of balance.
I decided that the best place to go to work through the issue was the source of the original advice: Babs. I drove directly to her house, almost a little vengeful, needing more information. I’d trusted her advice, and now I felt more lost than ever. I didn’t know how to manage this anymore; Babs knew how to manage everything, always confident, or maybe she’d just stopped caring about anything anymore.
When I reached her house, the doorbell was broken, so I knocked, and then knocked again when I got no answer. I looked down at my phone to try calling her to see if she’d answer, and reprimanded myself for not calling her first, and then the door came open.
/> “I heard you. I was taking a piss,” Babs complained.
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for sharing. Do you have a minute?”
“Yeah, yeah, come in.” Babs waved me inside, and I took a step in. It didn’t smell as strongly of pot, which led me to suggest that Babs wasn’t high this time. She’d also taken a shower, judging by the look of her hair, and so I had a feeling that I was going to be speaking to a much more level-headed Babs than I had last time.
“I have a complaint about the advice you gave me,” I told her.
She sat down on her couch and I sat down at the other end of it. One of her cats mewed at me from across the room.
“Excuse me?” Babs raised an eyebrow.
“Things are weird with Sawyer now,” I said. “Well, sort of. He doesn’t know I talked to Stacy.”
“Woah, what? She’s supposed to be in rehab right now.”
“I know, but she bailed. I don’t know if she like, escaped, or if her time is up, or what.” I honestly hadn’t even thought to ask. She came and went from rehab so often that it wasn’t so much a question of how she’d gotten out so much as when she’d be back in.
“Weird. When did you talk to her?”
“Yesterday. She showed up at my office.”
“What?” Babs sat back and glanced at her bowl on the coffee table like she wasn’t sure whether she was still high or not.
“I know.” I sighed. “She wasn’t mad or anything. Well, she was kind of mad, but about the same stuff. Fuck the system, I hate my parents, all that stuff. But she kind of made a point of talking to me about Sawyer.”
Babs cringed.
“Yeah. She didn’t threaten me or anything. She actually kind of gave me her blessing, even though I didn’t explicitly describe the relationship between us.” I shook my head.
“Yeah, but why would she turn up at your office just to say best wishes and then leave?” Babs asked. “It’s weird. What did Sawyer say about it?”
“I didn’t tell him,” I said.
Babs groaned and threw her head back. “Quinn, you’re killing me here.”
