Friend Is a Four Letter Word (28 page)

“And anyway, I don’t know why I’m going to all of this trouble, since it’s just us.” She tightens the tie on her apron and marches across the black and white linoleum floor like a woman on a mission.

“So what if it’s just us?” I say. I pull the oven mitts off and cross the room to her where she’s piping icing onto a chocolate pie. I nuzzle my face into her neck and breathe in the familiar smell of her.

“Sooo
…
You know, Thanksgiving is a
family
holiday,” she says. She gives a small shrug, just that same quick jerk of her shoulders that she rolls out when she’s most stressed out.

“Hey,” I say. I touch my fingertip to her chin and angle her face toward mine. Our noses touch, and I kiss along the familiar band of freckles that runs along hers. “You.
You
are my family.”

She nods, because it’s all she can do. We’ve been down the family road more times than I can count in the last few months.

Because I want to be sure this feels like family for her. That
I
feel like family for her.

We’ve settled into our one-bedroom studio in Southern California, right down the hall from her brother, Carter. And Quinn
…
well, for once, she seems happy. Content. Safe.
Grounded
.

“I just
…
” Quinn says, accidentally squeezing the icing bag so hard, she leaves a blob of the stuff on the pie. Quinn lets out a gasp and starts to do damage control, and I watch her turn a gooey blob of cream into this gorgeous flower with quick precision. When it’s all better, she sinks back against the edge of the counter, but her relief only lasts a second. She looks at me and holds her frosting smeared hands up in defeat. “I just…”

I press my index finger to her lips.

“Don’t. Seriously. Just don’t. Let’s enjoy this. It’s our first Thanksgiving here.” I take in the apartment, small as it may be. Its walls are covered in my photos and shelves lined with Quinn’s favorite cookbooks. We’ve made it our home, and I feel a sense of pride in that, because I feel like even though she lived in a nice place with her parents before this, that this is her first real
home.
The first place that she can just be her and it’s okay. Better than okay, because we’re together. At least for now.

Fuck, why do I keep thinking things like that? It’s just a month. It’s nothing in the grand scheme, right?

“Okay,” she says. She checks her watch, the face fogged with smeared icing. “My brother and Shayna won’t be here for another thirty minutes. I mean, if there was anything else you wanted to do
…
until then
…
”

I don’t wait for anything else. I wrap my arm around her waist and pick her up until her back is against the wall and push my lips onto hers. “Like what?”

She playfully jerks her head toward our bedroom. I shake my head.

“Nope.You.Here.
Now
,” I growl.

I hoist her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist just as I slam her back into the wall.
Gently
, of course. No more begging her to stop before she pushes me too far. In this new life, she’s all mine.

I pull her hair back away from her face and kiss her throat. “You’re beautiful,” I say.

“I love you,” she says. And as the words tumble from her lips, they squeeze at my heart just like they do every single time she utters them, because I know exactly how lucky I am—
we are
—to be right here. “But you’re going to have to be quick.”

“Quick I can do,” I say, lifting her hand and licking frosting off her fingers.

“Don’t I know it.” Quinn winks.

“Just for that, you’re getting a long session
…
in the bedroom.”

I carry her into our bedroom and let her fall back onto the mattress, and start working on the buttons on her shirt.

“We don’t have time for all that,” Quinn says, swatting my hand away. She reaches out and undoes my belt. She doesn’t quite get it all the way undone before my phone starts buzzing in my pocket.

“Don’t even think about it,” she says, her glare so sexy, I’m glad the phone buzzed when it did.

“Never.” I grin.

She reaches into my jeans for the phone. Maybe she plans to toss it across the room. Or onto the nightstand. Or even out the window. Right now, I don’t really care where the hell it ends up. I just want her, as soon as humanly possible.

But instead, Quinn stops.

She holds the phone out a little and her brow pulls down, like she’s focusing hard, making sure her eyes are seeing it right.

“Baby? What is it?” I ask. I reach out for the phone, but she yanks it back. She crawls backward off of the bed and stands several feet away from me.

“Why is
Caroline
calling you? Today?”

Ben frowns back at me. His eyebrows are pulled together in confusion, or annoyance, or maybe a thin line between the two. “I have no idea, Quinn. Come back over here.”

But I don’t. Instead, I clutch the phone closer to my chest and shake my head. I don’t understand why things can’t just be okay. Why in the middle of our first holiday in this apartment is his ex-girlfriend calling? The same ex-girlfriend whose appearance spiraled our relationship out of control last year?

“Quinn, if you want to know why she’s calling, just answer the phone. I don’t know, and I sure as shit don’t have anything to talk to her about.”

I roll the phone back and forth in my hands and consider his words. I take two steps toward him. His dark eyes and the small nod he gives tell me he gets that it’s hard for me to take steps forward, rather than running.

“Or, just ignore it, and come back over here. I promise I can make you forget.” He reaches out and links his index finger through my belt loop and pulls me back into him. I don’t push away. We spent so much of our past with me yanking back and Ben grasping for me.

“I’m sure it’s just because it’s a holiday
…
right?” I hate the jittery shake in my voice.

“Mmhmm,” He murmurs against my mouth.

“But like, has she called before?”

“Quinn.” Ben rolls his head around and sighs like he wishes to god I’d let this go. “She may have called once or twice. But I never answer. I think she’s just lonely.”

“And?” I press him back, hold out for more. I want to know why the hell this is all coming up and out now and if any of it ever would have if I never saw that call. And then I wonder if any of it matters.

And I realize that, even if it doesn’t matter to Ben, it matters to me. It matters whether I want it to or not. And I hate that.

But at least I’m not running away from it.

Though running would feel so
…
clear. So freeing. This is messy as hell.

“And Caroline doesn’t have a ton of friends.” I hate that I can relate to her at all, but in that way, I can. “But you,” he says. He pulls me in and his thumbs rub circles on my hip bones making me shiver. “You’ve just got to trust me.”

“I—”

The knock at the door interrupts us.

“That’s my brother,” I say, half truly reluctant to answer the door, and half completely relieved to have an excuse to end this for now. Ben just stares up at me like he’s contemplating pretending we aren’t home like we’ve done before. “We should, like, go answer that…”

Ben laughs and stands up to adjust himself while I re-button my flannel shirt. “Hey.’ He stops me in the doorway of our bedroom.

“I love you, Quinn.”

And I believe him. I do.

“Shayna, what is that?” I ask, trying to swallow a laugh. My brothers’ girlfriend rolls her eyes and sets the pan full of burnt crust onto the counter top.

“Peach pie, obvs,” she says, gesturing to the murky goo with a confused smile. “I thought it’d make it feel more like home.” Her voice drops off a little. I want to say something snarky, but Shayna looks sincere. She’s really the only one of us in the room that has a family worth going home to for the holiday, and, instead, she chose to spend it with us assholes.

Shayna showed up in Southern California a few months ago wanting to spend her summer here rather than in the soaking humidity of Georgia and has pretty much been a permanent fixture ever since. Plus, she sort of helped Carter get sober, so I owe her. She and Carter have a complicated relationship, in that she is completely into him and he isn’t ready to settle down with anyone, especially since he just stopped drinking, but Shayna makes him happy so she stays.

“Ben, you want to watch the game?” Carter asks, looking at the kitchen he so doesn’t want to be stuck in with a weird panic.

Ben scoffs. “Really, dude?” He jokes because sports are so not his thing, but he follows Carter into the living room anyway as a mercy gesture.

“So, what’s up with you two?” Shayna leans over the countertop and watches me scoop the stuffing out of the way-too-big turkey, settling in for the conspiratorial chat Carter knew was coming and was desperate to avoid at any cost.

“What do you mean?” I am taking an unfair amount of aggression out on the innocent turkey hanging on my counter.

She applies a slow coat of lip gloss and scoots a little closer, pushing a bowl of cranberries out of the way with her newly manicured finger. “I mean, he’s usually attached to your hip. But he’s in there watching golf or something.”

“Football,” I correct with a snicker.

“Whatever. What’s going on?” She raises an eyebrow and bumps her hip against mine, like in solidarity. That one tiny gesture gets me to put down the stuffing and consider letting it all spill. Without my high school best friend, Sydney, around and with no real friends other than Ben here, I’ve been lonely. Shayna’s olive branch is so damn tempting right now, it’s sad.

I inhale sharply. I could tell Shayna that Caroline called. I could. She’d understand. She’d probably even call her back. But Ben told me to trust him, and I do.
I have to.
Because doing anything else only proves that I haven’t changed, and I think I have. I hope I have. I don’t want to ruin this bubble of perfection by being the girl I used to be.

“Do you eat sweet potatoes?” I ask Shayna.

“Huh?” At the question she purses her shiny lips and narrows her eyes.

“Sweet potatoes? Do you like them? I made a sweet-potato soufflé. I’ve never made it before, but if, you know, if they’re not your favorite then who gives a crap if I screwed it up, right? Ben says he can take them or leave them—”

“Quinn, cut the crap. What’s going on?” She leans forward, her long hair grazing the counter with the food on it. She doesn’t seem to notice. Or care.

I stab at the bowl of stuffing with my fork. “Ben’s ex.”

Shayna smiles and drags her eyebrows together all at the same time. “What about her? Wait, you’re not worried about her are you?”

“She called today,” I admit, my voice revealing every petty, stupid thing I’ve been trying to pretend I don’t feel since the call came through.

“What’d she want?” Shayna asks, her eyes sharp on me.

“I don’t know. He didn’t answer. But why is she calling at all?” I shove the stuffing bowl away and brace my hands on the counter.

Shayna looks over her shoulder toward where the guys are sitting on the couch, Ben silent and confused, Carter jumping up and screaming at the TV every minute or two. “Has she before?”

“He says he isn’t sure. Maybe.” I follow Shayna’s line of sight and try not to focus on how much I love Ben’s confused face. I need to clear my head, and getting dopey over how he frowns just a tiny bit when he’s watching a football game isn’t helping.

“Do you believe him?” The question is wide open, and I know Shayna won’t judge me no matter how I answer.

“Why would he lie? She’s all the way in Kentucky. He’s here with me. There’s nothing to worry about, right?” I whirl back to the oven and start the laborious process of jamming remaining dishes that need to be warmed into the tiny appliance, glad for the sweaty, frustrating distraction.

Shayna comes to the side of the oven to watch me and shrugs. “I don’t know. Sometimes, people don’t need a reason to lie. They just can’t help themselves.” Have I mentioned that Shayna is a psych major? She throws out these helpful, paranoia-inducing tidbits all of the time.

“Ben isn’t like that,” I say as I manage to wrestle the oven door shut with a satisfying slam, smoothing the wrinkles in my apron, trying to iron out my nerves in the process.

“Let’s hope not.” Shayna pipes leftover icing onto the tip of her finger in neat little swirls and eats it off.

So much for a friend to take the place of Syd. What I wouldn’t give for my sweet bestie’s nauseatingly sunny spin on life right now. This is payback for all the times I gleefully rained on her little optimism parades just to be a sour asshat. “Thanks for the confidence-building talk, Shayna. I can tell you’ll go far in your chosen profession.”

“The truth hurts, baby,” Shayna says with a wink as she consumes dangerous amounts of icing. I don’t smile back. She tosses the icing bag aside and tilts her head down to see my face.

“Oh, come on, you know I’m kidding. For whatever reason, Ben is crazy about you. You guys have a good thing going here. Don’t blow it with your insecurity, Quinn.”