AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Quinn Cooper:
Not this time?
Erik Varg:
No.
I just had a lot to think about.
Quinn Cooper:
Want to talk about it?
Erik Varg:
Back to you not sleeping either…
No one gets up this early. That is serial killer level shit. 3 am is still considered late-at-night.
Quinn Cooper:
I think I find that offensive. I’m not a serial killer. My criminal proclivities are less murdery.
Erik Varg:
Should I be scared right now?
Quinn Cooper:
Of course not. I’d never hurt someone I care about.
Two weeks later, I’m back in Chicago and back into my routine. Well, not really my routine, but I think this may just be my new version of normal. Wake up, check my phone for a grand total of zero messages, hit the gym, work, come home, check again, work more, turn on a hockey game, check one more time, go to bed.
I spent the first week waiting for a message from Quinn, watching my silent phone with rabid intent. After the first few days of nothing, I even put the ringer on. My theory was that she’d be more likely to text me if I needed the phone to be silent—in an important meeting, for example. I was wrong.
It wasn’t complete radio silence. I got a quick response when I reached out first, but nothing like the conversations we’d been passing back and forth before my second trip to Quarry Creek.
So as week one ended and week two began, I pulled back, too. Quinn is on my mind from sunup until sunup again, but if she needs space, then that’s something I can respect. I’d overwhelmed her, stormed her defenses a little too vigorously, even when I knew I wasn’t meant to be more than a footnote in her story. A few nights of brain-melting sex, a few dates that I’d tuck into my memory forever, and nothing more than that. Except…
She cares about me.
That isn’t arrogance. It isn’t me bragging. It’s the knowing that seeps deep into your bones when like recognizes like. She feels for me the way I feel for her and there’s fuck all we can do about it because we are not only separated by multiple states, and our jobs, but also by cancer.
Quinn is barely holding on, in her own mind, as she handles the day-to-day of her dad’s treatment. She’s been pushing her reactions so far down that she’s in danger of detonating. Combusting until nothing remains but broken shards of the woman I love. My history, no matter how healthy I am now, is fuel on the fire. Because no matter how hard Quinn tries to pretend that she has everything under control, she cares deeply, worries with her whole being.
So while every fiber of my being is urging me to crush the space between us, there’s also a little voice in the back of my mind telling me she’s doing us both a favor. It’s well past time for us to let this temptation, this pull, die a natural death. Quinn was smart enough to stomp on the brakes. I can try to do the same. Try being the operative word.
My phone rings and I don’t lunge for it because I’m trying here, but it’s a near miss. I’m not expecting it to be Quinn. I’m not, but my brain still shorts out and warmth spreads through my veins just in case as I answer the call.
“Hi Erik,” my mom says down the line, and I knew it wasn’t Quinn. I did, but my stomach pitches at the familiar voice. “Is this a good time?”
It is, and it isn’t.
Even a month ago I would have said no time was a good time to chat with my mother, but I’m working on that too. Trying here, too. We aren’t calling every day. We aren’t sharing inside secrets, but this is our third call this week and while I still hold my breath every time the conversation hits a lull, it gets a little easier every time.
“It’s fine, Mom.” I say and open my refrigerator. “How are you?”
I pull open the crisper drawer and look at all the produce. I don’t want to cook anything, I just want to keep busy. It’s easier to make it through each call if I’m multitasking. Not because I want to ignore my mother, or get through the back and forth faster, but because I have less time to overthink each answer. I’ve heard the stories of long-time friends coming back together after years apart, chatting as if no time has passed. That doesn’t always apply when the original relationship suffocated under guilt and fear and silence. We’re easing into this together. Me and mom. Me and Vic. I have to believe that the results will be worth it.
