Page 60 of What We Got Wrong

Quinn scoffed at the ridiculous question. “We are not now, nor were we ever, ‘going steady.’”

“You know what I mean, dude,” Mel responded, dropping her hands. “What happened?”

Quinn quirked an eyebrow, and Mel, understanding her less than subtle nonverbal communication, slapped her shoulder, offering out her hand for a high five. “Don’t be gross.”

“I’m just, like, weirdly proud of you,” Mel said.

“You’re proud of me,” Quinn replied, snorting.

“I am,” Mel insisted. “It’s been ages since you got laid.”

“Are you keeping track?” Quinn responded.

“Oh, of course, you’re basically the star of my diary,” Mel answered, her faux sweetness going wicked around the edges. “And you have this whole…broody, confronting-your-past-demons thing going this week. So, yeah. I’m proud of you.”

Quinn rolled her eyes. On one level, she got what Mel was saying. It hadn’t been that long, she thought, since she’d hooked up with someone, maybe…four months, if her memory was correct, when she’d gone on a date with a woman who she’d met on an app. They’d talked for a few weeks, with decent banter through the messaging feature in the app, so she’d scheduled the meetup.

It had been…fine? Dinner was fine, the conversation was fine. Quinn’s date was beautiful, there was no denying that, and she’d dressed to kill in a bright red dress that clung in all the right places. When she’d asked if Quinn wanted to come home with her, Quinn hadn’t thought twice. They’d hooked up, and that, too, had been fine.

Quinn hadn’t stayed the night, and neither had reached out after that, the lacking chemistry clearly apparent to both.

Quinn could see, though, how four months must sound like a lifetime to someone like Mel, who regularly had multiple sexual encounters within a week.

“Did you two talk about what happens next?” Mel asked around a mouth full of pancakes.

“A little? I mean…we’re just going to get through these next few days. And if more opportunities arise to…” Quinn stopped at this, allowing her friend to fill in the blank for herself. “Then we’ll let it happen, and at the end of the week, that’ll be that.”

“Hmm.” Mel was thoughtful for just a moment before slyly adding, “So maybe some things are fixable by fucking?”

Quinn dragged her hands over her face. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” Mel corrected. Quinn rolled her eyes, but again. Her friend wasn’t wrong. “So…was it good?”

“I’m not answering that,” Quinn replied.

“I tell you about all of my hookups,” Mel responded, a sense of outrage filling her tone.

Quinn held up her hands. “I never asked you to!”

“Here I was, thinking that I provided you with endless entertainment, and you don’t even appreciate it.”

“Of course I do, you’re the star of my diary,” Quinn replied, trying to sound droll. She broke when her friend laughed, amused at her own words being thrown back at her.

“Can we talk about Rhea Stewart?” Mel asked. “You literally partied with her last night!”

“I mean, you did. I more had an existential crisis in her general vicinity,” Quinn said.

“This is true, but still.”

“I know. I need to call Emma. And my mom, geez, she’s going to love that story,” Quinn replied. “I don’t know how to tell her without bringing up Liv, though, and I’m not sure I want to go there.”

“Is your mom not a fan?” Mel asked.

Quinn could tell she was trying to piece together the puzzle, and she didn’t want to give her anything, but she softened at the question. “Quite the opposite.”

Mel’s shocked expression was over-the-top, but when she spoke, all she said was, “I’m so confused.”

Quinn groaned, slumping in her seat. “Yeah, buddy. Join the club.”