Page 90 of What We Got Wrong

Maybe she was short in her responses, too. And maybe Quinn had even missed some of their scheduled phone calls. Maybe part of the reason that she was so upset was because she wasn’t holding up her end, because she knew, really, she knew, that she wasn’t even being a good friend to Liv.

She thought she was doing a good job, though, of being around Emma and the others on the team, of pretending to be okay. She was her normal, smiley self, thank you very much, and she was managing her emotions. It was nobody’s business that she wasn’t okay, that she was spiraling. Nobody’s business if she was circling back to the gym at her apartment each night to run on the treadmill until she exhausted her body enough that she could pass out, regardless of what it was doing to her training.

So, when Emma knocked on her apartment door early on Saturday morning, the day before Liv was scheduled to fly in, Quinn just looked at her in confusion, because she had no reason to be at the apartment. They’d met almost every Saturday of their college career to swim slow laps in the pool. It didn’t make sense that Emma had shown up, unprompted, at Quinn’s door, standing there with a concerned expression, holding a pillow, a blanket, and two grocery bags, the contents currently hidden to Quinn.

“I thought we were meeting at the pool,” Quinn said.

“We’re taking today off,” Emma replied, pushing past Quinn. She stopped in the kitchen, setting one of the bags on a shelf in the mostly bare fridge, and then plopped herself down on the couch, chucking her pillow on the end and throwing her legs up, making herself at home.

“I’d prefer not to,” Quinn told her, picking up her gym bag. “If you want to hang out here, that’s fine, though. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, okay?”

Emma maintained eye contact in what could only be described as a stare down. “Coach asked me to talk to you.”

Oh, sure. Because Emma was the team captain this year. Quinn had basically campaigned for her, hyping her up with the team and the coaching staff, and she’d won the vote overwhelmingly.

“About?” Quinn asked.

“You’re running yourself ragged and posting slower times than last season, and my dear, beautiful friend, you look like shit,” Emma answered honestly.

“Well, that seems a little uncalled for,” Quinn replied, rolling her eyes.

“I could be meaner if you want,” Emma responded. She patted the cushion next to her and waited patiently until Quinn sat down before she pulled the blanket over each of them. “I’m not going to make you talk to me. But you are going to rest this weekend. I brought over snacks, and I’ll make lunch and dinner later, and we can watch movies or reality TV, and you’re not allowed to be out of my sight for longer than a quick trip to the bathroom.”

Quinn held her gaze again before cracking. “Okay, I want to be mad…but it’s kind of hot when you boss me around.”

“Oh, I know,” Emma replied, winking at her with a naughty grin.

Quinn settled in with Emma, allowing her to be a distraction. She brought Quinn’s favorite candy—Reese’s Cups and Mike and Ikes, which Quinn affectionately referred to as Mike an’ Dykes—and Emma fed her two real meals, and they watched about a half dozen cheesy rom-coms and very loudly didn’t talk about what was really bothering Quinn.

At least, not until that night, after dinner and well into another film, when Quinn looked up at Emma and finally asked, “Have you talked to her much?”

“Mmhmm, I have, almost every day,” Emma replied, pausing the movie and turning her whole body towards Quinn, recognizing the importance of this talk. “She’ll be here tomorrow?”

“She will,” Quinn confirmed.

“Have y’all not been talking?” Emma asked, trying to be gentle.

“We have. Also pretty much every day,” Quinn said. “But it feels different.”

Emma took a long time to respond. “Yeah. She’s been a little distant?”

“Exactly,” Quinn said, throwing her hands up in the air. “It’s like she’s already checked out. And I know I’m probably making it worse, but what the fuck are we doing?”

The compassion on Emma’s face made Quinn feel exposed, especially when she paired it with, “How long are you going to do this to yourself, buddy?”

“I know you don’t like us together,” Quinn huffed.

Emma laughed. “That’s not the issue. For so many reasons, but no. I think you’re both amazing, and I think you could be amazing together.”

“What?” Quinn’s jaw hit the floor.

“You’re in a toxic situation, though, and I think you’re so good together, in some ways, that you’re both afraid to end it,” Emma corrected.

“Well, thank you, Dr. Hart,” Quinn said. “I thought I was the Psych student.”

“I get to read and write about great literature, I’m a student of the human condition,” Liv replied, adopting a faux sense of grandeur.

“You wrote your final paper last year analyzing sex scenes in different genres of romance novels,” Quinn reminded her.