Page 53 of Taking Turns

She sits on the table next to the bags of cheap food and starts eating a French fry. Her long legs cross and scissor together, like she’s stimulating herself.

“So,” I say.

“So,” she says, unwrapping her fish sandwich and taking a bite. “What’s your rule?” she asks, her mouth full as she chews. “I hope it’s to fuck me sideways, because I’m horny.”

I smile at her. Then laugh. “That’s not my rule.”

“Goddammit.”

“My rule is to learn something about you. And tell you something about me.”

“Who makes these rules?” she asks. “Who enters a plural relationship with stupid rules like no fucking and more talking?”

I laugh again. Maybe she’s not half bad after all. At the very least, I might enjoy her company.

“Which one do you like?” Chella asks, pointing to the bags of food. “If you tell me that, we can knock your stupid rule off our to-do list and spend the rest of our time having sex.”

Yeah. I could like her. I point to the Wendy’s bag. “I got me a triple hamburger.”

“Oh, I’m going to like you a lot, Quin. We’re gonna get along just fine. I know it.”

I sigh, sit at the table so she’s across from me, and take out my burger. “Sorry,” I say. “I’ve been a dick to you and you don’t deserve it.”

“I do deserve it,” she says, eyes downcast. But she looks up at me for the next part. “I tricked you and I’m sorry too. I know I already told you that, but I mean it. It wasn’t nice and you got hurt. I’m not here to hurt you. I swear.”

I know I shouldn’t ask. I can hear Smith’s words in my head, warning me to leave it alone. But I have to. I have to hear it from her. I need closure. “Why are you here, Marcella?”

She finishes chewing her food, gets up to get us two glasses of water from the kitchen, and then takes a long drink before answering. “Smith said not to encourage you, but I don’t care. I’m going to tell you how it happened. OK?”

“Do you know where she is?” I ask. Praying, praying, praying.

“No.”

I hate my life. “Do you know why she left?”

“No,” she says again. “I promise. I don’t know either of those things. And if I did, I’d tell you. But I’ve been thinking about this for a week now and I have some idea of why she chose me.”

I nod and frown. I shouldn’t let her tell me. I should drop it, wish Rochelle good luck in my head, and then leave her behind like the baggage she is.

But I can’t. I just can’t.

“I think she set me up.”

I stop my pity party and look at her. “What do you mean? How?”

She tells me a story about a book in a used bookstore down on the 16th Street Mall and I start to feel sick. She tells me about how she bought it, how much she paid for it, and what it means to her.

I slump in my chair feeling defeated and alone.

She tells me about how they became friends. And how Chella used to go watch her play in small venues every Sunday night. And then she tells me about the offer. About what Rochelle told her about me.

“She said she loved you and that it was never going to work out.”

“She said that?” I ask. “She said love?”

Chella nods. “Love, Quin. But she told me that you couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say it back. That you guys had no future and she needed to leave or Bric would find out and he’d make her leave. She wanted to end it on her own terms.”

I knew it. I knew it was because of that time she broke the cardinal rule. “Did you tell this story to Smith?” I ask.