“Do you miss him, though?” Sofia asks. “I really thought you guys were true love, meant to be, all of it.”
“I really, really don’t,” I say, and thanks to the beer I don’t really have any filter to keep me from giggling at her crestfallen expression. “What? We weren’t going to last forever, trust me. I know that now. And in retrospect there were some gross things about Matty that I just seriously don’t miss, like him being way more of a stoner than I wanted to admit. Also that natural crystal deodorant was not strong enough.”
“So, are you just totally gay now?” Sofia asks, and I see Mariana try to subtly punch her arm. “What? I can ask that, right?”
“You can ask it,” I say. “But, like, I don’t really know how to answer it. I mean, like, I can; I identify as bi. I like girls and boys and people who identify as both or neither, you know? But also right now I like Quinn and that’s all that matters.”
“Is it because Quinn’s like a boy?” Mariana asks.
I glance across the yard at Quinn, who’s deep in discussion with a bunch of boys right now. I get what Mariana’s asking, and I guess I think about it for a second, despite that I know it’s of course not why I like her. Quinn does have tall hair like a boyband member and wear baseball shirts and boy jeans, and sometimes cashiers and baristas mistakenly call her young man, but also, Quinn isn’t a boy.
“It’s totally not because of that,” I say. “It’s just because she’s her. She’s like the best person I know.”
They let out a collective awww! “You have everything totally figured out,” Sofia says, and now I feel like such a fraud and a liar that my heart speeds up. I take a couple deep breaths, but it’s like my heart has a mind of its own. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but also it feels truer than medical science could ever explain.
“I guess,” I say, and throw my hands up like I’m the wacky neighbor in an old-fashioned sitcom, for dramatic effect. They laugh, so it works, but the lie tastes gross in my mouth.
Or it’s this beer. I hope it’s this beer.
Luke texts me the next week about an amazing internship he’s been offered, and even though I don’t understand the details, I know it’s a big deal.
I make a face at my phone. Why didn’t I think about that?
I text frantically.
Oh, no. Everyone keeps acting like it’s fine, but of course I knew deep down it probably isn’t. People like Sofia and Mariana might see me in the best possible light, but Luke, one of the people who knows me best, isn’t fooled at all.
I just want to have a good life and be a good person, I reply, and regret it immediately. It’s what a little kid would say, not someone nearly ready to go off to school. Luke just sends back the shrugging emoji guy, which sort of feels like he thinks I’m like a little kid, too.
We actually used to fight all the time, even though I looked up to him so much and always thought he could solve any problem, like a grown-up. But then Mom died and it didn’t feel like there was room in our family for any of that anymore.
The doorbell rings, and I’m thrilled for a distraction. Any distraction, like, even if it’s some shady character up to no good. But when I open the door, it’s no shady character. It’s Quinn, wearing an Oberlin baseball cap and a huge grin.
“You got in!” I shriek, and I throw my arms around her before she can answer. “Heck yeah.”
She laughs and leans in to kiss me. The Oberlin brim smacks me and it’s like a little high five. “If anything deserves a hell yeah . . .”
I punch her shoulder like we’re athletes who just won the big game. I feel like we did just win the big game. “See? I told you.”
“K, this is a big deal,” she says as the corners of her mouth turn down. Oh, no. “There was no guarantee I was getting in. I’m a hopeful computer science major struggling with calculus, an advanced math class, and it’s like you can’t even see it.”
“No, I know,” I say quickly.
“You don’t! You’re always like, of course you’ll get in, Quinn, and there was no of course! It was really scary for me and you refused to see it. You couldn’t see that I’m a person standing here, not some perfect girlfriend you conjured up.”
“But you are perfect,” I say, which makes her eyebrows furrow. “Quinn, to me you are. Why is that bad?”
“I’m real,” she says.
“Duh, what else would you be? Of course you’re real!”
“Things are hard for me, and I don’t succeed at everything,” she says, and it makes no sense to me, because I can’t think of a way Quinn hasn’t drastically improved everything. I think back to the night we met, how confidently she took charge of the kitchen, how I felt taking the first bite of the lasagna she made for me. Technically I didn’t even know Quinn was going to be an option for me until months later, but I also think I fell in love with her that night, this amazing girl who just knew exactly what I needed.
“But, like, you are succeeding.”
“I give up,” she says, and turns around.
“Quinn!” I call, but she doesn’t turn around. I start to race after her but her movement is so determined. And out of nowhere, even though I’m still not sure what I did wrong, I feel like Matty on my lawn begging me to take him back. And of course I never want to feel like Matty, so instead of dragging Quinn back to me, I watch her walk away.
“Hey, kid.”
I look up from my physics homework, though I’m only pretending to pay attention to it. My eyes are blurred with tears, and my brain can picture only the back of Quinn getting farther and farther away from me. The incredible shrinking Quinn Morgan.
“Diane’s, uh, over for dinner,” he says. “Thought you might want to come out and eat with us.”
“Why didn’t you tell me she was coming over?” I close my textbook and notebook and jump up from the bed. I turn to glare at Dad for the lack of warning, but he’s already headed back toward the kitchen. My mirror confirms I look like I’ve been crying big horrible tears for a couple hours, and I wonder if dusting on a bunch of powder will actually hide anything or only make me look like a sad, powdered sugar donut hole. I change my jeans and sweater for a dress, carefully fluff my hair, and walk down the hallway in as carefree a manner as I can muster.
“Hi, Kat,” Diane greets me. She’s standing at the counter drinking a glass of wine while Dad is serving salmon with veggies. I can’t remember the last time that he made this dish, but I’m positive Mom was still alive. It’s one of the only meals he’s good at that doesn’t involve delivery.
“Hi,” I say, and smile the biggest smile I can manage. “Dad, do you need help? Can I do something?”
He mumbles something that sounds a lot like set the table, so I gather plates and silverware and our one set of cloth napkins. Diane quietly joins me and helps me line everything up perfectly.
“Everything OK?” she asks me, and I’m prepared to lie but a stupid tear betrays me and courses a track down my cheek.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, before I go full beast. Dad’s girlfriend shouldn’t have to see or hear my snot.