I smile at Holly when they’re done filling us in. She smiles back at me. There’s warmth there and also a tinge of concern on her part. I know, without words—as best friends do—that this wasn’t how she’d planned on telling me. And without words, I let her know it’s okay.
“Well, this calls for celebration,” Thomas says, tapping the side of his empty wineglass with his knife. “Drinks on Alex!”
We all laugh and give Alex a cheer.
“What?” Alex says, shaking his head at Thomas. “Okay, sure. Drinks on me.”
~*~
“Isn’t that crazy?” I say to Henry on the phone later that night. I’m lying in my bed, feeling a mixture of tired and giddy.
“I think it’s fantastic,” he says, his voice sounding even deeper over the phone.
“They’ve only been together like three months.”
“That seems rather short.”
“But they’ve known each other for a couple of years,” I say, not wanting Henry to judge Holly, even though it all did happen super fast. Which is not very Holly-like. But she’s been doing a lot of things that aren’t like her lately. I think I like this new Holly; it suits her.
“And this was your friend that’s been dating her ex-fiancé’s best friend?”
“And roommate,” I add with a laugh. “Yeah, Holly. And now she’s marrying her ex-fiancé’s best friend and roommate,” I say, attempting to imitate Henry’s accent and doing a miserable job of it.
“You should work on that accent,” he says, teasing me.
“What? I thought it was brilliant,” I say, attempting the accent again.
He chuckles. “I think just stick with the American accent thing, okay? Besides, your voice is quite sexy.”
“You think my voice is sexy?”
“I do,” he says, his voice a lilt.
“I wish you were here,” I say, my voice just above a whisper.
“Me, too.”
I turn over on my side, wrapping the hand that’s not holding my phone in my sheets. “So, listen, Holly and Logan are eloping in two months, in Vegas.”
I feel nervous telling him this because I’m about to ask him to go with me and I’m afraid that it might feel too big, too much, too soon. I don’t want to scare him off. But I want Henry there with me, and in the name of putting it all out there, I’m going to go for it.
“Brilliant, that sounds like a lot of fun,” he says.
“Want to go with me?” I ask. The words come out in a sputtering rush.
“To Vegas?”
“Yeah. I guess it’s not really eloping; they’ve invited our little group of friends, and their parents are coming.”
There’s a long pause on the other end. This doesn’t bode well.
“Henry?”
“I’m here,” he says.
“It’s not like you have to decide now or anything. It’s two months away.”
“Won’t that be weird?” he asks. “They haven’t even met me.”
“Well, we have two months. That should be plenty of time to get to know my friends. You’re going to love them. Well, everyone but Thomas. He’s an acquired taste,” I ramble nervously.
“I don’t know if I can commit to that, Quinn,” Henry says, his voice low and quiet.
I should have known; I’m such an idiot. Of course it’s too soon to ask him to go to Vegas with me. Stupid Quinn! What am I thinking?
“Sorry, it’s probably too soon to ask you that. I didn’t mean—”
“No, Quinn,” Henry says, his voice consoling. “I’d absolutely go with you. I love being with you. Hell, I’d come over right now just to give you a kiss if it weren’t so late. It’s just . . . well, with work and everything.”
“It’ll be over a weekend. We don’t have to take any time off,” I say, feeling so much relief that his reservations have nothing to do with it being too soon to ask such a thing.
“Yes, I get that. What I’m saying is, traveling together like that might get back to someone at work. It could be too risky,” he says.
I sit up in my bed, the relief I felt now overpowered by something else: frustration. “Henry, I don’t get it. How can keeping us a secret protect you from things happening like they did before? It can’t. You could end this right now, tell me that you can’t be with me because you think I’m the ugliest, fattest person you’ve ever met, and that would be the end of it. I wouldn’t make things hard for you at work because I’m not that kind of person. You can’t live your life in fear.” I can’t help the anger that pours out of my mouth.
“I know. I understand what you’re saying. I guess for me, it feels safer. If no one at work knows we’re dating, then things can’t get fully out of hand like they did with Claire,” he says.
My hand shoots up to my forehead, and I rub my temples. I now feel stupid for a whole other reason.
“Quinn?” Henry asks, his voice quiet on the other end.
I let out a breath. “What are we even doing, Henry?” I ask.
“We’re together. We’re dating.”
“No, we’re hiding. I know this is new, and I know neither of us knows where this is going to go, and I understand about the situation with Claire,” I say, choking out her name because she feels like a massive barrier between us. “But this whole secretive thing? It’s silly and fear driven, and I’m not sure I can do this for another two months . . . or . . . or even longer. How long, Henry?”
Henry doesn’t say anything—there’s only quiet from his side of the line.
“I . . . I need to go to bed,” I say. “We can talk tomorrow.” I hang up the phone before he can even reply.
I lie back in my bed, watching the ceiling fan move around and around, casting shadows around the room. Stupid tears well up and fall down the sides of my face.
My mind is in a war, so many thoughts coming at me at once. Part of me knows that this is all new, that Henry has issues, he’s afraid—with good reason—and I should just give him time. I like Henry, a lot. Isn’t he worth the wait? Does this count as me settling if I hang on, since it’s not exactly how I want things?
Another part of my brain is telling me that this could go on for a long time, and don’t I deserve more than that? Don’t I deserve better? How long will we be going back and forth to each other’s apartments, sending secret texts at work, finding clandestine places to kiss? How long? Will he ever meet my friends? Become a real part of my life?
I do some deep breathing that we were taught at camp. In for a count of three, out for a count of four. In and out. In and out. The breathing helps to calm my addled mind. I do this until I fall asleep.
Chapter 22
I haven’t really spoken to Henry all that much today. I’ve been avoiding him since I’m still feeling frustrated from last night’s conversation. He did send me a few texts: one telling me he was “v sorry” about our conversation last night and wants to talk about it, another telling me I looked “smashing,” and one that asked me to meet him in his office for what I suspect was a quick snogging, which I declined. It took all my strength to say no to that, but I somehow managed.