Brynn squeezes my hands and her lips pull into a straight line. “You’re right,” she says. “And have you thought that maybe you don’t know what he’s going through?”
With that, she turns the faucets off and leaves me alone in the bathroom with a hell of a lot to think about.
What could Quinton possibly be going through that can compare to the loss I’ve experienced this year? The problems he’s dealing with are only there because he created them.
We don’t have anything in common. Of that, I’m positive.
So I don’t know why I look so ashamed when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Nine
Wandering back into the now empty event space, I go out of my way to avoid the corner where Brynn has pinned down Quinton. The loafers I threw on this morning are blissfully quiet as I cross the room as quickly as possible to talk with Jen.
Jen Ingram, manager of the Rue, the event space we’re using, has been a lifesaver throughout this project. While I fully knew I could create a beautiful and memorable event in a month for Quinton, finding a space large enough to host it that wasn’t booked was another story. So when she called to let me know the Rue had opened up, I jumped on it.
The distressed hardwood floors and the exposed brick walls give this historic building instant character. Between the hundreds, maybe even thousands of balloons—I may have gone a little overboard—the acrylic chairs, and the string lighting that will soon be going up, this event will be the perfect mix of old and new. Something that goes hand in hand with the issues at the heart of what the evening is going to be about.
“Hey! Don’t forget to give me the caterer’s and the balloon lady’s numbers. I need to store them in my computer,” Jen says when she sees me approaching. “And I’ll email you the new contract with the updated price. Sound good?”
As Jen sat with me and Hannah, the owner of Modern Balloon, her eyes got wider and wider as the designs set in place for the event space were listed out. Hannah had barely left the table before Jen offered to take fifteen percent off the price she’d given us if we let her use the professional pictures from the event in her marketing campaign. I probably should’ve asked Quinton if he was okay with it before I agreed, but what can I say? Your girl’s a sucker for a deal!
“Sounds perfect.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and forward her the phone numbers before I forget. “Done!”
“You’re the best.” She tucks the clipboard with the checklist I emailed to her yesterday under her arm. “I’m just putting it out there: We’ve been thinking about hiring an in-house event planner. I know you have a job, but if you ever consider a career change, the job is yours.”
I file that offer in the back of my mind. “Just wait a couple months and I might take you up on the offer.”
“I’m serious,” she says. “You’re really talented at this, both visually and with the numbers. We’d be lucky to have you.”
I decide to let her think I wasn’t being serious when I told her to wait a couple of months. Nobody needs my heavy baggage laid on them on a Saturday. And despite really not wanting to care about this event anymore, I’m secretly really excited for it.
It has nothing at all to do with Quinton, but I wasn’t lying when I told him I’m a details girl. And big events like this are comprised of nothing but details. From the napkins to the color scheme to the guest list to the budget, no detail is too small.
After my dad passed, I was able to distract from the pain by throwing myself into planning his funeral. And it worked so well that I haven’t really stopped. I guess you could say busywork has become my coping mechanism. Because ignoring the problem completely instead of facing it head on has never backfired on anyone in the history of humanity.
“I appreciate you saying that, really.” Especially since I’m not sure Quinton is actually aware of how much work I’ve put into this event. We spend the majority of our time together focused on the foundation itself. I only ask him questions for the launch when I really need to.
“Appreciate what?” Quinton, the stealthy fucker, says from right behind me.
“Nothing.” I plaster on my professional “the person who just became a potential job lead is watching” smile and turn to face him. “Are you ready for the launch?”
“I am.” He looks around the empty venue and an almost wistful look crosses his face.
“I think this is going to be one of the best events we’ve ever hosted. Elle really did a great job picking all of the vendors,” Jen cuts in. “And I know this is to launch your new foundation, so what exactly is your foundation about?”
Quinton looks to me for permission to answer. I told him in no uncertain terms he was not allowed to discuss his foundation with anyone. I mean, what’s the point of a reveal if everyone already knows what it is? But I’m still kind of shocked he’s listened to anything I’ve told him.
“She signed a nondisclosure agreement,” I tell him. “You can give her all of the details.”
“Aw shit, looks like I found my new therapist,” he says and a surprised snort slips from my mouth.
It’s not that he’s funny, per se; it’s that he’s always so serious and even when he jokes, he does it with a straight face. My dad had the driest sense of humor ever, so even though I will never tell him, I do find him pretty funny when he’s not being a total jerk.
“No, but seriously.” He shakes his head and reveals
