“That was amazing. Beyond amazing. And I, uh, brought some friends.” It’s frustrating that I’m still anxious around her, this adult I’m trying to prove myself to. I do some quick introductions.
“It wasn’t too boring for all of you?” Maxine asks. She seems genuinely touched that I brought people with me.
“Nowhere near,” Tarek says. “I had no idea you could do things like that on the harp.”
Maxine smiles. “That’s what I try to convince people. Even Quinn.”
“I’m fully a convert, don’t worry.”
Someone calls her name. “I have a few more people to thank, but I appreciate this so much.” She raises the bouquet. “Quinn, I’ll see you this week? And thank you for coming. Really,” she says with a quick squeeze of my hand, and maybe she really didn’t think I’d be here.
We all decide to grab some food nearby. My parents won’t be home until late, so I might as well get my mileage out of this lie. Before we go, Julia announces she has to go to the bathroom. “Quinn’s coming with me,” she says.
“Sorry, she’s not potty trained yet,” I tell Tarek and Noelle as Julia drags me to the bathroom. “That wasn’t subtle. Like, at all. You know that, right?”
Julia shrugs as she leans close to the mirror to brush away a stray eyelash. “I’m aware. I just wanted to talk to you. About Tarek.”
“There’s nothing to say.” My face is flushed, and I rinse my hands before patting my cheeks, hoping to return them to their regular shade of pale. “We’re friends with benefits. This is the friend part. I’m sure we’ll get into some of those benefits later.”
“Quinn. Sweetie. Darling. Treasure of treasures. That boy really likes you.”
“You sound so surprised. I’m very likable!”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m serious. He sat through two hours of harp music for you.”
“So did you.”
“But my hand wasn’t on your knee the whole time.”
“I know what it might look like,” I say, “but I don’t want a relationship.”
“And why is that, again?”
About a hundred reasons that sounded a lot less fuzzy in my brain a couple weeks ago. “You know why. You know what my parents went through.”
“You’re not marrying the guy.”
“Okay, obviously. But you and Noelle—that seems to be going well?” I hope she doesn’t see it as the clear subject diversion it is.
“It is. I really am bummed that we didn’t get together sooner, but at least our schools aren’t that far apart.”
“You’re changing your mind about long-distance?”
Julia gives a coy smile. “Maybe? I just feel like we owe it to the relationship to at least give it a try.”
“That’s great,” I say, and I mean it. But it doesn’t mean I need to want that for myself.
Back in the lobby, I decide to check on the Seattle Rock Orchestra tickets to see if by some stroke of luck, all the bidders dropped out and they’re going for twenty bucks.
What I see on the sheet of paper instead makes me feel as though someone’s run my stomach through Maxine’s band saw.
Tarek Mansour… $750
“Quinn? You okay?”
Silently, I jab a finger at his bid, and Julia’s eyes go wide.
“Oh. Holy shit. He really, really likes you, then.”
“This isn’t like. It’s… I don’t know what it is.” And before I can give it a second thought, I snatch the paper and march outside, where Tarek and Noelle are arguing over where we should grab pizza.
“You can’t do this,” I say, pressing the paper into his chest. Thank god the auction hasn’t closed yet.
“What is—oh.” Realization dawns, and he gingerly takes the piece of paper from me. “I thought—you made it seem like you wanted them, and it’s for a good cause, and…”
“I think we’ll meet you guys there?” Julia tugs on Noelle’s arm and says to me, “I’ll text you where we end up.”
My face burns. I don’t want to do this in public, but that’s the thing—Tarek forces these gestures to be public, which makes it impossible for any conversation about them to be private.
“Do you even have this kind of money?” I say once Julia and Noelle have sped away in Julia’s car. “Because I definitely don’t.”
“I have some savings,” he says quietly.
“I just—I don’t know how you leaped to this conclusion. Regular tickets can’t be that expensive. If you wanted to do something nice, why couldn’t it be that? Why did it have to be this—this—”
“Grand?”
“Excessive.” I reach to run a hand through my hair out of frustration, getting even more frustrated when I remember I attempted a hairstyle and don’t want to mess it up. “Even after I told you how I felt about that message at the movie. Evidently you weren’t listening.”
“I’m listening,” he insists. “I’m just not understanding. All I’m trying to do is show you that I like this. Spending time with you.”
“Really? Because it feels like you’re doing this for you. Not for me. Because you want me to, I don’t know, fall at your feet or something.” It’s so ridiculous to say it out loud that I can’t help scoffing.
“Of course it’s for you. Why else would I have done it?” he says, holding up the paper again. “I thought it would be romantic. Clearly I was wrong. Why do you act like that’s the worst thing in the world, for someone to want to be romantic toward you?”
“Because it’s not real.” Our old argument, except now it’s much more personal. I don’t know what else I can say without digging into my family trauma, opening up the wound and showing him how ugly it is. I’m back at the marina, and he’s telling me my parents, who’ve devoted their whole lives to till death do us part, didn’t try hard enough to keep their marriage from fracturing.
Sure, not in those words, but I can’t imagine he’d change his theory if he knew the truth.
I walk over to a nearby bench and drop down onto it, hoping
