Page 35 of Fun at Parties
By late afternoon, I’m still queasy and parched, but less acutely so. Thankfully, Nate put my purse down before he jumped into the pool to rescue me, so my phone and wallet aren’t waterlogged. I send Bailey a quick, sanitized update and shoot off a brief message to my mom, letting her know I’m on vacation.Caleb and I broke up, I add, in case she hasn’t seen.
Maybe she’ll ask if I want to talk about it. I’m not sure I do, but it would be nice to have the option. I wonder if she’ll ask me to visit once she hears I’m coming back east.Since my parents left Pennsylvania for North Carolina, I haven’t seen their new place, although I did help with the down payment.
Mom:Oh wow! I wish I could take a vacay but my car’s about to go!
I groan. Another brick on my shoulders. This is the start of a familiar process: hints that gradually become more pointed, eventually turning into direct requests for help. Cars are expensive. I’d really have to shift things around for a while. But what can I do? Transportation is a necessity.
I can’t deal with it right now. Probably because I’m a cold, empty person. Instead, I switch to my text thread with Michelle, who sent me a bunch of messages this morning.
Michelle:“DUMP HIM”? Lol. Who are you?
Michelle:Tracy is loving it though. Hope you’re ready to be the single girl power queen of CycleLove.
Michelle:She’s got a collage going in her office with pictures of you next to Jennifer Aniston and that photo of Nicole Kidman celebrating as she left her divorce lawyer’s office.
She’s joking about the last part. I think. When Tracy decided I was Quinn Ray of Sunshine, there was no collage. Now I guess she’s turning me into something else. Quinn Can Buy Herself Flowers. She’s a genius, though, and the proof is there when I open Instagram. Yesterday’s post is performing well, I’ve gained another ten thousandfollowers, and the “best moments without a significant other” slideshows are multiplying exponentially. I dare to check my DMs.
The first one says,You’re my hero, Quinn! I broke up with my boyfriend because of you!
Holy crap.
The second one is from a man whose profile photo shows him wearing wraparound sunglasses and an American flag T-shirt. It’s a full-length novel that starts,Women who claim not to need a man are responsible for population decay.
There’s a ton more in my inbox, but I put my phone down. I feel a little sick about the idea that I’m inspiring some kind of mass reaction in people when I’m not even sure I have an official position on singledom anyway.
Do I think there’s more to life than romantic relationships? That people should like themselves for who they are on their own? Of course. But it feels like the Internet is flattening me out into one thing.
I’m feeding into it, I know that. I chose to wear theDUMP HIMT-shirt.
My phone vibrates. Nate wants to meet for dinner. For a moment, his hand is on my thigh, his stubble skimming my neck.Nope.Bad idea. The more time I spend there in my head, the harder it’ll be to get out. Better to act like it never happened. I throw on a pair of denim shorts, my Seapoint hoodie, and flip-flops and meet him back at the Cosmopolitan.
When we spot each other in the lobby, Nate shuffles over to me. “Sorry about earlier.”
“No need.” I blow past him. “Let’s eat.”
It’s difficult to believe that so far on this trip, I’ve only been ononehike, yet I’ve eatentwomeals in a casino food court, but here we are. Over a couple orders of sliders, Nate fills me in on the latest developments in the Logan search.
“I sat in the lobby for an hour, hoping they’d pass through. I should’ve spent more time looking for them at the craps tables, but I’m wiped. I could barely move. Pretty sure I still smell like whiskey.”
I grab his forearm and bring it to my nose. The regret hits immediately—I shouldn’t be touching him—but it’s too late. “You smell like body wash.”
My nose must have wrinkled, because he mimics the expression. “My deepest apologies.”
Even though I hate fragrance, Nate smells better than most people. “Could’ve been worse,” I say. “What about me? Tequila?”
He looks down at my outstretched arm and a beat passes, like maybe he won’t do it.Please don’t make it weird,I urge him in my head.
He lifts my wrist, and relief flows through me.
“You smell like…” Something about the careful way he’s holding my hand while inhaling the scent of my skin makes me dizzy. It’s a joke, I remind myself. His teeth sink into his lip. “Like…nothing.” He sets my arm down.
I press my hand to my chest. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
We look at each other. There’s warmth in his face, but I barely have time to recognize it before he clears his throat and returns to business. “I messaged one of Logan’s friends. Livvie. Apparently, Logan is supposed to beat a party with a bunch ofBeach Housepeople in Denver tomorrow night.”
I struggle not to collapse into my sweet potato fries. “Please tell me Denver is located in Las Vegas. Like Paris, or New York-New York.”
His mouth ticks down at the corner. “I’m going to book a flight back to L.A. for tomorrow, if I can.”
