Page 45 of Fun at Parties
I laugh and press my forehead to his shoulder. He smells like something, maybe laundry detergent on his hoodie or body wash on his neck, and shit, I shouldn’t betouching him like this. His arm immediately slides around me, easy, and it feels so good I stop overthinking it. “He said I’m a cold, empty person,” I say. “Like a robot programmed to act happy without actually knowing how.”
He goes rigid, and I dare to look at his face. His eyes burn a hole in mine, and he squeezes me tighter against him. “You’re not a robot, Quinn. Can I tell you the biggest reason I hated Caleb, even before you started dating him? He neversawyou. He had this idea of who you were based on how you taught your classes and the clothes you wore and your beautiful fucking smile, and that was it. If he thought you were cold, it’s because he didn’t try to connect with you as a three-dimensional human.”
His words sweep through me like a biblical flood, putting everything inside me back a little bit closer to where it belongs.Natesees me. He always has. But still.
“He was right, though. Thereissomething wrong with me. I left everything behind for CycleLove and got exactly what I wanted. I should be ecstatic with where I’ve ended up. Grateful every day to live in California. Jumping out of bed and running to work every morning. But I’ve been feeling blah about it for months, since before the breakup, and I can’t shake it. Michelle is my only friend there and now you’re leaving and—my attitude is all fucked up. I think what Caleb picked up on is this negativity I can’t get rid of.”
Whenever someone was wavering on whether to join my mom’s Jolee downline, she’d take them out for coffee. They’d express their concerns, and she’d tell them the only way they’d fail would be if they didn’t believe in themselves.Mindset is everything.As misguided as thatadvice was in that context, it’s worked for me my entire life.
When everything fell apart for my family, I refused to break down. Instead, I powered through the end of high school, scrambled to apply for student loans, and went to college like I’d always planned. I acted like a person who had friends, and I became a person who had friends. Then, when I was new to cycling, I treated it like a career even when it was closer to a hobby. And I made it a career.
Nate opens his mouth, surely to tell me why I shouldn’t ignore the negativity. But I can’t do that. I’m afraid of where it’ll take me, and I can’t afford for it to take me anywhere but back to the CycleLove bike.
“Please don’t,” I whisper.
He pulls me closer, until I’m lying on his chest. One of his arms is wrapped around my waist, and the other cups the back of my head. His heart thuds against my temple, and after a minute, our breathing synchronizes.
What happened the other day was over so quickly it was a blur, but this is slow enough to savor. With hypnotizing slow strokes, he combs his fingers through the loose strands of hair at the base of my neck, and holy shit, it feels good. My limbs are so heavy I’m never going to be able to move again.
It would be easy to swing a leg across his lap and turn this into something else. I want that, so badly it feels like hunger. I think he does too, although he’s just staring at the sky, giving nothing away.Doesn’t matter. He’s leaving.There it is, the fact that’s been sitting in the back of my mind since we left the garden, except for the moments itleaps to the forefront with an unpleasant jolt, like I’m learning it for the first time.
This will fade, I know that. The unpleasant jolt, and the hunger.
Downstairs, somebody turns up the music. Before, all we could hear was the faint thump of the bass, but now, we’re treated to every note and lyric in high definition.
“We should go back,” I say.
His sleepy groan doesn’t sound like agreement, but he lets me go. “Or we could take a nap.”
“Sounds like the words of a quitter.”
“I’ve been awake forever,” he moans.
“You already took a nap, and I’ve been awake two hours longer than you because I drove first this morning.”
“You were born with an extra battery pack.”
I try to pull him up by the arm. “Logan could be here by now. We have to go check or you’re going to be unemployed, and you’ll have to move back in with your parents.”
That gets him moving. Downstairs, everything is louder. The balloon arch has been detached from the wall and two women are trying to tie the back of a third’s shirt to it, debating whether it’s going to make her fly.
“Hayden’s flight got delayed,” Livvie says when we find her. “They should be here soon. Hopefully.”
Nate and I exchange looks. It’s already almost eleven. “Are you sure they’re coming back?” he asks.
She shrugs. “I’d be surprised if they don’t. They came all the way to Denver for it. Logan hates to miss a party.”
Wecame all the way to Denver for it,I want to scream. Not at Livvie. Into the bottomless pit of student loan andcredit card debt I’m never going to pay off if I don’t find a way to get back to focusing on how not to suck at my job.
Kyla appears over Livvie’s shoulder. “Quinn,” she says breathlessly. “We need your help. It’s urgent.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m standing on the couch with my hands funneled around my mouth, speaking to a crowd. “The game, people, is The Floor Is Lava. Teams of two will go head-to-head in three single-elimination rounds until we have a champion. Our official timekeeper is Kyla. I don’t want to hear any complaints during this competition. Poor sports will be transported to Amber and Omar’s house to assemble nursery furniture until the end of the evening.”
It wasn’t my idea. Apparently Amber was lamenting how she’d never play flip cup again, and then people started naming kids’ games she’s going to play over and over again for the foreseeable future, and Michael Embry announced he’s trying to get on the Netflix showThe Floor Is Lava.
“We should play,” someone said, and Kyla approved, even though there’s a nonzero chance someone will break her glass coffee table. I’m the only one sober and enthusiastic enough to act as host, and I’m used to projecting my voice throughout a large room, so here I am.
Nate steadies me with a hand on my back as I hop down from the couch, and the first team lines up at the start of the course. A few of the guys pushed the furniture around, spacing out pillows and ottomans and, with Amber’s permission, one of the shower gifts, a long, reclaimed-pine plank that’s going to serve as a floatingshelf to display tiny stuffed bunnies and clay molds of newborn feet. For tonight, it’s a balance beam.
