Page 83 of Through Quick and Quinn
“Homecoming, silly! It’s next Friday. Are you going with your friend, um, what’s his name? Quick?”
I paused to consider her tone. I replayed her question and studied her face. I did not sense anything being laced with any sort of judgment; she seemed to be asking a genuine question. However, I had become so accustomed to the acceptance of thoughtful pause in conversation with Quick that I thought nothing of my delayed response. Clearly she thought I was taking too long to respond.
“Um, hello? Earth to Quinn?” She nudged my forearm with her finger and flashed me a toothy grin to show that she was teasing.
“Uh, no. No, I’m not going to Homecoming. It’s not really my thing. Are you?” I reciprocated. Mandy squealed in delight, “Yes!” and then spent the next five minutes telling me all about this cute boy she liked, how she was dropping hints for him to ask her, how he finally did, and exactly what her dress looked like. I caught myself smiling at her; it was amusing to see her share her joy. I was sincerely happy for her. For a minute there, it felt like old times.
We stood up to leave and I glanced at my phone to see that almost ninety minutes had passed. I was surprised when I saw what time it was, and I felt a little silly for being nervous about something that turned out to be so easy. She gave me a tight hug, promised to text me pictures of her in her dress, and ran off to do a little shopping before meeting her parents for dinner.
On my way home, my thoughts veered towards Quick. They usually did, especially lately. I couldn’t shake a nagging question that I never considered before: Did he want to go to Homecoming? There had been posters and announcements about it for weeks and I hadn’t even given it a first thought, let alone a second one. I assumed he hadn’t either. He would have mentioned it if he wanted to go. Right? Right. There was no way he wanted to go.
Right?
Quick:
Death Grip
I made a conscious effort not to text Quinn during her time with Mandy, but I had my phone in my hand the entire time. Just in case. When she called me that late afternoon, I picked up before the first ring even completed its chime. Too eager to answer but I didn’t care.
Just by hearing the sound of her voice when she said hello, I knew that the visit went okay. I was relieved for her. Actually, for me. Thinking about Mandy hurting her in some way was really doing a number on me, so I was glad to lay that to rest. As I listened to her rushed synopsis of their visit, I could tell she was itching to tell me something.
I was wrong. She wasn’t sprinting through the story because she wanted to tell me something. She wanted to ask me something. All of a sudden, she blurted out, “Did you want to go to Homecoming?”
Without missing a beat, I started laughing. Hard. I slapped my knee and everything. And then as quickly as I started laughing, I stopped. “Wait, why? Did you want to go?”
“No, did you?” She was quick to respond.
“No. Are you sure you didn’t? We can go if you want to, Quinn, or if you—”
“Quick, I don’t want to go. I didn’t even think about it until Mandy mentioned it, and once I did, I figured you didn’t want to either. I just wanted to make sure.”
“What if we did something instead?” I asked. We both agreed to brainstorm something new and fun to do, and before I even had the chance to make good on the agreement, she texted me the next morning that she had the perfect activity planned. Lots of exclamation points.
The next Friday, while most of our peers were getting all fancied up and taking photos before tearing it up on the dance floor, Quinn and I were set to have a Homecoming of our own. She wouldn’t tell me what we were doing, but I knew we were up to something good when she greeted me on her driveway wearing overalls and holding a pair of straw hats. “To the corn maze!” she announced, holding the hats up to the sky like they were a sword. “But first, come say hi to my folks.” She dropped the bomb and then turned around like nothing happened. She started walking towards the front door, but it took me a couple of seconds to process what she said. She turned around to smile at me, and of course I followed. I knew I’d follow that smile anywhere.
Quinn invited me inside and we found her parents sitting at the kitchen island. Her mom was drinking tea and her dad was vehemently trying to clean his eyeglasses. They looked up to see us, and it was immediately apparent that they were as surprised by the visit as I was. I experienced a bit of deja vu as we exchanged niceties; again, her dad was the friendly one while her mom focused on not slitting my throat with her teaspoon. Or at least that’s how it felt. When I met her the year before, she asked about my real name in a tone that was dripping with cynicism, but this year, she was silent.
As Quinn and I turned to leave, I swiveled back around to address her mother. “Oh, and Mrs. Washington? To answer your question from yesteryear, my real name is Declan. Thank you for asking, and I apologize that it took so long for me to respond.” My comment oozed with gracious respect, and I deliberately used my softest eyes to connect with hers. I watched as her shoulders dropped and her face released tension. I quickly followed up with, “And thank you for allowing Quinn and me to go to the fall carnival. Have a nice evening.”
She was stunned silent as I turned back towards Quinn. My instinct was to grab Quinn’s hand, but I refrained. Her face wore a blend of surprise and utter glee, which I found to be highly satisfying.
As soon as we were out of earshot, I asked her what prompted the invitation to go inside. She confessed that her mom was struggling a bit with our friendship, basically blaming our time together as the reason for what her mom perceived as the lack of focus in terms of post-high school planning. Quinn told me that if her mom could spend time with me, even just a little, she would undoubtedly see how wonderful and supportive I was. Her mom would change her tune and absolutely love me, she was sure of it.
And as soon as we were out of eyeshot, I took her hand in mine. I had started to notice how empty mine felt when hers wasn’t in it. If I had it my way, I’d hold her hand the entire night.
Lucky for me, I was able to. Our interlocking fingers made the unexpected tough conversation about the unknowns of the upcoming year a little easier to get through, and she had a death grip on my hand when we tackled the corn maze in the dark. By the time I got home, I honestly remembered very little else from the evening. Just that death grip.
Best part of the night, hands down.
Friday, October 18, 2024
Note to self:
Woah… Big night. Time to process.
Quick and I went to the fall carnival tonight. Well, wait, let me back up. Quick came inside to chat with Mom and Dad for a couple of minutes before we went, and I’m pretty sure he left Mom pleasantly surprised. He was direct but polite, and his good nature undoubtedly shined through. So that’s good. Hopefully the more she engages with him, the less she’ll blame him for my “irresponsible” choices.
Anyway, from the second we left the house until the moment we hugged good-bye, Quick and I held hands. But, like, actively held hands. We’ve interlaced our fingers before and we’ve held hands plenty here and there, but this was different somehow. I don’t know, I’m still trying to put my finger on it. We haven’t put a label on our friendship. We haven’t labeled our relationship in any way. I don’t even think we feel the need to. We know we are the best of friends, and due to our circumstances and similarities, our friendship feels like it is on a deeper level than typical of teenagers. We hold hands for us, not for others and not to make some announcement.
