Page 28 of Any Girl But You
“I just, I don’t know if it’s a good idea to bring Zoey.” I flip the pillow under my head and wiggle into a comfortable spot. “But maybe I’ll go.”
A moment passes as Frankie studies my face. I hate when she does this and I try to blank my mind so she can’t see what’s happening inside. She leans against the doorframe and crosses her arms. “Why, Quinn? Why is it not a good idea? I see you two texting and that shit-eating grin that grows when you’re on the phone with her. You’ve been with her like every hour of every day. I can hear you giggling when she calls…”
Why is this not a good idea? Because I’m two steps away from being a certified fuckboi, and Zoey deserves much more than what I am, than what I can offer. Although, interestingly enough, I haven’t checked my dating app for several weeks. And since the moment I met Zoey, I haven’t had any hookups. But still…
Besides, it is very clear that not only is Zoey the one-relationship wonder, the marrying kind, she is also not over her ex. The way Zoey stared at her hands, her voice cracking while telling me about how she proposed, was so raw I felt it in my heart. That her ex has sent her a stack of love letters that Zoey hasn’t tossed, is so telling. Even if I evolved enough as a human to join the adult party in wanting a relationship, I’d be a consolation prize. And even though I may still be struggling with my self-worth, I know that I am more than that.
“Frankie.” My voice goes dark, and emotion stirs in me. I’m not sure who I am half the time. A business owner? A thirty-two-year-old with the emotional intelligence of a twelve-year-old? Sometimes I feel like I’m never going to figure out myself. “Do you ever think that I’m just not cut out for a relationship? Like maybe I’m the type of person who shouldn’t have one? I seeyou and Morgan, and you have everything. You justknoweach other. But I don’t think that’s in the cards for me. I can’t even think of a time that I saw a woman for longer than a week.”
Frankie steps into the bedroom and lies down next to me, sharing the pillow. “First, what me and Morgan have, not everyone does. We met when we were ten years old, you know? I’ve had a lifetime to get to know her.” She nestles her shoulder to mine. “You know there’s a spectrum of people, right? Aromantic, poly, demi, people who really just do not want a relationship, the list goes on. And if you were one of those, great. I’ll support you in any way. But deep down, I think your path is different.”
My eyes catch on a yellowed spot on the ceiling, and I stare at that to keep from tearing up. “But whatismy path?”
Frankie shrugs. “Only you know that. But we weren’t exactly given the best foundation or modeled emotionally intelligent behavior from Mom and Dad. It’s no wonder this stuff isn’t crystal clear.”
She’s not wrong. Our parents are fine. There’s a baseline of bad parenting, and our parents are one step up from that. Frankie and I were never a priority, ever. It’s like we were both “oopsies” and our parents just sort of dealt with it. Or rather, let us deal with each other on our own. Frankie’s the one who basically raised me as our parents were always too busy doing anything but parenting. They aren’t mean people. Just…uninvolved. Uncaring.
My lip trembles and I clamp it between my teeth. “I just don’t know what I have to offer, you know?”
Frankie shoots up and stares at me. “Are you serious? Quinn, you’re one of the most driven people I’ve ever met. You’re smart, and funny, and kind, and giving.”
“And moody and scattered and can’t commit to shit,” I add.
“Anda good person,” Frankie says. “Look what you did with Zoey when her electricity went out. Helping her all day with her food, letting her use your place so she can fulfill those orders, helping her call all her customers.”
I appreciate what Frankie is saying, but isn’t this just what people do for other people? I’m no Mother Teresa for giving up my day. And yet, Frankie’s words warm my insides. I rest my head against her shoulder.
“You really are a good person. Someone who is worthy.” Frankie taps the side of her head against mine. “I’d tell you that you’re beautiful, too, but I think I’ve inflated your ego enough that you’re going to float out of here.”
I grind my elbow into her shoulder. “So, basically, I’d be like you. Got it.”
Frankie pokes me in the side and slides out of bed. “I gotta run.” She stops at the doorway, and taps the side of the frame. “You’re good, Quinn. Witheverything. Your decisions, your path, who you are. You’re good.”
I lie back down and let her words cover me like a blanket.
Maybe I am good. Helping Zoey, though, proves nothing. I like being around her because she makes me feel like a better person. She brightens my world. And isn’t that kind of selfish? I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking all this.
A message pings on my phone. I roll over and check it.
Zoey:
Going to stop by Connie’s Coffee before coming out to the farm. Can I bring you the vanilla chai or hazelnut latte or something else?
And definitely not the gingerbread latte.
Everything in me warms. Zoey remembers the two drinks I tried and loved, and that one that I really didn’t, and why this makes me as happy as it does, I don’t know. Zoey is sweet and kind and exactly the type of woman I run from. Thus, I need to stop all this warming up nonsense over a basic text.
I type a quick response, and rush to get ready. Today, Zoey has no special orders so she offered to make Christmas ornaments with me to sell in the shop. And I can use all the help I can get. I have no idea why I thought setting up a shop would be easy. It’s not. I’m decorating, moving, setting up tables, taking down tables, having display shelves built, buying supplies. A never-ending cycle of build and prep. But the magic of Christmas is close, peeking around the corner, and I’m sure I can pull this off.
I think.
When I roll Truck Norris up the gravel road, I hop out, zip up my light fall sweatshirt, and roam the grounds. Sometimes I still can’t believe that this property ismine. There’s a stillness here as I walk the property—stepping on twigs, the grass mushing beneath my work boots, the smell of pine and cedar filling my nose. In New York, there was no stillness. I was in a constant state of hyper-hustle. But out here, as I stroll the lush grounds and check the irrigation systems, I imagine the kids on the back of a tractor trailer sitting on hay, couples strolling through the property that sparkles with white lights and colorful wreaths, and a giant bonfire in the corner. A noise catches my attention, and a deer skitters across the field. I take a moment to just breathe. Let so much go.Appreciate.
I can see the Santa and the hayrides. The hot cocoa and the gift shop. I want it magical, sparkly, joyful. And that feeling washes over me before the tension rises. Less than two months away, and I’m still so far behind.
A car rolls to a stop and Zoey pops out, her long hair in a loose ponytail, her bangs swiping her forehead. She’s in ripped jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt. And I hate, hate, hate that my breath hitches. I need to sit with these feelings for a bit because the very last thing I want to do is hurt someone like Zoey. To use her because I’m lonely, to lose this friendship because I’ll do something dumb.
“I have the best surprise for you!” Zoey says as she bends over into her backseat. I also hate that my gaze dips to her ass. I shouldn’t be sexualizing her at all. But she has a really, really nice ass, and even though Itrynot to look, I do.
