Her mom blinked. “Other than Brock? What will people think?”
“Mom . . .” Quinn pressed her fingertips into her eye sockets to ward off an eye twitch. “I keep telling you, Brock and I aren’t going to get married.”
“Right now you mean,” she said. “Right?”
A conversation she didn’t have the strength for. “I met someone who told me an interesting story. Do either of you want to guess what that was?”
Her mom shook her head and looked at her dad, who did the same.
“The story is that I’m adopted.”
And at the twin looks of shock and guilt on her parents’ faces, she knew it was true. “Oh my God.” She staggered to the couch opposite them and sank to it, staring at them. “Oh my God, it’s not a story at all.”
There was an awkward beat of utter silence and Quinn stood up and headed straight to the kitchen. She needed alcohol or sugar, stat. Thank Toll House, she found some ready-made cookie dough in the fridge.
She was stuffing spoonfuls into her mouth when her parents appeared in the doorway. “It’s day one of my new raw food diet,” she said around a mouthful.
“Quinn,” her dad said. “We need to talk.”
Ya think? “I just have one question,” she said.
In unison, they came up to the opposite side of the island as she chewed and swallowed cookie dough with enthusiasm. “Honey,” her mom said quietly, earnestly. “Me first, okay?”
Quinn nodded.
“If you eat that whole thing, it’s the equivalent of forty-eight cookies.”
Quinn stared at her. “That’s the something you wanted to say? Really?”
Her dad sighed and leaned onto the island. “Quinn . . .” He paused to nudge the block of knives out of her reach. “We never expected you to find out.”
She felt her mouth fall open. She scooped up the last of the dough with her bare fingers and shoved it into her mouth.
“Quinn,” her mom said but stopped when Quinn held up a finger.
She chewed. Swallowed. Took a deep breath. “Why?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell me? What possible reason do you have for keeping it a secret?”
“Because I wanted you to be mine,” her mom said softly, her eyes soft and dammit, a little damp.
Her dad slid an arm to her mom’s waist. “It wasn’t important how we got you,” he said. “We wanted a baby, and we couldn’t have our own.”
Quinn sucked in a breath as something occurred to her. “Beth. Was she adopted too?”
“No,” her mom said. “We’d tried for years and were told we couldn’t have our own. So we set an adoption in motion. When you came along, we were so grateful, but then the unbelievable happened. I got pregnant when you were two months old.”
Quinn’s heart squeezed hard.
“I’m more grateful to Carolyn than you could ever know,” her mom said. “But she signed a confidentiality agreement. We could sue her for talking about the adoption.”
“Too late,” Quinn said. “She’s dead too. And apparently she left me an inheritance.”
“What? She had nothing to speak of.”
“I don’t know. I was so shocked I didn’t ask.” She drew a careful breath. “Why didn’t you tell me? Were you sorry you’d adopted after Beth came along?”
“No.” Her mom came around the island and took Quinn’s hands in her own. “No,” she said again more firmly. “It was a happy accident. The truth is, we didn’t want to take away from either of you so we just kept it quiet. It didn’t matter to us, and I know this is asking a lot, but I wish it didn’t matter to you.”
Her dad nodded.
Quinn let out a breath and took a step away from them. “I need to think.”
“But why?” her mom asked. “It doesn’t matter, none of this matters. Let’s just look forward to you marrying Brock and getting on with your lovely life.”
“Mom—” Quinn broke off and closed her eyes. “I’m not getting married. How can I? I don’t even know who I am.”
“Okay,” her dad said. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”
Quinn let out a low laugh. “You know what, Dad? You’re right. It is. And now I’m going to take my dramatic ass home. I need some time.”
“Time?” her mom asked. “But you’re still coming over next week for dinner, right?”
Quinn had gotten to the door. She turned around to find them standing in the same position at the island, looking shocked at her little temper tantrum. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “You can’t keep my surprise party a secret, but you were able to keep my adoption one?”
Her mom bit her lower lip. “There’s no party.”
With another low, mirthless laugh, Quinn left. She drove home to her cute, quiet, comfortable condo and stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. She was in shock, adrift, sad, angry . . . so many, many things.
It was more emotion than she’d felt in two years.
She’d meant it when she’d told Cliff that she didn’t want anything to do with any inheritance, especially not from someone who’d apparently thrown her away without so much as looking back.
Not that she was happy with her parents right now, either. They should have told her the truth a long time ago. Instead they’d hidden it, and even now had tried to underplay it, encouraging her to get on with her nice, comfortable life.
But it suddenly didn’t feel so nice or comfortable anymore.
Feeling shockingly . . . alone, she looked at her phone. She wanted to call her sister. God, how she wanted that, but instead she called Brock.
“Hey,” he said when he picked up, his voice brisk and rushed. “I’m in a meeting. Can I get back to you?”
Disappointment washed over her. “Yes, but—”
“Great, thanks.”
And then he disconnected. She tried to let that short connection be enough, tried to tell herself that just hearing his voice helped. But her heart was racing and it didn’t seem to fit in her ribcage. Everything felt tight and she couldn’t breathe because she had no one else to call.
Well, except one person.
Harry Potter, a.k.a. Cliff Porter.