Quin nods. “Because you had all three of us. That’s why you played the game, isn’t it? Because you thought you’d never be faithful.”
I nod. “I have cheated on many boyfriends. All of them, in fact. Every single time I’d find a guy I liked, we’d date and I’d fuck it all up by finding a new one. And all it would take to make that switch legitimate was one conversation. Two words. It’s over. That’s it. But I never did that. I just kept hurting them. Over and over and over. And I never understood it until Lucinda explained it to me. That the children of cheaters are twice as likely to cheat too. They see it as… normal. Something people do.”
I look down at Quin. I love him so much. I never wanted him to know this about me.
“It’s not normal,” I tell him. “I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want my children to grow up seeing me in that way. So I left home. I left them all behind and on that last day, I told them why. I left my brother too. He was already repeating their mistakes. Girls used to come to our house crying. Begging him to come back to them. It was drama, Quin. My whole life was drama. My brother learned to cheat from my father. Those girlfriends who came over to cry and beg him to take them back were just like the girlfriends who came to our house as kids. Some of my father’s mistresses got pregnant and had babies. They all sued for child support. So the whole town got to hear about my cheating father. He even divorced my mother to marry one just so he wouldn’t have more support taken out of his paycheck. That’s when I left home. I couldn’t take it anymore. I hated it. So I left them all behind. But my brother and I were close growing up. And one day he found me, even though I never wanted to be found.”
“That was the man you were fighting with the day before you left?” he asks.
“Yes. Smith saw me fighting with my brother. He told me my parents had changed. They were back together and would I like to come home for Christmas. I think he was truly surprised when I said no. I was pregnant and emotional. And Chella and I had been planning on her taking my place in the game for months. So I just called her up, met her at Lucinda’s, and we set it up last minute. I’m sorry I left. It was a cowardly move. But life overwhelmed me at that point. I didn’t want to be reminded of who I was. What I was. And I didn’t know if the baby was a boy or a girl, but either way, if I let my brother take me back to that life, it would become a cycle. Something that couldn’t be broken.”
“So you left.”
I nod. “I’m very sorry I hurt you. I loved you, I just thought you weren’t interested in me that way and it was better to make a clean break. Start all over again. Stop playing those childish games. Stop pretending that you and Bric were my cure and face up to the reality that if I wanted to change who I was, I had to leave you behind.”
He’s silent.
“Please don’t hate me,” I say.
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. I’m pretty sure that this is over now. He will decide I’m not worth the risk.
But then he says, “You are way too interesting, Rochelle Bastille.”
I don’t know if that’s good or bad. So I say nothing.
“We make our own future. If you’ve taught me anything, that’s it. I don’t have to be like my father. I don’t have to disappoint you. In fact I’ve tried very hard this past week to think of ways to be different. I’m not sure I’m so good at it yet. You might need to teach me the art of intrigue. I am way too boring for a girl like you, but I’m not gonna let you go out of fear. Fuck that. You’re not getting away that easy because I think I just fell in love with you all over again.”
“Are you serious? You’re not gonna throw me out? Take me to court and tell a judge I’m a horrible example of a mother?”
“No,” he says, tilting my head up with a finger on my chin. “No way. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m taking notes, Bastille. Pages and pages of notes. Ever since you walked into my life and agreed to be one-third mine, I’ve been thinking up ways to be worthy. And yeah, it took me a while, so I’m sorry for that. But I think I got the hang of it now.”
“What are you talking about?”
Quin stands up, taking me with him. He carries me across the room and stops in front of the door. “I’m talking about this.”
He flicks the lights on and the spare bedroom transforms into a baby’s nursery.
“What?” I say, stunned. “This is… This is…”
“All your stuff from the secret room up in the attic apartment. Our stuff, right? Your Christmas tree. Your record player. Your stupid vintage suitcases. I want Adley to know how fucking great you are. How original and perfect you are. I want her to be able to appreciate you. My father never gave me that. He never let me appreciate my mother for who she is. But I appreciate her now. I’m not gonna make that mistake with you and Adley.”
I hug him hard for a few moments. He is perfect. Way too perfect for me, but just the right amount of perfect for Adley.
“I have a lot to live up to,” I tell Quin.
“No,” he says, taking my hand. “You be you. That’s all I need.”
I kiss him. I place both hands on his strong shoulders and kiss him. “And you be you,” I whisper into his mouth. “We’ll be us.”
“I like the sound of that,” he whispers back. “Now tell me what you think of this room. I need feedback.”
I laugh and then turn around to take it all in.
The crib is something I would’ve picked it out. White. With a giant mobile hanging over it. Little bees and butterflies bob and dip their way around an off-kilter circle. The bedding is yellow and white. And one whole wall is painted with chalk paint. There are giant hand-drawn dandelions on that wall. There’s even those little fluff things blowing in a make-believe breeze.
“Look up,” he says.
I know what’s there before I look, but seeing my drawings on the ceiling—my handwritten I’ll Fly Away song—it stuns me. “What have you done?” I whisper, barely daring to breathe as I slide down his body and stand there, hand on my heart in disbelief.
“I really hated that nursery for Adley Bric decorated. I was only pretending to like it so you’d be happy. So I made a new one at my house. I went to every antique store in Denver. And I pried the sheetrock off the secret-room ceiling and took it to a local artist to replicate. He drew the flowers too. I was gonna lie and say that was me, but I’m way too boring for that. You’d never buy it.”
Boring. I laugh. “No, Quin Foster. You’re the farthest thing from boring that ever existed. You might be way too exciting for me.”