A sigh falls off her lips. “Is that a problem?”
“No, just… curious.”
“Because I’m from Chicago?”
I nod. I’ve been to Chicago once. A long time ago. I don’t remember much about the food, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t see a Mexican restaurant the entire trip.
“The first day I moved into my dorm, my roommate was already there. God, she was so cool. Like someone who belonged on MTV. She was wearing a cropped t-shirt, ripped jeans, and Converse. She asked if I wanted to go for tacos. When she took me to the place, I was shocked. Did people really eat at places like that? But I played cool. It was the best meal I’d ever had. And it became our tradition. Every Friday. We’d get greasy tacos. She wanted to coat her stomach before partying. I… well, I went to a party with her once.”
“But you hated it?”
Quinn nods. “Is it that obvious?”
“There’s no shame in preferring movies to booze.”
“You’ve never had wine with a movie?”
I shake my head.
She studies my expression. Looking for cracks. Trying to figure out if I’m ready to talk about my mom, I guess.
I’m not. Not yet. “Should I try it?”
“Yeah. It’s amazing.”
“Makes shit like Mission Impossible entertaining?”
“No.” Quinn’s eyes light up with her smile. “There’s not enough wine in the world.”
“Cruel.”
“True.”
Fuck, I love her smile. I want to admire it all day.
She’s just so fucking Quinn.
I get lost in her hazel eyes for a minute.
Try to find the thread of our conversation. “Your roommate introduced you to Mexican food?”
“Yeah. She’s amazing. Funny, smart, completely apathetic to what other people thought of her.”
“You admired that?”
She nods. “We got really close. But, um, she moved to New York after graduation. And I…”
“Miss her?”
“Yeah. It still feels like home.” She motions to the decorations on the walls. “Like love. You know?”
I do.
“God, I probably sound crazy.”
“No. I get it.”
“You have anything like that?”
I hold up my mug.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I’ve never thought about it. But it’s true. “Hunter got me into it. He was dating this girl who scoffed at the mention of Starbucks and he wanted to impress her. So he went out and learned all this shit about French press and pour over. After about a week, the thing with the girl ended. But he was hooked.”
“You too?”
“Yeah.” I stir half-and-half into my coffee. Take a sip. It’s not great—restaurant coffee never is—but it’s still comforting. “He fixed me a cup every morning. Without fail. Even after he started drinking more than doing anything else.”
“You two still go for coffee?”
My guts churn. Fuck, the last few times we’ve had reason to be together—”No.”
“Maybe you should.”
“We work together.”
“But do you really hang out?”
“Things have been different since he got sober,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I can’t hide behind jokes or booze. It’s like with my tattoos. I don’t know how to pour myself into them. It’s too fucking painful.
I try to find a way to elaborate, but nothing comes.
I pick up a set of crayons. Pop it open. Hand the red one to Quinn. “Stick figure.”
“Explain first.”
“At the same time.”
She nods. “Fair.”
I turn the kid’s menu over. There’s a square for kids to draw their favorite animal. Good enough.
For a second, I close my eyes.
Let my subconscious take over.
If I had to design something from the heart right now…
The crayon glides over the page.
“Fuck.” Quinn sighs. “Wes, that’s amazing.”
My eyes blink open. It’s like last time. It’s dark shit. A shard of glass pressed to skin. A vein bleeding bourbon.
“Do you usually design stuff that—”
“No.”
“I… I check your social media, but I haven’t really seen anything.”
“You want something?” I ask.
“No. I… we’ve been over this.”
“Yeah, we agree I’m doing the work.”
“I can’t get a tattoo.” Her fingers brush my wrist. “My parents would die.”
“So?”
“I…”
“If you were going to get something, what would it be?”
Her eyes find mine. “I don’t know. That’s like asking ‘what defines you as a person?'”
“What defines you as a person?”
“Besides love of Casablanca?”
“Why besides?”
“You’ve never seen it. How are you going to think up a design?”
“Never seen a lot of things I design.” My gaze shifts to my drawing. It’s good. Real. Raw.
A hell of a lot better than my usual stuff.
I’m not ready to show it to the world. Not yet.
But I want to get there.
I want to do more shit from the heart.
I want to stop running away from getting hurt.
Fuck, Chase was right.
That’s terrifying.
“Well… the thing I’ve been thinking about a lot… No, I can’t say it. It’s too much of a spoiler.” Her eyes find mine. “You really don’t know the ending?”
“It’s a romance, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t they end up together?”
“You know I can’t tell you.” Her fingers curl around my wrist. “God, you really are a tease.”
“You’re the one delaying my education.”
She laughs. “Okay. Come over tonight.”
“We ready to do the deed?”