Page 11 of Love Marks

I’m trusting you.

Why did I give Ian the damn folder? I should have just done it myself like I promised I would. I guess it really is my own fault. If I’d stood up for myself and told Ian that it was my responsibility, none of this would have happened. If I’d stood up for myself with Pierre, maybe he would have believed me over Ian.

Who am I kidding? It’s not like this job would have really lasted. Nothing ever really does. I guess I learned that when dad left. What the hell am I going to do? Another pang hits me, this one deep in my stomach. Guilt, settling itself neatly into my body, all the way down to my bones. Without the money from that job, there’s no way I can afford mom’s medical payments.

I get off the train at Atlantic and wait to transfer to the R, which, of course, is thirteen minutes away. Settling on the bench in the center of the platform, I take out my phone and open up my notes app, typing out a To-Do List.

1. Update resume

2. Print resume

3. List of references

4. Job spreadsheet

5. Kill self???

I delete that last one and pocket my phone with a sigh. I spend the rest of my ride imagining Ian choking on an olive from a martini. I get back to my apartment five hours earlier than usual. Nothing could prepare me for the sight in front of my eyes when I open the door.

“Oh my God!”

Ass. Bare ass. Bare man ass on my velvet green couch.

I love that couch. My mom and I carried that couch almost twelve blocks. I slam the door shut and squeeze my eyes closed, willing the image to leave my brain. I try to picture something else, but the image is permanently tattooed onto my brain.

“Quinn, what are you doing home? You’re supposed to be at work.” My mom’s frantic voice calls out from behind the door.

I hear the sound of clothes being put back on and stifle a laugh. Now that the initial shock has worn off, I have to admit this situation is pretty damn ridiculous.

“I got fired,” I deadpan to the door, which swings open, revealing Melanie Taylor in all her glory: hair strewn, lipstick smeared, and shirt on backwards. I quirk an eyebrow at her, but her eyes are sympathetic.

“Fired?”

“Fired,” I repeat.

I stomp into the apartment to greet the mystery man standing in my living room. Thankfully, he is fully dressed now, but the image of his saggy ass is likely burned into my memory forever.

“Hi. I’m Joe. You must be Quinn, Melanie’s daughter.”

He reaches his hand out and I look down at it, wondering where those fingers have been recently. He seems to have the same thought as he peels his hand back and brushes it through his graying hair.

“Nice to meet you, Joe. Are you my mother’s boyfriend? Fuck buddy? The new mailman?”

I drop my bag on the floor and plop into the oversized chair in the corner, avoiding the couch at all costs.

Joe struggles with how to label himself as my mom quietly pushes him out of the apartment, whispering reassurances. He finally hangs his head, resigned, and puts his shoes on.

“Nice to meet you, Quinn. I hope I’ll see you again.”

“I hope to see a little less of you next time.”

I go into the kitchen and get my Chunky Monkey out of the freezer, hoping one pint should do it. If one more thing goes wrong, I might need to buy out the whole Ben & Jerry’s franchise. Or at least rob the bodega freezer section.

Joe leaves, kissing my mother on the head in a sweet gesture that makes me wonder why she hasn’t told me about her new beau. It’s been a long time since she’s had a boyfriend. My mom sits on the couch with a spoon in her hand, reaching out for the ice cream. I pass it to her.

“So, Joe, hmm?” I wiggle my eyebrows, teasing.

“Before we get into that, you got fired? Honey, what happened?”