Page 43 of Love Marks
We’ve avoided speaking about my father, but I can’t help but feel guilty. The new program is much stricter than the original facility, which means I haven’t talked to my dad since the scandal broke. You’d think he’d be able to bribe his way into a phone call, but nothing so far.
“…he even plays violin! Anyway, he invited me to come over and try his new paella recipe.”
I snap back to reality, realizing my mom has been talking this whole time.
“What? That sounds like a date.”
“It’s not a date,” my mom insists. “Michaelangelo is just a friend.”
“Michaelangelo? Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I groan.
She hangs up, reminding me to tell Quinn to call her because apparently, they are friends now.
I’m starting to feel too tense, like I could explode from the conflicting emotions within me when it comes to Quinn. Can I trust her? I guess she betrayed us all before she even knew us. Part of me wants to tell her to get out of my life. It’s like she’s lodged herself right in the center of it. Like everywhere I look, she’s there with that perfect smile. I need her to get out. But the thought of never seeing her again causes a twist in my gut.
I push away from my desk with a groan. It’s only a matter of time. She can’t stay ‘sick’ forever. Come Monday, Quinn will return, I can get to the bottom of her recent fit of tears, and things will return to normal between us.
Mutual disdain. It’s for the best for everyone.
* * *
The weekend passes quickly and unsurprisingly, I get a call from Sharon downstairs informing me that Quinn won’t be in today either. I get the urge to text her again, but it didn’t seem to go over too well last time, so I stop myself.
By Monday, I’m grateful to be back to work. Anything to distract from my endless thoughts about Quinn and her mysterious illness — if that even exists. I’m starting to worry she might actually be sick. It’s not like her to skip out on work and I can’t believe she’s this devoted to avoiding me.
The day drags by with endless tasks, and I find myself hoping she’ll show up tomorrow. The rational part of me knows that she’s only here to pick up the laundry, but the irrational side is bustling with something dangerously close to nerves.
I’m finishing up in the late afternoon when I see another email from my assistant with updated trades announcements and notice that Mason Corp is still in the headlines. In a move completely unlike me, I decide to give Tim a call. It rings a few times before his out-of-breath voice greets me.
“Tim? It’s Wesley. Wesley Marks.”
The shuffling of papers on the other end halts and I think I hear Tim sit down.
“Wesley? Wow. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. How are you?”
“I’m good, I’m alright. I actually was just calling to check on you,” I say, hoping it’s not awkward.
“I guess you saw the news. Who hasn’t, right?” He chuckles with a twinge of self-deprecation.
“You don’t have to feel embarrassed. I know how you feel.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry about your old man, by the way. I should have called.”
“Nah, we’ve all got our own shit. That’s pretty clear,” I mumble.
“Swarvoski, man.”
“What?”
“Crystal fucking clear.”
I chuckle, remembering the hint of the more playful Tim I used to know.
“Listen, man, I appreciate you calling. It’s nice to hear from a friend. I know I brought a lot of this all upon myself, but it still sucks,” he says.
“So, the allegations are true?” I probe a little.
“FBI probably tapped my phone lines, dude.”