Page 81 of Just One Moment
Idon’t question her and do as she says.
Withenough space between the wheel and me, she hitches a leg over the console and settles herself on my thighs.Beforemy next breath, she wraps her arms around my neck and presses her face against my shoulder, relaxing into my rigid body.
“Whatare you doing, honey?”Despitemy confusion,Itug her closer and breathe in the scent of brown sugar and vanilla.
“I’mdistracting you with a hug.Wedon’t need to talk.Ijust wanted to let you knowI’mhere for you.”
She’sdoing more than distracting me as she molds herself to me.Thecalmness and sweet scent have the stress unraveling from me like a ball of string.
Thesadness, grief, and worry gradually ebb the longer she stays in my arms.Shehas that power; to bring a shimmeringlight into the darkest of places.Jennawould get angry whenIgot like this, yet withQuinn, she joins me in the silence and brings the sunlight with her.
Aftermy dad passed,Jennaplaced a time limit on my grief, telling me to stop moping around and spending so much time with my family.Youhave a girlfriend too.Itcan’t all be about them, is what she said to me four months after his death.Whichhad me pulling away further.
Wesit here, wrapped around each other for what feels like hours.Itallows me to piece together my emotions and put them into words. “Youknow how my dad died?”
Shestrokes down my arm and nods.
I’mgladIdon’t have to explain that side of the story.Abouthow my family andIexperienced a devastating loss none of us were prepared for.Howhe fell from a ladder in the restaurant and broke his neck.HowPatrickwas the one to find him.Howwe never got to say goodbye.HowIlost one of the few people who understood me.
“Itwas a normal day.Heheaded to work and none of us knew that would be the last time we saw him.Wewere really close—my dad and me.Ilove my mom, but she’s more outspoken and extroverted likeBoothandFlorence.PatrickandIare a lot like our dad.I’vealways been quieter than most people, and being the awkward, shy kid made school difficult.Froma young age my dad understood my struggles with communicating howIfelt.Hesat me down after a particularly rough day with some bullies, butIwas so embarrassedIcouldn’t even talk to him.Hedropped a pad of paper and a pen in front of me and told me to write down whatIwas feeling.”
“Likea journal?”Sheraises her head, eyes glossy.
“Yeah, exactly like that.Itworked.Andhas for the last twenty years.”
Confessingthat toQuinnfeels likeI’mshedding a piece oflong-standing armor.Jennanever understood my need to write down my thoughts, even once telling me toManup.
Shedrags her fingers down my jaw, combing through my beard. “Ilike that.Wordshold a lot of power, especially when they’re written down.Books, letters, poetry.”
Ihum in agreement. “Whenhe died,Ifound it harder than usual to express myself, plus,Ijust wanted to be with my family more than ever.Ithink today reminded me—and my brothers—that we only have our mom left.”Myeyes lower, tracking the gentle rise and fall of her chest. “Iwasn’t prepared to seeJennalast night either.Thelast twenty-four hours brought up a lot of old feelings.I’msorry for freezing up on you last night and today.”
Shestudies me with a furrowed brow. “Whydo you do that?”
“Dowhat?”
“Apologizeor make it seem like you’re not allowed to feel a certain way.They’reyour feelings,Graham.Noone should fault you or hold that against you.”Thehand that’s been resting on my cheek curves around my nape. “Shedid, didn’t she?”
Quinn’sbody tenses, andI’mnot sure what it is about my expression that answers her question.Iwait for the mortification to strike, but it never comes.Inits place, solace winds around my heart, settling me.
“Ihate her for making you think you handled your feelings wrong.Therehasn’t been a single moment whereI’vewanted you any other way.Ihear you talking confidently to clients over the phone.Theway you tease and play withLottie.Thebanter and quips you have with your brothers.Theattentiveness and time you show your mom.Everyact of kindness you’ve given me confirms you’re an amazing man.”Sheshakes her head softly, as if to say she can’t believeIdon’t see it.Butthrough her eyes, maybeI’mstarting to. “Anddo you know what?”
“What?”
“Herloss is my gain.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
quinn
Graham’shandscoast up and down my spine, pulling me closer until it’s impossible to ignore the hardness beneath me.He’strying to distract me; clearly feeling much better after our talk.ButI’mnot done.Thisisn’t howIsaw this conversation playing out while sitting in hisJeep, but it feels cathartic for the both of us.
Ihad a suspicionJennahad a role to play in his self-doubt, but for nowIkeep that anger at bay.
I’mso incredibly proud of him, for sharing that story about his dad, and his bravery encourages my own.
Ididn’t have any family growing up.Nosiblings or cousins to play with.Eventually,Ilearned to appreciate my own company; especially on evenings when my mother would get herself blackout drunk.
Teacherswere kind; giving me clothes from the lost-and-found whenIcame to school without a jacket or sneaking me snacks when my lunchbox was empty.