Just Say Yes (19 page)

“Thanks. But I'm fine. And late. I've got to get to the memorial.”

Quinn knew it was probably just an excuse, but she didn't call him out on it. “I won't keep you long.”

Tim seemed to be having an internal struggle all his own as he stood there looking at her. Finally he took a step back into his apartment and motioned her inside. He dug his hands into his pockets as she walked past, and she couldn't help but wonder where her strong, confident Tim had gone.

“What did you need?” he asked.

“To know you're okay.”

He rolled his eyes. It made her want to slap the shit out of him. “I said I was fine.”

“I know what you said.”

“Then why are we having this conversation?”

“Because I'd like to hear the truth.”

Tim stood up a little straighter, narrowing his eyes at her. “What reason would I have to lie to you?”

“Only you'd know.”

“Quinn, I really don't need this shit right now.”

He started to move toward the door, but she stepped to him quickly, grabbing his arm. “I'm not trying to fight with you.”

He looked down at her hand on his arm. “Could've fooled me.”

“Don't do that.”

“Do what?” he spat.

“Act like it bothers you when I touch you. Act like you don't need anybody. Act like you're fine when we both know you're not.”

“Who said I was acting?”

“I did.”

“And you're who exactly?” He waited a beat before continuing. “Oh, I get it. This is the new and improved Quinn. The one who gets her nose pierced, hustles a bunch of degenerates at pool, and slums it with a junkie so she can get ahead at her job. Nice to meet you, but I really have somewhere more important to be.”

He went to move away from her, but she tightened her grip and he didn't pull his arm free. Quinn took a deep breath, keeping her anger in check. “I get that you're hurting. And I'm more than happy to be your punching bag if it helps. But I will not
ever
let you say that what we had was simply me ‘slumming it.' You don't want to be with me anymore? Fine. But we were friends before all of that. Whether you want to admit it or not, I know you better than almost anybody. So stop bullshitting me and let me be there for you.”

Tim let out a humorless laugh that Quinn hoped she never heard again. “You can't just insert yourself into someone's life, Quinn.”

Quinn looked at Tim for a second, analyzing the face she had gotten so familiar with over the past two months. She barely recognized it. Giving his arm a final squeeze, she let go, offered him a small smile, and began to walk around him toward the door.

“I'm not trying to hurt your feelings.” His voice caused her to turn back toward him. “I just . . .”

“You don't have to explain. I get it. See ya around.”

He nodded at her, and she made her way to the door. She hesitated next to the table that sat near the door and held up the envelope she'd been carrying in her hand. Without looking back, she said, “This is my article. When you're ready, maybe it can set a few things straight.” She set it down on the table. “Bye, Tim.” And then, for the second time, she left Tim's apartment heartbroken.

Correspondent

Tim let his gaze drift over the coffee shop patrons before taking a long gulp from his cup. “So what was so important that you had to drag me out of bed on a Sunday to come
here
?” he asked, expressing his innate aversion to the place.

Scott let out a sharp laugh and rolled his eyes. “You know, I'll never get used to making plans with someone who doesn't have to be at work until the afternoon.” He glanced at his watch. “It's eleven in the morning. Most people are up by now. And it's coffee, not the Boston Marathon.”

The comparison had clearly been meant as a joke, but Tim couldn't help but think that the Boston Marathon actually seemed preferable to the coffeehouse. There was something to be said for the struggle of running more than twenty-six miles, something to be said for the toll it takes on your body and mind. He would have embraced the sore muscles, the sweat. But this place was just too cheerful for him. Some of the customers picked leisurely at pastries as they clicked around on their laptops or iPads without a care in the world. He could hear the elderly couple at the small table beside them discussing their upcoming trip to the beach with their young grandchildren. It was all too . . . happy. Too lighthearted for how heavy his heart felt.

When Scott had called the night before and asked Tim to meet for coffee the next day, he'd known there was a reason behind it. He could hear the urgency in Scott's voice. And even if Tim was dealing with his own shit, he still needed to be there to help his only brother deal with his. Tim pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket and slid them over his eyes in an attempt to block out the sunlight that was streaming in through the window next to them.

“Don't do that,” Scott said.

“Do what?”

“Be one of those douches who wears sunglasses inside.”

Tim shrugged—an attempt to seem more casual than he felt. “It's sunny. They're sunglasses,” he said. “Now, tell me why we're here before I start singing the Corey Hart song and embarrass you completely.”

Scott cocked a brow, obviously confused.

“‘Sunglasses at Night'?”

Scott's face gave no indication that he recognized the song. Finally, after a moment or two of staring at his brother, he responded. “God, you really
are
old.”

Tim was sure his own stoic expression mirrored Scott's exactly. “Out with it,” he finally said, gesturing with his hand for Scott to start talking.

Scott sighed dramatically. “Fine. But you should know you suck the fun out of
everything
.” Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a black box. It took Tim only a second to realize what was inside.

Scott didn't have to even bother opening it. But he did anyway, revealing a diamond ring that nearly blinded Tim as the sun hit it.
Thank God I'm wearing sunglasses
. He also worried about what Scott might see in Tim's eyes if he showed them: all the hurt, the pain he felt over letting Quinn go. And it was only magnified by Scott's news. Tim was actually surprised Scott hadn't proposed to Lauren sooner. He loved her like he'd never seen another person love anyone.

“I've had this for a while,” Scott said. “I just haven't had the courage until now to—”

“I think the two fellas next to us are homos, Sally.”

Scott stopped midsentence to turn his attention to the old man next to them, but Tim was already speaking. “Oh . . . no . . . we're not—”

But Scott's voice interrupted him. “We're not going to sit here and let you ruin such a special moment is what we're not going to do.” Scott caught Tim's line of vision briefly, letting him know to keep his mouth shut. Apparently, the elderly gentleman got the same message, because he remained silent as Scott continued. “I love this man. And I'll do anything to make him happy. And if you think that that's going to change because there are people in the world who are too closed-minded to accept that others aren't exactly like them, then you should probably find another place to eat your breakfast.”

But Scott's last comment was unnecessary. The couple had already started to stand and was headed toward the door.

“What the fuck was that about?” Tim asked, eyes wide.

Scott tossed a piece of his cherry turnover into his mouth as if he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. “I'm just tired of people expecting others to be someone they're not and acting like people can change who they love like you change your fucking underwear. You can't. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Tim said quietly before taking off his glasses and rubbing his fingers hard across his eyes. “I do.”

The Column

Why did I come here?
As Tim sat on his stool looking at the pool table, that thought was on constant repeat in his head. Normally he jumped at the chance to hang out with his friends, especially since it was rare that they all were able to hang out together. But Tim wasn't feeling normal. He was just feeling numb.

It didn't help that the guys had been up his ass since he'd told them about Roger. Tim appreciated the support system, but he ultimately wanted to be alone. And it wasn't only because he was still reeling from the loss of Roger, though that fact made him feel like a total prick. His sponsor, his good friend, was dead, and all Tim could think about was how much he missed Quinn. How much he regretted how callous he'd been. And sometimes, when he was feeling particularly down, he regretted even pursuing a relationship with her in the first place. Life was better when he hadn't known what he was missing.

“You doin' okay, man?”

Tim startled at the intrusion to his thoughts. Looking up, he saw Rudy's concerned face. “Huh? Oh yeah. Yeah, I'm okay.”

Rudy took the stool next to Tim. “You know, you can stop bullshitting me anytime now.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I'm not bullshitting you. Losing Roger sucks. I miss him, and it hit me hard. But I
am
okay. I'm not looking to run to the nearest alleyway and score, so you guys can stop hovering.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear all of that, but that's not what I was referring to.”

“Then what the hell are you referring to?”

Rudy eyed him curiously for a second. “Where's the redhead?”

Shifting in his stool, Tim felt his jaw flex. “Her name is Quinn. And I don't know where she is.”

“And
why
don't you know?”

“Because it's none of my business.”

“Are you going to be a dense asshole all night?”

Tim felt his mouth lift into an involuntary smirk. “Probably.”

“Fine. You don't want to talk, then you can listen. I've known you for a long time, Tim. Known you through drugs, rehabs, bad times, and good times. I've seen you at your worst, and I've seen you at your best. Do you want to know when you were at your best?”

“I thought I just had to listen.”

Rudy continued as if Tim hadn't spoken. “When you brought that spitfire down here to hustle our asses in pool. That night, when you stared at her like she belonged to you, and she looked back at you like that was the only thing she'd ever wanted,
that
was when you were at your best. And I wouldn't be surprised if it was when she was at
her
best too.”

Where the hell does he get off? Like I need this shit right now.
“You don't know what the fuck you're talking about.” Tim's voice was calm, but there was anger building behind it.

“No? Then set me straight.”

“She's not at her best with me. How could she be? Quinn is . . . special. She deserves so much more.”

“More than a guy who looks at her like she's the best thing next to OxyContin?”

Tim glared at him.

“Sorry. Bad joke. But seriously, it's obvious to anyone with eyes and half a brain that you're totally into this girl. What else could she want?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe someone she can go out and have a drink with after a long day at work. Someone she doesn't have to worry will pass down addictive tendencies to her offspring. Someone who doesn't have a criminal record. Someone her parents won't give the third degree to. Someone—”

“You met her parents?” Rudy had a horrified look on his face.

Tim agreed with the sentiment. “Yeah, and it was fucking brutal. But I'm thankful for it because it confirmed what I already knew. I don't fit in her life.”

“Don't fit in
her
life or in her parents' lives?”

“What's the difference?”

“Said the guy with an ice queen for a mother. There's a huge fucking difference. You're dating her, not her folks. Who cares what they think?”

Tim stood abruptly. “I do.” Tim pointed a finger at himself for emphasis. “I fucking care. Her family is important to her. What am I supposed to do? Go over there for Sunday dinners and pretend I don't know they wish she'd brought home a lawyer or a stockbroker, or anyone other than a guy with a drug history that could rival Al Capone's? I can't do that, Rudy. I won't win at that game. I don't even know any of the fucking rules.”

“So make your own rules.”

“What are you talking about?” Tim threw his hands into the air. He was over this conversation. Rudy was just like him. So why couldn't he understand where Tim was coming from?

“I'm talking about love, Tim. Not the bullshit Hallmark type, but the real, gritty, painful kind that makes you say ‘fuck everything else,' because if you don't your heart will drop right out of your goddamn chest. The kind that would make you do anything for the other person because their happiness is all that matters. The kind that makes even the worst days okay, just because they're in it with you. The kind you have with Quinn.”

Tim was shocked. For a player, Rudy sure seemed to know a lot about an emotion he had never given the slightest indication he'd ever experienced. But no matter how wise the words were, that's all they were. Real life was so much more complicated. “Don't you see? It's
because
I wanted to ensure her happiness that I walked away. I wouldn't have been able to give that to her. Not long-term. So just . . . let it go.” Tim stood and started moving across the pool hall.

“You really are a dumb motherfucker—you know that?”

Tim stopped and turned his head toward his friend. “Yeah, I know. But we both have very different reasons for thinking it.” And then he snatched a stick from the wall, walked over to the table where the rest of the guys were bullshitting, and put the three ball into the corner pocket.

•   •   •

Tim hadn't stayed at the pool hall late the previous night, his talk with Rudy souring his already poor mood. Since it was Monday, he didn't need to go into the restaurant until later in the afternoon, but he was crawling out of his skin sitting around. Deciding that even a walk down the hall to his mailbox would be better than continuing to pace inside his apartment, Tim grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

It was too bad that it took all of thirty seconds to walk to get his mail.
Not quite the distraction I was hoping for.
As he walked back to his apartment, he thumbed through the letters. Bills, junk, a letter that was meant for the apartment next door, more bills, and then—
what the hell is this?

Tim looked at the envelope in his hand as he unlocked his door and threw the rest of the mail on the table. The return address bore the name of a man he thought he'd never hear from again: Roger Whitaker.

Walking into the living room and sitting down heavily on the couch, Tim continued to stare at the envelope in his hand. He was both elated and terrified. This letter, whatever was written in it, would be the last words Roger would ever have to offer him. Opening it would be like experiencing his loss all over again. Tim wasn't sure how long he sat and held the envelope, but he finally decided that he needed to open it. After carefully sliding his finger under the flap and removing the paper inside, Tim began to read the last words from a man he considered a second father.

Dear Tim,

I know, I know, I'm an asshole. I tried to tell you so many times about the cancer, but I just couldn't. It was a selfish decision. I didn't want you to remember me as a sick old man. It was bad enough that my daughter had to see me that way. There was no way I could handle you seeing it too. But hiding it from you has had its own dilemmas. I haven't been able to tell you all the things I've wanted to. Being mushy has never really been our thing. But with death on the horizon, there are some things you simply need to know, no matter how much it may emasculate me to actually write them.

You've been the son I never got the chance to have. And even though you are a muleheaded SOB sometimes, I couldn't be more proud of the man you've become. I hope you don't take that as condescending, but as the simple truth that it is. You're a good man, Tim. The best kind of man. Life wasn't always good to you, and you went through things that would've tested a saint. But you never placed blame, made excuses, or gave up. It's actually part of what kept you down for so long: the fact that you took sole responsibility for the state of your life. It's easy to keep letting ourselves down after we've done it once. It takes a special kind of man to decide that he deserves better for himself. From himself. And that's the attitude that got you clean and kept you that way.

There's just one problem, Tim. You never gave yourself enough credit for being what someone else deserved too. And until you brought that pretty girl to dinner, I thought you never would. You two deserve each other. You deserve a woman who can see the truth of who you are beneath your hardened exterior. And she deserves a man who's already been to hell and back but would gladly make the trip again if it saved her even a second of misery. Stand beside her, walk through life with her, let her lean on you, and don't be afraid to let her support you from time to time either. But most importantly, know that happiness isn't guaranteed to us. It's a gift we give to each other. It was clear to me that you are her happiness, Tim. Don't ever take that away from her. It's a regret no man should have to shoulder. Trust me. I know.

I let a lot of people down in my life. But with you, I finally got it right. You let me make up for the damage I caused. I'll always love you for that. Just as with every life you are a part of, mine was better for having you in it. Never doubt that. See you on the other side, old friend. I'll miss you.

Sincerely,

Roger

Tim didn't even realize he'd been crying until he read Roger's name, let the letter drop from his hands so he could bury his face in them, and felt the wetness streaming down his cheeks. So he gave himself over to it, let the sobs rack his body, purging it of all the hurt he felt. Once his tears ran dry, he picked up the letter from the ground and laughed. “I'm not sure how you managed it, but even in death you're still calling me out on my bullshit.” Tim's smile faded. “What the hell am I going to do without you?”

•   •   •

Quinn wanted to go to her parents' for dinner about as much as she wanted to undergo a lobotomy, but her mother's persistence wore Quinn down until she agreed. She hadn't seen her parents since she'd been there with Tim; nor had she told them that she and Tim were no longer together.
Tonight's going to be a real blast.

Quinn drove up the driveway and put the car in park. She didn't get out right away, choosing to sit there and mentally prepare a little more. They were definitely going to ask about Tim. And what the hell was she supposed to say? Did she really want to explain to her parents that the guy she'd been so excited for them to meet had dropped her like a bad habit less than a week later?
Hell no
. But she couldn't lie to them either. “Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Let's get this nightmare over with.” Quinn pushed open the car door and got out. She hated how much she dreaded being there. It was the first time she didn't feel comfortable in her childhood home.

As she traipsed up the path to her parents' front door, she again wondered what had happened here to push Tim away. She wasn't stupid.
Something
had caused a shift in Tim that night. Was Tim feeling awkward because Quinn was so close to her parents? Could one of them have said something to him? Quinn didn't know. Maybe it was about time she found out.

She pushed open the front door and immediately heard her mother. “Quinn? That you?”

Who else would it be?
“Yeah, it's me.”

Her mother came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel before hugging Quinn briefly. Looking around, she asked, “Oh, I assumed you'd be bringing Tim.”

“Nope. Just me.”

Julia looked like she wanted to say something, but didn't, instead wrapping an arm around Quinn's shoulders, leading her into the kitchen, and beginning to talk rapidly about country-club gossip as Quinn slid onto one of the barstools.

It was times like those that Quinn was thankful her mother knew her well enough not to force her to have a conversation Quinn wasn't ready for.

Peter joined them soon after, walking over to his daughter and pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Where's Tim?”

“Um, he couldn't come.” Quinn sighed. “Didn't want to come actually. He, uh, he and I . . . We aren't seeing each other anymore.”

Julia's face fell, but her dad just nodded his head. “Can't say I'm surprised.”

“Peter,” her mother warned.

“What do you mean?” Quinn asked as she rose off the stool she'd been sitting on.

Despite the glare Julia was directing at him, Peter spoke anyway. “Just didn't think it was a good fit, is all.”

“Good fit? What are you talking about? What wasn't?” Quinn forced herself to keep her voice calm.

“The two of you.” Peter shrugged like he was talking about something as inconsequential as the weather.

“Why weren't we?” Quinn was having trouble wrapping her brain around her father's words.

“Come on, Quinn. The man is clearly not in your league. He looks like total riffraff.”

“And what do you think you look like? You're judging a person you barely know.”

“I know enough. I've seen a lot of guys like him in my fifty-seven years, and I don't want one around my daughter.”

“His father was a prominent doctor in Falls Church. Tim belonged to country clubs and went to private school.”