“No way, I do not want to cry tonight,” she says after watching a few seconds of a movie. I have no idea what it is and no idea how she knew just from watching a tiny bit of it.
“You ever watched Game of Thrones?” she says, stopping again.
“No, sorry.” I don’t watch a whole lot of TV and I don’t have cable.
“Damn. You’re missing out. We’ll have to marathon it sometime. You can’t not see that show. What about Spinal Tap?” I shrug. I’ve never seen that either.
“Jesus, what have you seen, other than Hitchcock?”
“Not much.”
“Oh!” she says sitting up and exclaiming. “This is what we’re watching.”
“What is it?” I ask as the movie starts. Somehow we’ve timed it just right so it’s just starting.
“My Big Fat Greek Wedding. It’s hilarious. You’ll love it.” I’ve never seen the movie, but I’ve heard of it at least. Saige shifts and turns over on her stomach. Instead of watching the screen, I’m watching her as she stares at the television.
“You’re not paying attention,” she says without looking away.
“Sorry,” I say, looking back at the screen.
Saige is animated as she watches, laughing freely at the jokes she knows are coming. I have to admit that I get sucked into the movie, even if I can’t really relate. Funny is funny and this movie is funny. I laugh more than a few times, especially when Ian meets Tula’s family and she tells them he’s a vegetarian.
“I love this movie,” Saige says as Tula and her new husband dance at their reception.
“It’s good. I’m glad you made me watch it.”
“So if you don’t watch movies, what do you do in your spare time, Quinn Brand?” Not much. Work out. Take walks. Spend time with Cash. Sleep. My existence outside of my job isn’t much. It isn’t really a life. But I can’t tell her that.
“This and that.” I hope she’s going to drop the subject.
“No, really,” she says, sitting up and turning her focus back on me again. Shit. “I want to know about your life. What you do when you’re not hanging out with me.” She smiles and touches my shoulder playfully.
“Well, I read and play video games and run and so forth. The usual stuff.”
“What was the last book you read?” This is an easy question, because I do read every now and then.
“The Stand by Stephen King. One of his best, in my opinion.”
She raises her eyebrows as if this surprises her.
“What?”
“Nothing. What book did you read before that one?” Redhead, this entire thing is a test that I know I can pass.
“Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn.” That makes her smile.
“Interesting selection.” I decide to turn this around on her.
“What were the last two books you read? Other than school books.” I feel like I have to clarify. She holds up one finger.
“The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and,” she holds up another finger “Gone Girl.”
“Really?”
“Really. Guess we have the same taste in books.”
“Go figure,” I say.
“But I won’t say no to fantasy or a good historical romance. And you can’t beat Harry Potter.”
“Never read those,” I say and she looks at me as if I’ve used the dirtiest curse word in existence.
“What is wrong with you?” A whole lot of things that you will never know about, Saige. “How can you be a human being and not have read Harry Potter?” I shrug again. I seem to be doing that a lot tonight.
“Well, get yourself to a library, Mr. Brand, or snatch one from a kid. I’d lend you mine, but I don’t lend my books to anyone. They’re never allowed to leave my apartment unless they’re in my custody.” That’s… kind of cute.
“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m going to have to at least do some research on what these are about so I can have a conversation with her since I’m sure she’s going to bring them up again. Saige isn’t the kind of person who forgets things like this.
“Good. Because you need to experience it.” She sighs happily. Maybe I can read the books with Lizzy or something. I’m going to see her this weekend. I’ve felt so off-balance lately and I need someone familiar to ground me.
Saige and I talk more about what books we have and haven’t read and movies we have and haven’t seen. I’m not sure which one of starts yawning, but soon we’re lying back against the pillows in our robes, the spaces between our responses longer and longer as we both struggle to stay awake.
Finally, we both succumb to the mix of food and drinks and pass out.
I wake up on my stomach, my arm thrown over Saige, who is curling as close to me as she can. Instead of being calm in repose, her eyebrows are drawn together and she’s making soft sounds that probably woke me. Her body twitches, as if she’s dreaming something upsetting.
I wait a moment and then softly shake her.
“Saige,” I say. “Wake up.” Her eyes fly open and she gasps, shoving herself away from me.
“Saige! It’s me. It’s Quinn. I think you were having a dream.” She sputters and blinks a few times and then starts to relax.
“I’m sorry,” she says, pushing her hair out of her eyes. It was straight last night, but the natural curl has started to come back. Like it can’t be tamed, even by heat.
“Are you okay?” I reach out to her, but she puts one hand up to stop me.
“I’m fine. I just… I need to use the bathroom.” She gets up and walks to the bathroom and closes the door. I hear the lock click.
I rub the sleep out of my own eyes and check the clock. It’s five in the morning. My plan was to rise early, take her to breakfast and then drop her back at her place so she can get ready for class. Her first one isn’t until nine and I planned on showing up late for work.
The water runs in the bathroom, but the sound is steady, as if she just turned the sink on for noise. I wait a few more minutes and then softly walk to the closed door and knock.
“Saige? Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she says, and I can tell she’s anything but.
“Let me in,” I say.
“No.” I think about banging on the door and demanding she let me in, but I don’t think that tactic will work with her.
“Please let me in? I’m worried about you,” I say and it’s not a complete lie.
I wait for a few seconds and then the water turns off and the door opens.
She’s crying. Her eyes are red and puffy and there are streaks on her cheeks from last night’s makeup that she never took off.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. I’m not quite sure what to do in this situation. I have no idea why she’s crying or what I can do to help her.
“Nothing,” she says, leaning against the sink and wiping her cheeks.
“Well, if it was nothing then you wouldn’t be crying. Did you have a bad dream?” She rolls her eyes.
“Bad dreams are for children.”
“That’s not true,” I say, closing the door behind me and sitting on the edge of the bathtub. “Everyone has nightmares. Everyone has something they’re afraid of.” She meets my eyes and she looks… young. Sad. Scared.
“What are you afraid of?” she asks, her voice echoing around the room. A single drip of water falls from the faucet into the sink with a little plink.
“You,” I say, and this is another truth. I’m scared of her. I’m scared of how I’m starting to feel about her. I can tell myself she’s a job all I want, but that won’t stop my body from responding when I’m anywhere near her.
It’s like she’s been sent as a punishment. To torture me for what I’ve done. It would make sense, given how the rest of my life has gone so far. What a beautiful hell I’m in.
She rolls her eyes and I grab some toilet paper and hand it to her so she can wipe her eyes.