Page 60 of Turning Back

“Really?” I ask dryly. I try to picture how Quin introduced Chella to his mother. Hey, Mom, this is my friend, Marcella Walcott. Why, yes, she is the senator’s daughter. Or does he say, Hey, this is Chella, Smith Baldwin’s girlfriend? Maybe he says, Hey, Mom, this is the girl Bric and Smith and I all fucked together last year? What? What does he say?

I know his mom pretty well. Kitty Foster is every kid’s mom. I bet when Quin was living at home they had the hang-out house. The place where you just went. Probably didn’t even have to knock. Just let yourself in, grab one of those homemade cookies off the kitchen counter, and head to the garage, or the basement. Wherever.

But I cannot, for the life of me, picture Kitty Foster knowing what her son does with me and Smith.

The doors open and Quin steps out, walking purposefully down the hallway to the coat closet. He hangs his suit in there and then goes to the fridge and grabs a beer. After that he settles on one of the couches and flips the TV on with the remote. Broncos are playing. Two minutes into his visit and he acts like he’s lived here for years.

“You’re here,” Rochelle says.

Both Quin and I turn to look at her in the hallway. She’s all wet still and wearing the white bathrobe. Adley is bundled up in a baby towel that has a hood to cover her little wet ringlets of hair.

“I’m here,” Quin says. “I don’t know why you guys are all paranoid about me. Is there something going on I should know about?”

Rochelle squints her eyes at me. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t hate-fuck you last night, Rochelle. I was just telling you how I feel.”

“Thanks a lot, Bric.” Rochelle takes the baby into the other bedroom and slides the barn doors closed to shut us out.

“Why is this suddenly so hard?” I ask. “We never used to fight.”

Quin takes a long sip of his beer. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing, Bric. All damn day.”

“I can hear you,” Rochelle yells from the bedroom.

I sigh and take a seat on the couch opposite Quin.

“Don’t worry,” Quin calls back. “In about an hour it will all be sorted.”

Will it? I wonder.

“Fucking cures everything,” Quin mumbles as he takes another sip.

“Does it?” I ask out loud.

“Always used to,” Quin says. “So it better. Or things are very fucking wrong with this arrangement.” He whispers this so Rochelle can’t hear.

Yeah, I decide. Then I guess it better. Because I just got them back. And I’m not ready to make new arrangements and start all over again.

We watch the end of the football game and Quin is up throwing his beer in the recycle bin when Rochelle finally tiptoes out of the bedroom and slides the doors closed behind her.

“She’s asleep?” Quin asks. She stops in the hallway to look at him. I can see the longing on her face. She’s wearing it like a dress right now. It’s almost painful to watch her.

She just nods.

Quin walks over to her with his hand outstretched. “Good. Then come with me.” He leads her into the master bedroom and shoots me a look over his shoulder. “You coming, or what?”

Something is very different about Quin these days. And I can’t figure out if it’s because we’ve grown apart these past few months or if he’s playing me.

“Yeah,” I say, standing up to follow him into the bedroom. I decide it’s the former. He’s never been a great player, right? Mediocre at best. I mean, he is the one who fell in love and fucked it all up. So maybe he’s just trying harder than usual. We just need to find our groove again, that’s all.

Quin takes off his tie and throws it on the floor, his fingers already unbuttoning his shirt. He and Rochelle stare at each other for a second, but then she unties the belt of her robe and lets it slide over her shoulders.

Her body is so fucking hot. She’s all curvy now from having the baby. And her tits are huge. Her nipples large and round. So different than they were before.

I walk up behind her and start playing with them, studying Quin’s face as he watches us. He walks forward, taking his shirt off and dropping it on a chair as he passes. His hands cover mine and we play with her tits together.

“See,” he says, leaning down to whisper in her mouth. “All better now. Last night is over. Let it go, Rochelle. Just be here with us and let it go.”