protocol. I can’t believe your father is seriously considering this. He shouldn’t put you at risk to help them.”
“The assignment’s coming from Arthur Pritchard,” I say, and his eyes widen. “Besides, I’ve already agreed. It’s the right thing to do.”
Deacon scoffs and sits back on the couch, grabbing his drink from the side table to take a long sip. He’s only looking out for me, but my job is to provide closure. My dad’s right—I save people.
A heavy silence fills the room, no one sure what to say next, especially when Deacon is clearly pissed off. But I haven’t told them everything yet.
“I’ll have a boyfriend,” I say quietly, and take a sip from my Sprite. They all turn to me.
“What?” Aaron asks, exchanging a look with Deacon.
“Catalina has a boyfriend named Isaac,” I say. “My dad wants him to be part of the closure.”
“Tell him to fuck off,” Deacon responds. “That’s not allowed.”
I shoot him a pointed look to remind him that he’s talking about my dad. Deacon closes his eyes and I can actually see him try to gather his thoughts before speaking again.
“Sorry,” he says in a controlled voice. “Politely tell your father no, Quinn. You’re not a relationship counselor. If this dude needs closure, it’s because he’s still in love with his dead girlfriend. What if he transfers that to you? What if he falls in love with you instead? That’s why this shit isn’t allowed. And you’re not going to be yourself—you’ll be her.” He says her like it annoys him, like she’s already betrayed him. “What if you . . .” He stops and shakes his head out of aggravation.
“She’s not going to hook up with him, Deacon,” Myra says. “She knows the rules.” I thank her for her vote of confidence and she nods to me. See—she’s not always horrible. “Now,” Myra continues, “it’s been a long night already. Are we going to keep obsessing about Quinn’s imaginary love life, or are we going to have fun? I spent ten dollars at the damn Redbox renting crappy movies with explosions. Yeah?” She looks around at us, and Aaron laughs—the sound deep and hearty in the sad little room.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning over to kiss her. Deacon doesn’t agree, but his hand brushes my hair as he wraps his arm around the back of the sofa and settles in. We don’t mention Isaac again. We don’t mention Shelly or assignments. We spend the next few hours watching mindless entertainment and pretending our lives are normal. We’re always pretending.
* * *
Deacon yawns loudly from behind me while the credits roll across the screen. Aaron is braiding Myra’s hair again, but they both look like they’re about to fall asleep. I guess it’s time to call it a night. Reluctantly (because I don’t want to rush tomorrow), I climb up and stretch. When I turn, Deacon is smiling at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Can I have a lift home?” he asks sweetly. “My ride ran out of here in a blind rage, wishing me dead.” Myra glances over curiously for my response.
“Yeah, fine. Grab your stuff,” I tell him, waving my hand. He jumps up, grinning madly, and goes over to bump fists with Aaron and pick up his backpack in the corner. Myra lifts her eyebrows and I shake my head. “What?” I ask her. “He doesn’t have a ride.”
“Please, girl,” she says with a laugh. “He was planning on leaving with you all along.”
I look behind me and watch as Deacon slips on his sneakers, standing on one foot with surprising dexterity. “Either way,” I tell Myra, “I still would have given him a ride home.”
“I know.” She comes over and pulls me into a lilac-scented hug. We stay like that a long second, both knowing this a real good-bye, at least for now. That’s the thing about Myra—she may not be a closer, but she understands what the job takes and how it affects us. “We’ll see you in a few weeks, okay?” she says quietly. She pulls back and I have to
“The assignment’s coming from Arthur Pritchard,” I say, and his eyes widen. “Besides, I’ve already agreed. It’s the right thing to do.”
Deacon scoffs and sits back on the couch, grabbing his drink from the side table to take a long sip. He’s only looking out for me, but my job is to provide closure. My dad’s right—I save people.
A heavy silence fills the room, no one sure what to say next, especially when Deacon is clearly pissed off. But I haven’t told them everything yet.
“I’ll have a boyfriend,” I say quietly, and take a sip from my Sprite. They all turn to me.
“What?” Aaron asks, exchanging a look with Deacon.
“Catalina has a boyfriend named Isaac,” I say. “My dad wants him to be part of the closure.”
“Tell him to fuck off,” Deacon responds. “That’s not allowed.”
I shoot him a pointed look to remind him that he’s talking about my dad. Deacon closes his eyes and I can actually see him try to gather his thoughts before speaking again.
“Sorry,” he says in a controlled voice. “Politely tell your father no, Quinn. You’re not a relationship counselor. If this dude needs closure, it’s because he’s still in love with his dead girlfriend. What if he transfers that to you? What if he falls in love with you instead? That’s why this shit isn’t allowed. And you’re not going to be yourself—you’ll be her.” He says her like it annoys him, like she’s already betrayed him. “What if you . . .” He stops and shakes his head out of aggravation.
“She’s not going to hook up with him, Deacon,” Myra says. “She knows the rules.” I thank her for her vote of confidence and she nods to me. See—she’s not always horrible. “Now,” Myra continues, “it’s been a long night already. Are we going to keep obsessing about Quinn’s imaginary love life, or are we going to have fun? I spent ten dollars at the damn Redbox renting crappy movies with explosions. Yeah?” She looks around at us, and Aaron laughs—the sound deep and hearty in the sad little room.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning over to kiss her. Deacon doesn’t agree, but his hand brushes my hair as he wraps his arm around the back of the sofa and settles in. We don’t mention Isaac again. We don’t mention Shelly or assignments. We spend the next few hours watching mindless entertainment and pretending our lives are normal. We’re always pretending.
* * *
Deacon yawns loudly from behind me while the credits roll across the screen. Aaron is braiding Myra’s hair again, but they both look like they’re about to fall asleep. I guess it’s time to call it a night. Reluctantly (because I don’t want to rush tomorrow), I climb up and stretch. When I turn, Deacon is smiling at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Can I have a lift home?” he asks sweetly. “My ride ran out of here in a blind rage, wishing me dead.” Myra glances over curiously for my response.
“Yeah, fine. Grab your stuff,” I tell him, waving my hand. He jumps up, grinning madly, and goes over to bump fists with Aaron and pick up his backpack in the corner. Myra lifts her eyebrows and I shake my head. “What?” I ask her. “He doesn’t have a ride.”
“Please, girl,” she says with a laugh. “He was planning on leaving with you all along.”
I look behind me and watch as Deacon slips on his sneakers, standing on one foot with surprising dexterity. “Either way,” I tell Myra, “I still would have given him a ride home.”
“I know.” She comes over and pulls me into a lilac-scented hug. We stay like that a long second, both knowing this a real good-bye, at least for now. That’s the thing about Myra—she may not be a closer, but she understands what the job takes and how it affects us. “We’ll see you in a few weeks, okay?” she says quietly. She pulls back and I have to
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