Love in Slow Motion

2. Quinn

2 QUINN

At first, winning the house in the divorce seemed like a good thing. After all, I’ve spent countless hours cleaning, decorating, and hosting parties at this house. I’m the one who made it a home. But the reality is, when you get the house in a divorce, you have to live in it alone, you have to pay the mortgage on it alone, and you have to constantly face the memories that cage you in every time you sleep in the bed you once shared with your spouse or shower where you used to shower together. The couch where we used to fall asleep during movies, the table where we used to have dinner on nights when Chase made it home at a reasonable hour, the garage where he used to drink beer and pretend like he was going to teach himself to fix things.

I fought to keep the house, but now I don’t want it. I just didn’t want to have to find a new place to live, on top of trying to find a job after letting Chase support me for the last three years.

Walking through the empty house, I start to undress, leaving my shoes and the clothes I wore to the mediation scattered across the floor the way that used to earn me a comment from Chase when he got home.

“ Come on, Quinn. You don’t have time to take your clothes to the laundry basket? It’s like living with a teenage boy. ”

Sometimes you just want to leave your clothes splayed out across the couch. Well, now there’s no one around to tell me I can’t. There’s also no one around to criticize me for stopping at the market down the street to buy a giant slice of cake that’s probably meant to be shared by two people.

I’ve just settled onto the couch, slice of cake in one hand and the TV remote in the other, when my phone ding s to let me know I have a message. I toss the remote onto the coffee table and grab my phone. It’s probably Brooke, letting me know that she made it back to Belmont, and her boyfriend’s loving arms, safely. I roll my eyes. Those two are so in love it’s sickening.

Was I ever that in love, even in the early days, with Chase?

Now that all is said and done, I can’t remember.

The notification on my phone is an email, and when I see that it’s from the marketing firm that I interviewed at last week, I stop breathing. I’ve been to countless interviews. I’ve smiled until my cheeks hurt, and I’ve come up with more bogus interview answers than I ever thought I would in my life.

But every single job has rejected me and all for the same reason: because as soon as I got my marketing degree, I married Chase, and we agreed that I didn’t have to work. Between the lake house allowance and Chase’s executive job, we had more than enough to get by. And because of that, I have no experience and a huge employment gap. My last job was at the Suffolk University campus bookstore, for God’s sake.

I open the email, and my eyes go straight to the greeting.

Dear Mrs. Lynch...

I try not to cringe at the name. I haven’t had a chance to change it, but I put a trip to the tax office at the top of my mental to-do list. I do not want to be a Lynch any longer, at least not if it means being married to Chase.

We were happy to get to meet you last week, and while we found you to be very professional, competent, and personable, we unfortunately are looking for someone with experience in the field. Thank you for interviewing with us, and we wish you the best of luck in your professional endeavors.

I drop my phone into my lap and burrow down into the couch. What the hell am I supposed to do? I’ve sent so many applications, been on so many interviews. Should I just go get a job at the nearest Starbucks? Or at the bar where Brooke works? Even if the thought of that was at all appealing, it’s not like it would be enough to pay the bills. The mortgage on this house is astronomical, and I’m not going to be able to pay it on a barista’s salary.

My eyes find the shape of me in the TV’s reflection. I stare at myself, the way my hair has gotten too long and my skin has gone sallow. How did I get here? How did I go from a person who was married and had her entire life put together to a person who can’t even afford to keep a roof over her own head? This is what happens when you don’t fight for alimony. It’s my own damn fault. I just wanted the whole thing to be over and done with, and I figured that as long as I got the house, I would be fine.

But now it’s been months, the money I have in the bank account is running out, and I don’t know what to do.

Maybe I could get a roommate, or three. We have four bedrooms. That would get me through for a little while at least. Or maybe I could rent them out on AirBnB or something. I could learn to cook and make breakfast for people looking to stay in Boston on vacation.

I feel the weight of my phone in my lap, like someone set a medicine ball on my thighs. I could call Chase. I could ask him for a little more money to get me by until I can get a good, paying job. He wouldn’t fight me. I know he wouldn’t. He knows I need the money. Of course he does. Otherwise, why would he have cornered me outside the mediation office and asked me for that absolutely ridiculous favor?

But then…he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t need the money, too. He can’t be paying that much for a live-in hotel or an apartment, if he’s gotten one already, especially since he spent some time after our break-up sleeping on Reed’s couch. So why does he need half a million dollars so bad? Maybe it’s just contingency.

There’s another option, of course.

The option that is so bizarre and out of the realm of anything I would even consider.

The option of spending a week at the lake house in New Hampshire. On the one hand, I would make $500,000 and get to spend one last hurrah with Madison and Sabrina and Reed.

My stomach clenches at the thought. Through this entire process, I’ve done a really good job of refusing to think about the fact that Chase’s family will no longer be my family. I love the Lynch family, and the knowledge that I might never see any of them again feels like someone standing over me with a hacksaw, getting ready to amputate my arm.

But if I were to agree to go to the lake house, I would have to pretend to still be married to Chase. I don’t know if I could do that. PDA? Calling each other “sweetheart”? Is that the sort of thing I could stomach for half a million dollars?

I don’t think any of this even matters. There’s no way that anyone is getting Reed to the lake house. As long as I’ve known the Lynch family, the only person who has never shown up for summer vacation is Reed. So even if I agreed to go, would he?

I pick up my phone and dial Chase’s number.