Love in Slow Motion

38. Reed

38 REED

3 Years Ago

Chase is drunk. Like, drunk drunk. The kind of drunk that tells me I’m going to be driving him home. Quinn will have to come get his car in the morning. When I extended the invitation of drinks to Chase last night, I sort of thought he would bring Quinn with him. I wanted him to bring Quinn with him. We’re celebrating Aeronaut’s first Michelin Star. It’s pretty pretentious, all things considered, but it brought us a hell of a lot of attention, so I can live with that.

We’ve been open for two and half years, which seems wild when I think about it. Oscar bought the building, and I set up the restaurant with the money I’ve been saving up from working since the day I turned sixteen. Sure, some of it was Mom’s money, but most of it was mine.

And so, I wanted Quinn here. I wanted her to be proud of me. But when I asked my brother why he hadn’t brought her, he said, “God, can’t I have a fucking moment of peace?” And to that, I didn’t know if he was talking about me or her.

For his sake, I hope he meant me.

Who the hell in their right mind would want a moment of peace from Quinn?

“Gotta break the seal,” he says now, practically falling off his stool and stumbling to the bathroom.

This is not the night I imagined. I love my brother, and I wanted to celebrate with him. That’s why I called him. But all he’s done tonight is complain about work, and I’m about ready to go home. I would prefer to celebrate on my own. I’ve been perfecting my chocolate chip cookie recipe for Quinn. That would be a hell of a lot more fun than listening to Chase drunkenly grumble about his boss for the fiftieth time tonight.

I start scrolling through my phone, but as I’m about to open Instagram, I find myself suddenly looking at Quinn on my screen. It’s a picture of her and Sabrina, their cheeks pressed together and all their teeth showing. It’s the picture that I assigned to phone calls from Quinn.

The phone is buzzing in my hands, and I almost drop it. Quinn has only ever called me once, when us and some friends from Suffolk all decided to go to a concert together. We had all exchanged numbers in case we got separated, and Quinn had called me when she went to the bathroom but couldn’t find her way back to our seats.

But she’s calling now. Is she calling because she can’t get a hold of Chase?

His phone is on the table right next to me. As far as I know, she hasn’t tried to call him.

My thumb hovers over the answer button. One swipe and this night will be a much better one. One swipe and I could hear her voice under the commotion of this bar that Chase chose because they do two-for-one pints. I want to answer it so bad, but I know I shouldn’t. Quinn and Chase are getting serious. They’re living together now, so it would be best if I kept my distance.

The phone finally stops vibrating as Chase comes back to the table. He seems to be a little steadier.

When I see his phone start to vibrate on the tabletop, my stomach twists. Quinn is calling him. I can see her face on his screen now, a picture of the two of them smiling. Because he has photos like that with her. Probably a lot of them.

He lets out a sigh, like the last thing he wants in the world is to answer her call. My hands squeeze into fists. He can’t even see how fucking lucky he is.

“Answer it,” I say, trying to keep the anger out of my voice.

He shakes his head. “She’s probably calling to see when I’m coming home.”

“So? She’s your girlfriend, and she lives with you. You don’t think you owe her that much?” I push his phone toward him, but it’s already stopped ringing. We both stare at it. All around us, people are talking, laughing, having a good time, but the two pathetic idiots at this table are sitting in solemn silence.

“Call her back,” I finally say, much less gentle than before.

And he does. I wave at our waiter and mouth water to him. He nods and goes on.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

A chill goes up my spine. I’ve never heard him call her that before, and I’ve never heard him speak to her like this, like he’s scared and worried. What’s going on?

The waiter puts a pitcher of water on the round table, and I pour Chase a glass. Whatever is happening on the other side of that phone, he’s going to need it.

Quinn. What’s wrong with Quinn?

“I’m coming, baby,” he says. “Just hang on. I’m on my way to you.”

He hangs up, and I feel sick with not knowing what’s happening.

“What happened?” I ask as he throws on his coat and downs several gulps of water.

“Quinn’s mom died.”

“Jesus.” I start searching for my keys immediately, but Chase is already halfway to the door. “You’re not driving, asshole!” I shout to him, running after him until I’m close enough that I can latch onto his shoulder and spin him back to face me. “There’s no way you’re sober enough.”

“Then I’ll call a cab.” To his credit, he seems serious about getting to Quinn. He pushes out onto the sidewalk, past the Saturday night crowd, and I realize too late that I left my credit card at the bar to keep the tab open. I’ll have to come back for it in the morning.

“I’ll drive you,” I say, grabbing onto his sleeve and pulling him down the sidewalk to where I parked the bike. The good thing about riding a motorcycle is that I can pretty much park it anywhere. It’s parked now in an alley between a Subway and another bar.

“I’m not getting on that thing,” Chase says, and I roll my eyes.

“You don’t have a choice. Just don’t fall off.” I should have asked for a bottle of water to go. I’m really not feeling confident that he’s going to be able to stay on the back of the bike with how drunk he is. Luckily, the fresh air will help sober him up.

I give him my spare helmet, and we take off.

We’re not far from Chase’s apartment, the one he shares with Quinn. It’s on a quiet corner uptown, and I park against the sidewalk and let the bike idle so he can get off.

He runs, forgetting until the last minute that he forgot to take off the helmet and running back to hand it to me before turning for the building again. Whatever exasperation he was feeling towards her, it was clearly momentary. He’s desperate to get to her, and for that, I’m grateful.

The door shuts behind him, and I sit on my bike, listening to the comforting sound of it idling and wishing I could be up there with her.