Chapter Twenty-nine: Quinn

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Quinn

“Your tummy is big, Aunt Winnie.”

“Thanks, buddy. But if you think this is big, just wait.”

Jackson scrunches up his nose. “I still don’t get how Archer put a baby in there.”

“Hey,” Weston says, shaking his head. “We talked about this.”

I try not to laugh, knowing the reaction will only perpetuate the situation. “What did you say?” I quietly ask Wes.

“A lot of stuff that confused him even more. But I told him it’s not polite to talk to women about things in their bellies.”

“Good call. Raise him to be a gentleman.” I put my hand on my lower abdomen, wincing as I straighten up.

“You okay, sis?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve been having more round ligament pain the last few days. My OB said it was more common in the first trimester, fades in the second, and comes back at the end. Some lucky people get it the whole nine months, and it looks like I’m one of those.”

“Daisy had that,” Wes says, not looking at me. He doesn’t talk about his wife that often, not that I could blame him. She’s a piece of shit for abandoning her son. “There’s nothing you can do, right?”

“Right. If it gets really bad, I’m supposed to call my doctor.”

“Can’t you just call Archer?”

I sink onto the living room couch, watching Jackson run around my parents’ living room pretending to be a Stormtrooper. “Yeah. He did an OB rotation but says he’s limited in his knowledge.”

“That makes sense. How is he?”

“Good,” I say with a pressed smile. I haven’t yet called him back, hoping he fell asleep after I got off the phone. His words bothered me, but I don’t think he really meant it. I get cranky if I stay up too late. I don’t imagine I’d be Miss Suzy Sunshine if I worked for over twenty-four hours. “Busy with work.”

“He’s almost done though, isn’t he?”

“Kind of.” I put both hands on my stomach. The eight-year age difference between Weston and I made it so we never really hung out like I did with my other brothers, but the fact that we’re the only two with kids—well, soon to be a kid for me—is bonding. Wes is the most responsible out of all of us, myself included, and says it like it is with no sugarcoating. He’ll be a good one to run this Boston issue by.

Jackson runs over, jumping onto me. His knee gets me in the gut and I gasp from pain.

“Did I hurt the baby, Aunt Winnie?” he asks, blue eyes wide with fear.

“No, it takes more than that to hurt her,” I assure him. After the doorknob incident, I know.

“You have to be careful,” Wes tells him. “That’s your cousin in there. Give her a few years and then you two can play.”

“I don’t want to play with a girl.” Jackson makes a face. “Girls are gross, and I like boy stuff!” He jumps back off me and pretends to shoot things.

I turn to Wes, raising an eyebrow. “I see you still have your work cut out for you.”

He laughs. “Having another girl around here is going to be strange.”

“We need more girls in this family.”

“You are pretty outnumbered.”

Mom calls us into the kitchen for a quick dinner before heading Eastwood’s downtown Trick or Treating. I check my phone for missed calls, just in case, and set it on the counter. We eat and then attempt to leave but end up dealing with a fifteen-minute temper tantrum because Wes told Jackson he had to go potty before they could leave the house and Jackson refused to go.

“I see you silently judging,” Wes says, picking up Jackson, who’s flailing about and screaming. “But just wait.”

I shake my head. “My daughter will be calm and collected at all times. Just like me.”

Mom lets out a snort of laughter. “You were the queen of meltdowns. Karma is coming for you, hun.”

Finally, Jackson uses the potty and wants to show me how he learned how to wash his hands while singing Happy Birthday. We’re running late now, and Jackson doesn’t remember where he put his plastic pumpkin he needs to collect candy. In a mad rush, we all look around the house and find it filled with crayons and stashed under Dad’s desk in his office.

I carry Jackson outside and buckle him in his car seat. As soon as we get downtown, I’m hit hard with nostalgia.

“Why do you look sad, Aunt Winnie?” Jackson asks, taking my hand. I help him out of the car and smooth out his costume.

“I’m not sad,” I explain. “I didn’t realize how much I missed this until right now.”

“You can always move back,” Mom points out like she always does.

“I know.” Usually, when Mom says stuff like this, I counter it with all the reasons why I wouldn’t want to. But today, I don’t. Because I could move back here, and the more I look around at the effort the town puts into Halloween for the sake of the children living here, the more I want to come back. “It’s a nice place to raise kids.”

Mom stops dead in her tracks. “Are you and Archer thinking about moving here?”

“I am,” I say slowly. “And maybe Archer in a few years.”

“A few years?”

I nod. “He got accepted into that fellowship he wanted, but it’s in Boston.”

Mom opens her mouth only to close it again. “And he’s going?” she finally sputters.

“Yeah. And he should. He’s been working towards this since he was eighteen, after all.”

“You’d think he’d be ready to be done with school,” Wes says, avoiding eye contact with me.

“Yeah,” I agree. “It’s not a permanent position or anything. Just two years of the program and then he’ll be a certified trauma surgeon. I think. I’m not sure how that all works.” I let out a breath. We stop at the first storefront and Jackson gets in line to get candy. Mom sees someone she knows, which isn’t hard to do in Eastwood, and goes over to talk to her. My mind is whirling, and my due date hangs above me like a ticking time bomb. I can move after Emma is born, I know, but I’d like to figure this out before then if possible.

I always thought I’d come back here, that my kids would grow up with their cousins and Mom and Dad would babysit on Friday nights so I could go out on a date night with my husband. Then I got my current job and realized how proud it made me to hold the position I do as a young adult woman and I didn’t want to give up my career and be a stay-at-home mom in a small town.

It’s funny how things change, and while working at one of the fastest growing software companies used to be my only driving force in life, being the best mother I can be is so much more important.

Jackson jumps around with excitement when he sees another kid dressed as a Jedi, and they do a little pretend fight scene. Jackson ‘wins’ and says he has to go and save more planets.

“He knows nothing about Star Wars,” Wes laughs.

“No kidding.” I slow my pace, getting another pain in my side. I feel it more when I’m stressed, and right now I’m pretty damned stressed. Wes slows with me, making sure I’m okay.

“Can I ask you something personal about Daisy?” I ask and start walking again.

“Sure.”

“When did you know you two weren’t right for each other?”

He considers my question. “Probably a few months after our wedding.”

“Why did you stay together then?”

“I didn’t want to admit it to myself or to anyone else. And I think part of me felt like it was a challenge I had to win. Relationships are hard, and I don’t quit things.”

“Do you wish you did?”

“Quit? Yes and no. I wouldn’t change anything that would make Jackson not be here, but I think of the wasted time Daisy and I spent together. This might come as a shock, but we weren’t exactly happy. Why are you asking?”

“Just curious.”

“Are you wondering if you and Archer aren’t right for each other?”

I shake my head. “No. Well, kind of. I think we want different things in life and it concerns me. He’s really focused on his career, which isn’t a bad thing at all. I used to think I was, until she came along.” I pat my belly. “Family’s always been important, and now that I’m going to have my own, it matters more than anything.”

“When will you see him next?”

“Tomorrow. He got the weekend off and is meeting me here.”

“Have a talk with him about all this. One of the biggest things Daisy and I did wrong was not talk about the nitty-gritty stuff. I avoided saying half the things I should have said because I didn’t want to end our marriage. But it’d been over for months before Daisy left. If you and Archer aren’t compatible, it’s best you figure it out now.” He gives me a sympathetic smile.

I nod, feeling both relief and anxiety. “Thanks, Wes.”

He puts his arm around me. “Of course, Quinn. You know I’m always here for you.”

“I know.” That’s another reason I’d love for Emma to grow up here. Not only is it much safer than Chicago, but she’d be surrounded by people who love and support her.

*

I accidentally left my phone at home while we were trick or treating. Not that it’s a big deal or anything, but I did miss two calls from Archer followed by a text that says he got called into work and will be there all night.

Frowning, I hope he got at least a few hours of sleep. I text him back and take a shower, then sit in the living room with Mom and Dad for a while before going to bed. Rufus jumps up next to me and walks in a circle three times before laying down in the middle of the bed. I roll over, putting my arm around him. He lets out a groan and starts panting.

“Fine,” I say with a huff, getting out of bed to turn the fan on. I check my phone, just in case, though it’s been next to me the whole time and I’d know if Archer contacted me. I think about what Wes said, about how the need to clearly communicate what I want in a relationship is so important.

I want to be with Archer. I’m in love with him, and I want to raise our daughter together. But more than anything, I want us to be happy. Missing him and feeling pretty damn disappointed we won’t see each other tomorrow, I look through our vacation photos until I fall asleep.

I wake up to someone sitting on the edge of the bed. I’m still tired, a little groggy, and not ready to get up yet.

“What are you doing?” I ask, eyes not focused enough to tell if it’s Owen or Logan yet. They’re identical twins, but I’m able to tell them apart.

“You awake?”

My brother leans in, and I don’t have to see to know it’s Owen. “You smell like a distillery,” I say and push him away. Brushing my hair out of my face, I sit up, eyeing the clock. “Why are you drunk at seven in the morning?”

“Why aren’t you?” Owen shoots back.

“I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, right. Why’d you go and do that?”

I flop back and pull the covers over my head. “Archer was too irresistible.”

Owen stretches out and lays down, pulling my pillow out from under my head. “That’s what the ladies say about me.”

I yank my pillow back and give him a shove, and he falls off the bed. “Did that baby give you super strength or something?” he slurs.

“Yes. Better not piss me off even more, or I’ll set you on fire with my mind.” Yawning, I throw the blankets back and get up to pee. When I get back, Owen is at the foot of the bed with Rufus. I grab my brush from my bag and run it through my hair. The stairs creak, and Logan makes his way into my room.

“There he is.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You lost him again?”

“Not technically. I knew he was here.”

“Why is he here? And you? It’s so early.”

“We had a bachelor party at the bar last night. With strippers and everything.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“So that’s why Owen is drunk.”

“Partly,” Logan says, lowering his voice. “Charlie was there. With her boyfriend.”

Charlotte—Charlie—Redford was Owen’s only long-term girlfriend. Things seemed to go really well between them, and then Owen did something stupid, like he usually does, that made her break up with him. He claims it only bothers him because she got away, but I still think he’s in love with her.

“Whose bachelor party did you host?”

Logan shrugs. “Some guy named Bill. It was a crazy night.”

“Looks like it. Though you still never answered my question on why the hell are you here?”

“We were supposed to go four-wheeling with Jeff and his brother, but this loser is too drunk to operate any vehicle. I dropped him off here so Mom could spend some quality bonding time with her third-favorite child.”

“You mean so Mom can clean up his puke.”

“Basically. I don’t want to do it later.” He pokes at Owen, and, realizing he’s asleep, takes his shoes off. “Sorry he woke you up. I told him to see if you were up because I brought donuts and coffee.”

“Smart to bring a bribe. Is Mom even up yet?”

“She’s out walking the dogs.”

I fold down the blankets and cover Owen up. “I’m sleeping here again tonight. If he barfs in the bed, I’ll be pissed.”

“I won’t barf,” Owen mumbles.

“Go back to sleep,” I tell him and follow Logan down the stairs. I take my donuts outside, sitting on the patio with Logan while we eat. It’s a chilly fall morning, warning us that winter is right around the corner. Hell, the weather could turn midday and we could wake up to snow in the morning. That’s the weather in the Midwest for you.

After Logan leaves, I shower, get dressed, and find something to eat again. I sit in the living room, turning on the TV and call Archer, getting his voicemail. He’s either in surgery or sleeping.

I think.

“Are there any donuts left?” Owen asks, slowly coming down the stairs.

“I’m surprised you remember going to get donuts.”

“I always remember donuts.” He brings the box from the kitchen and sits on the couch next to me, taking the remote.

“I’m watching this,” I tell him.

“This show is shit.”

I grab the remote from his hands. “You woke me up. Now you have to watch musicals with me.”

“Fine,” he grumbles and bites into a donut. “What’s new with you?”

“Nothing yet. Still trying to figure things out.”

“Stop trying and just go with it.”

I give him a skeptical look. “Is that what you do?”

“It’s worked out for me so far. Overthinking never leads to anything good.”

“You’re right on that. Overthinking leads to second-guessing.”

“Exactly,” he says with his mouth full.

I put my feet up on the coffee table, yawning again. “Thanks, O.”

“Of course, Q. I’m full of brotherly advice.”

I roll my eyes. “Too bad it’s not all good advice.”

“Hey.” Owen elbows me. “Better me than Weany-Deany.”

I laugh. “I haven’t heard you call him that in years.”

“He deserves the nickname after the way he freaked out about you and Archer.”

“True. He’s coming around now.”

Owen shakes his head. “He’s fucking ridiculous. Can you get me water?”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Fine,” I say and take the last chocolate donut on my way to the kitchen. I fill two glasses with water and go back to the living room, watching the rest of the movie and talking to Owen. Then he goes upstairs to crash in one of the guest rooms, and I go out to lunch with Mom and Dad.

I still haven’t heard from Archer, and I’m getting worried. I call his cell again and this time it goes straight to voicemail. Half an hour goes by, and the worry gets worse

I want to tell him I don’t want him to go to Boston. I need to say my piece and I know Weston is right. I need to be honest and have the best communication as I can. That’s why there’ll be no regrets. I’ll be careful not to tell him what to do but will express my own feelings on the topic. But mostly, I need to make sure Archer is okay.

I have Sam’s number, and I pull it up. Archer wanted me to have it in case I needed to get ahold of him while visiting in Indy. After Bobby threw the door open at me, Archer’s been a little overprotective while I stayed with him.

Sam answers after two rings. “Hello?”

“Hey, Sam. It’s Quinn.”

“Oh, hey. Is everything okay?”

“I think so but wanted to check on Archer. I can’t get ahold of him and I know he’s been working a lot. Is he around?”

A few seconds of silence tick by. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“He’s in Boston.”