clear signs that Igor and I weren’t a good match, but ignored anyway because I was sure, in the big scheme of things, he was my Mr. Darcy. That I could turn him into my Mr. Darcy.”
“Signs like…?”
Quinn sighed and leaned deeper into her hand. “Like when Igor told me he loved me. Sure, he said it, but I never felt secure in it. Not even a little. Despite what I portrayed outwardly. That’s because I wanted it to be true in my head, but I guess I knew it wasn’t in my heart. I just couldn’t admit it. Apparently, I have a gift for picking men who’ll be whatever I want them to be just to keep from being alone, and then they realize what I want isn’t what they want and they skip off to someone with big guns and abs I could bounce a quarter off of.”
“Wow. That’s deep, my friend. But you seem like you’ve come to terms with it. Though, I still say, it doesn’t mean it can’t happen to you.”
Quinn shrugged, wincing when she tried to stretch out her arm. “But maybe it’s just not for everyone. I mean, this Aphrodite thing is about repopulating the world, right? But some people choose not to procreate for whatever reasons. If everyone procreated we’d have far bigger problems than we already do, don’t you think? I’ve made my peace with the idea I just wasn’t meant to be part of that particular bigger picture.”
Ingrid rolled her tongue along the inside of her cheek, her patience clearly waning. “Look, Igor is the shit on your shoe. He didn’t even have the decency to break up with you properly, Quinn. You’re a nice lady. He’s a dicknuckle of a man. It shouldn’t sour you forever.” She waved her hands in a dismissive motion. “That’s beside the point. The point is, despite our complete lack of almost anything in common other than English Lit, and considering our age difference, I still know that a bad breakup takes time to get over. I’m not so young that I don’t get—”
“Why are you always harping on the fact that I’m almost old enough to be your mother?” Quinn planted an indignant hand on her hip with a grin. “I’m so tired of hearing about your youth, I could cry. I’m thirty-five, not three thousand-five. Yes, I decided to continue my education a little later in life. So. What?” Quinn waved her finger under Ingrid’s nose to make her point.
Ingrid gave her a look of outrage, her heavily made-up eyes wide. “I’m not making fun of you. I’m stating a fact. It was me, wasn’t it, who clunked Thor Benson in the head for making fun of your age?”
That was true. Ingrid had. Right after their fellow classmate Thor, who shouldn’t have been given vocal chords, let alone a high school diploma, had called her a wannabe MILF.
Okay. Unfair call. She was picking fights in her touchiness after the diner revelations. “Yes. It was a nice shot, too. Perfectly executed.”
“He deserved it. He doesn’t even know how to spell MILF, let alone identify one. He said to tell you hello, too.”
She’d forgotten all about her class. “What did you tell everyone?”
“That you had a boob job and you’re recuperating.”
Quinn snorted. “You didn’t.”
“Nah, I didn’t. I just told them you had to cut your trip short because you were the new Aphrodite, Goddess of Lurve, and your plate suddenly became full and especially sparkly.”
Quinn giggled. “Thanks for covering for me. I’m not ready to explain about Igor yet.”
“So seriously. Are you really, really going to let that douchenozzle crap on your future dreams? Don’t you think it’s time to let the failures go?”
Youth, in all its impatience, thy name is Ingrid. It had nothing to do with letting go. It had to do with a dream dashed, and coming to terms with the dashing.
“Look, Miss Youthful and Resilient 2015, you’re young, maybe too young to have experienced real betrayal. So while Igor is a piece of limp wiener, we were in a relationship for over a year. Maybe at your age that’s no big deal, and maybe the day after you found out the man you thought was your soul mate cheated on you, you’d skip right off to the next available guy with tickets to a Justin Bieber concert. But at my age, a year means something. It’s time invested, and it still stings a little. I’m gun-shy now. And it isn’t