make you miss me • q. hughes

44

It's been over a week since Mom visited. My research started maybe five days ago. I even finally got around to getting a library card to truly cover all my bases. If I'm not at work, I'm adding to my ever-growing document. I won't be done until I'm satisfied.

Quinn keeps asking me what I'm even doing and I keep it so vague. I can't let him know in case it turns out what I'm thinking isn't right. It'd be awkward and embarrassing and weird. He doesn't seem to mind. He's usually napping or watching a movie or reading one of my books while I type away. According to him, I could be performing a surgery and he would only care that he's in the same room as me.

That little comment went into the research.

I look up from my computer screen. Quinn's been gone for a while. He never showers this long. How am I supposed to work in these conditions? He is so integral to the process even if it's only him sitting there and looking pretty.

"Oh, fuck," I whisper very out of breath as what feels like every joint in my body cracks once I stand. Even more somehow make themselves known once I start heading down the hall.

Now, eavesdropping is bad. It's disrespectful, invasive, rude, morally wrong, and a lot more negative adjectives. You shouldn't do it. Especially not on your significant other. Unless you hear your name. That's when it's allowed. Trust me, if they're saying your name when they think you aren't there, you want to hear it. It's your business!

I freeze right before my bedroom door and listen to Quinn say, "I think I'm worried about Schuy."

"Why, what's up?" Tiny's voice spills out a little less than his.

"Well, to start she's glued to her laptop and every time I ask what she's up to she's like 'Getting to the bottom of it!' or 'I'm figuring it out!' with so much excitement it's almost scary," he says. "Like dude, it's fucked up she lights up after I ask and then goes dead in the face."

"That's her resting bitch face," Val says.

He sighs. "That's not the issue. It's the lighting up so much."

"Oh, yeah no that's kind of fucked. What else?"

"Place is a mess by Scout standards."

"Like really a mess or—"

Quinn cuts her off. "It would probably even be kind of messy by your standards in some spots." I know he's probably looking right at my sort of overflowing laundry basket which is really only overflowing because someone's clothes are also in it.

"By my standards?" Tiny asks. "My incredibly so desperately low standards of a clean home?"

"In some areas. If she's home, she's getting to the bottom of it," he says.

I glance over my shoulder to get a glimpse of the kitchen and okay, there's a bit of clutter on the counter. That's kind of annoying. It's normal to have some clutter in a house. It's not like it's food or dirty dishes. It could be so much worse if it wasn't me.

Focusing back in, I hear Tiny go, "Anything else?"

"I'm not sure she notices but I am definitely the thing keeping her watered and fed. She barely notices when I refill her water or put food she immediately starts eating each time."

"Okay," Tiny says. "Ever notice how people have a voice that kind of tells them when to stop or rest?"

"Sure," he mumbles.

"Yeah, Scout doesn't listen to that voice. It's something standing in her way and what she thinks she needs to do. It's the other part of an argument with herself that she's committed to winning." My best friend in the world bursts out laughing. "God, I fucking love that girl."

"Yeah," Quinn says, and then something else I can't even hear. Trust me when I say I tried to hear it.

"She'll get out of it when she's satisfied," Tiny tells him. "Wait it out. I've done it a million times."

"Alright. Hey, have you heard about Trevor—"

I already know what Trevor's dumbass is getting up to since Quinn is literally big-mouthing the gossip I fed him and heard about from Tiny who heard from Jack. Oh, my god. We're all big mouths. Okay, whatever. I get back to my computer and don't even pick it up. Instead, staring at the pages of information I've deemed important, not even really reading any of it.

I don't need to read it to know what it says. It all points to the same answer. I've gotten to the bottom of it. How did I not realize I was going in circles already? Is it denial? Or maybe hearing that conversation snapped me back to reality.

Quinn plops down next to me, clearly freshly showered. For a while, he was using all my stuff until one day he showed up with a bag of stuff I'd seen in his shower. So now I get to smell him instead of smelling myself which always brings a bit of a smile to my face for some reason. Oh, wait. I know the reason.

"Hey," I say, closing my laptop and moving it to the coffee table. "Wanna put on Gossip Girl while I tidy up a bit?"

He frowns. "What?"

"Do you want to put on Gossip Girl while I go ahead and clean up?" I ask with sarcastic slowness.

"You sure you don't need to keep figuring it out or whatever?" When I shake my head, he pats my thigh a few times. I nearly spit out the words right then and there. "We can watch Gossip Girl."

"You're acting like it's my show."

"You love it."

I laugh. "Yeah. I love it."