I'm a block away when I feel someone following me. Already? Jesus, I can't get a break from these idiots. "I can hear you, bitch." Fucking Telepathy!
"Quintavius." I turn to look at him, annoyed more than anything at this point.
"Oh, full-naming me, huh?" He rubs his neck with one hand. God, he's so grown up now.
"You're the one calling me a bitch," I retort, crossing my arms.
"Fair," He relents. "Listen, I haven't been around Yelena in a while, so I can't decipher her thoughts as easily anymore, but Kate still loves you." I roll my eyes and start to turn away, but he grabs my arm. "You didn't hear her thoughts when she found you. Or when she got back to the hotel after she ran into you at that bar, for that matter. I did."
"She's with Johnny now." I try to pull my arm away, but he's stronger than he used to be.
"I know you aren't ready to come back. Just, take this." He shoves a piece of paper into my hand. "Contact me if you ever need anything," he requests, then lets go of me and goes back the way he came. Huh. I watch his slumped shoulders in his leather jacket as he disappears around the street corner, and I feel an odd flutter of pride. I didn't train him for long, but he feels like a little brother to me. I never realized it before. I shudder at the gooey feeling, and keep walking toward the car dealership I was heading for. I need to get out of Italy. Never thought I'd say that.
~~~
A week later, I'm waking up in a hotel room, two bodies in the bed with me. I don't remember their names, but I do remember having a great time. I look around, realizing it isn't my hotel room, and I grab my stuff and slip out the door before either of them wakes up. I'm walking down the street, trying to get my bearings when I see a leather jacket in the window of a thrift store. It's perfectly worn, and looks so punk rock, it makes me think of Quint. I snap a photo, thinking I might just send it to him, but I stop myself. I don't need to get involved. I find a street I'm familiar with, and to my delight, I see my favorite street vendor in all of Spain. I'm already having a perfect morning. I get myself a breakfast churro and make my way back to my own hotel feeling oddly optimistic. In the spirit of things, I decide to go ahead and shoot that text to Quint. Maybe it'll be nice to have a friend again. As soon as I send it, I get a response.
Q: Please tell me you bought that jacket for me.
Me: Sorry kid. I cannot tell a lie.
Q: Guess I'll just have to kill myself.
Me: And leave Johnny alone with all those girls? That's a hate crime.
Q: He'll survive, but I won't without that jacket.
Me: It's a crime against the girls, not him! Maybe I'll make my way back to the thrift shop.
Q: {prayer hands} You know my address.
About twenty minutes later, after I've showered and changed, I get another text.
Q: Kate and Johnny are fighting. Thought you'd like to know.
I shake my head and l head back out for the day, stopping into the shop to buy the jacket. I immediately find the nearest post office and send it, knowing full well there'll be a stamp from Spain when it gets to California, and I should probably be moving on. I do still want to hit up Paris, there's this Russian girl I met there, Nina, who does this thing with her tongue. Yeah, I'm going to Paris. As much as I love how chill coastal Spain is, I also love the hustle and bustle of the city. Plus, nothing beats a French breakfast. By the evening, I make my way to a bar I like to hang out in, and when I get there, the bartender whistles, getting another patron's attention.
"Esta chica es un perro!" He saw me leave with those two girls yesterday, evidently.
"Que puedo decir? Las chicas me quieren," I laugh as I sit at my favorite stool. "Mi habitual, por favor." That's another thing that puts Spain near the top of my list, I'm almost fluent in Spanish. Conversational, at the very least. That's why, when I hear someone behind me talking shit, I know to listen.
"No se. Pero, no se mucho sobre las cosas ella hace. Ella esta aqui a veces, y siempre tiene una chica nueva. O dos. Todo yo se, es ella tiene dinero, de verdad." I smirk at the thought of becoming a local legend. The mysterious rich lesbian, here a few months out of the year, always getting laid by the prettiest girls. It sounds kind of dope, honestly. But alas, I have to cut my visit short this time. I down my drink, leave some money on the bar, and head back to my hotel, planning on getting everything ready and leaving as soon as possible. When I have everything, I find my new bike in the parking lot and hit the road. Being on the bike is when I feel closest to myself. Which used to be amazing, but now it makes me get too far into my head. I start thinking about what Quint's reaction will be to the jacket, which makes me wonder if someone else sees it, what will happen? Will America be jealous she didn't get a gift? Will Kate get upset that he's in contact with me? Is Yelena still with them? Damn it, they really looked good. And the kids were so grown up. Thinking about seeing everyone last week has me tearing up. Fuck, why do I care? I don't wanna miss them. Any of them. Maybe I shouldn't have texted Quint. It made me smile, but now I'm spiraling in the middle of the road, and if I start crying, I'll have to pull over. I take a deep breath and push through. I wanna get to Paris as soon as possible.
