39. Hunter

Playlist: State of Grace (Taylor’s Version) | Taylor Swift

For the second morning in a row, I’m awake when the sun rises, light streaming between the city buildings. This time, it’s because, well, I never went to sleep Friday night. I stayed up all night chugging mug after mug of Jo’s favorite tea, and by the time I clicked print, the sun was rising.

I could’ve gone to sleep. Should’ve, probably, but I was jacked up on caffeine and hope. Rather than get an appropriate amount of sleep, I got ready for the day, and left Jo a note on the counter, telling her where I’d be.

“Port Haven is next,” the conductor says as they check my ticket stub. I nod in understanding, butterflies and a bajillion other insects fluttering in my belly. It’s either an orgy or a dance-off, I’m not sure.

I inhale shakily, gazing out the window. This is either going to go really well, or really poorly. Jo might think I’m out of my mind and tell me so.

Or maybe it’ll mean something to her, the way I hope it does.

I left Jo a note telling her to meet us at our spot in Port Haven, that I’d wait for her and…

And it just occurred to me that we sort of have two spots in Port Haven: the lighthouse and the spot on the shore where the sound stole my undergarments.

Shit .

I rummage through my bag for my phone. I wanted this to be romantic, reminiscent of a historical romance with sweeping grand gestures and letters, but modern conveniences are indeed convenient.

Except my phone isn’t in my bag.

“ Fuck ,” I swear. God, it’s probably on the counter, right next to that gorgeous note I left her. I’d been so distracted by my nerves and anxiety that I haven’t looked at my phone once. I kind of just…took the subway to Grand Central, bought a ticket at the machine, looked at the board to find my track, and then dissociated the entire ride.

Krista, my therapist, has been encouraging me to speak kinder to and about myself. To not insult the things I do because of my ADHD.

Right now it’s hard as hell.

I feel angry tears prickling at the back of my eyes, and not bullying myself feels downright impossible.

I just want everything to be perfect for Jo. To show her how hard I want to fight for her. How worthy she is of being fought for.

How am I going to do that if she can’t find me?

I gather my things and step off the train onto the platform, following the small crowd of people towards the parking lot. I have no idea how I’m going to get to the beach. Maybe I’ll talk to someone at the ticketing desk and see if they can call me a cab or something.

“Oops, sorry,” I mumble to the human I bump into on the ramp to the parking lot.

“It’s fine—Hunter?”

I do a double take when I look up and make eye contact with McKenna, Kelsey’s maid of honor. Former maid of honor, I guess.

“Hey!” I look around nervously, worried she might be with Kelsey. “What brings you here?”

Her cheeks darken with a deep maroon blush. “Um…”

Then I see Barry, the bartender, leaning against a beat up car. He beams when he sees her and eagerly waves.

I squeal. “Shut up . That’s so cute!”

She looks embarrassed. “Is it? I usually talk to Kelsey about shit like this, but my therapist and I decided it was time to go no-contact with her.”

I’m surprised by that. It’s not that McKenna seems spineless…but McKenna kind of seems spineless.

“They called off the wedding, if you hadn’t heard.”

“Yeah, she left our bridesmaid group chat and started vague tweeting.” She rolls her eyes. “That’s exactly what happened last time, too.”

“Jo deserves better than being referred to as ‘last time,’” I grumble, put off for some reason by the phrasing.

McKenna stops short, and I stop walking too, turning to face her.

“What actually happened between them? Kelsey and Jo?” She doesn’t look judgmental, but genuinely curious.

“That’s Jo’s story to tell. Not mine.”

“I liked Jo. When they were dating. And I think Kelsey may not have told the entire truth about their breakup.” She says it carefully, like if she doesn’t say the exact right thing, Kelsey might overhear and cause further destruction.

I wouldn’t put it past her.

I’m about to ask what exactly Kelsey told her when a revelation washes over me like a wave: knowing what bullshit Kelsey said won’t help me, and it certainly won’t help Jo.

“I don’t know what she said, and I don’t want to…but the breakup wasn’t initiated by Jo. I think she’s happy it’s over now, but it’s taken this long for her to get there. It’s been painful for her. Her relationship and breakup with Kelsey were the root of a lot of that pain.”

McKenna doesn’t say anything, simply nodding before continuing to walk. I follow her, since I’m not sure where else to go.

Barry absolutely lights up when McKenna greets him with a long kiss and honestly, it’s cute as shit.

“Barry Bear, you remember Hunter? She was the photographer last weekend…”

I don’t have time to gush over Barry Bear being the best pet name ever , because Barry’s eyes narrow at me, and I know he knows I stole the tequila from Port of Call.

“Can I have a ride to the lighthouse?” I blurt out as he opens his mouth, probably to demand I pay him however much a handle of Don Julio 1942 costs.

“No,” Barry glares at me, but how is someone whose nickname is Barry Bear supposed to be intimidating?

“Of course!” McKenna says at the same time. I shift my eyes between the two of them as McKenna’s eyes widen. “Barry, be nice. We can do that thing in the car you told me you wanted to try about after we drop her off—”

I have no idea what this fantasy of Barry’s is, nor do I particularly want to. Whatever it is, it’s worth more to him than being angry at me for stealing. His face lights up, and he opens the back door of his car, doing an over-the-top sweeping motion with his arm. “M’Lady.”

I expect the ride to be awkward and uncomfortable, but to my surprise, McKenna and Barry are cool . Barry tells me about what it was like being in Jo’s class without an ounce of creepiness or fawning. This man officially only has eyes for McKenna, and if he hurts her, I’ll make sure he’s never seen again.

I ask Barry to drop me off at SandPiper Inn instead of the lighthouse so I can say hi to Audrey. Also maybe steal a free cup of coffee from the lobby since I think I forgot my meds this morning.

Audrey isn’t in the lobby, but Piper is, playing at the grand piano.

“Hey, Piper,” I greet her as I approach the piano.

“What are you doing here? I thought the wicked witches called off the wedding?” She doesn’t look up at me, just keeps playing, and I notice she has yellow circular earplugs in her ears.

“Wicked witches?”

“Yeah, that’s what Mom called them. Kelly and Betty or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” I agree. “Yeah, they called off the wedding, but I’m in town and wanted to pop in and say hi. Is your mom around?”

“She’s at home,” Piper answers easily. “But she’s coming by later if you want to see her.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to, but tell her I say hi.” Piper nods as her fingers dance over the keys.

I listen to Piper play for a few minutes. “You’re talented as hell,” I tell her, impressed by her skill.

“I know.” Her tone isn’t cocky, but neutral. Like it’s a fact that she does know. “I want to go to Juilliard when I graduate, so my teacher at school suggested I take private lessons over the summer with a new teacher. My first lesson is today.”

I talk to Piper a little more, before walking to the lighthouse. Somehow, I managed to forget my phone, but remembered bobby pins to pick the lock.

I close the old, wooden door behind me and look around the lighthouse. It looks different in the daylight—the paint is peeling, and honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if a ghost popped out and introduced themself to me.

Maybe it’s easier to say that now because she’s not with me, and there’s no lingering notes of champagne in the air.

I don’t bother turning on the lights, the sun streaming through the window panes lights up the place just enough for me to be able to read the words of the Tessa Dare paperback I bought at Tea-Riffic Books last weekend.

Bobby pins and random book? Got it.

Phone which is one-billion percent essential? Don’t got it.

I’m only able to read for a few minutes before I hear a loud, snorting laugh I can recognize anywhere.

She’s here .

She got the note and immediately took the subway—no, a cab because it’s quicker—and now she’s here.

I should…

Wait. What should I do? Do I fling open the door and throw myself into her arms? Do I let her find me? Do I—

My thoughts are interrupted by another loud laugh and a clicking noise as Jo picks the lock. She says something, voice muffled, and then there’s another laugh.

I freeze, blood running cold. I don’t know that deep, masculine laugh.

Jo’s with a man? At our spot?

Okay, now I’m panicking.

The door opens and I suck in a breath as two figures, neither of which is Jo, fall through the doorway as they grab at each other’s clothes. One of them is probably my height and curvy, untamed curls creating a halo around her head. The man whose pants her hand is currently down is tall with broad shoulders and red hair and—

Oh my god.

“Oh my god ,” I say, loud enough to break whatever horny trance Giovanna’s parents are in. They have eight kids and they’re behaving like they want to make a ninth. They pull apart, and their matching looks of pure horror mirror mine, I’m certain.

“Hunter?” Mrs. Quinn asks, blinking at me. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for your daughter. What are you doing here? Wait. Never mind. I don’t want to know. Did you enjoy pickleball?” I nod to the racquets in Mr. Quinn’s hand. I’m rambling and incoherent, but how else are you supposed to react when you get interrupted by the love of your life’s parents humping each other?

“Um. Yeah.” She looks anxiously at her husband, who’s studying the wooden floor like it holds the meaning of life. “I think we’ll be going.”

“Yeah, this is awkward,” I agree. “At least it wasn’t one of you walking in on us again, right?”

Shut the hell up, Hunter.

That gets Jo’s dad to look at me, eyes narrowing.

This dude hates my guts.

“What are you doing here, Hunter?” he asks, voice suspicious.

“I told you. I’m waiting for Jo.”

“ Why are you waiting for Jo?” he specifies.

“Because I love her and want to prove it to her. Big, extravagant gestures. Rom-coms.” I want to slap myself. I keep saying way, way too much. But I can’t help it. I’m nervous. “I don’t expect you to understand…”

Mrs. Quinn squeezes my shoulder. “I think it’s lovely.”

Mr. Quinn is still silently staring at me.

“Mr. Quinn?” I say cautiously. “I, uh. I know you don’t like me. And I know why.”

Jo’s mom looks between the two of us. “Why?”

I don’t answer, but keep my eyes on his. “I know I hurt her. That she wasn’t well that fall. But I love her. So much. I think some part of me always has, and has been waiting for the opportunity to try again. I was fifteen, and in the closet. I didn’t have a family like yours. I haven’t talked to my family since I came out, almost a year ago. Unless they change, I never will again.”

His face softens slightly, enough that I know he understands what I’m saying. I hope it’s enough to prove myself to him.

“She’s so damn lucky to have you. All of you. You love her so much.” I can’t help it, my voice cracks. “My family loved me on the condition that I met their expectations, and when I couldn’t do it anymore…their love ran out. I thought I was the problem, until your daughter showed me I’m unconditionally lovable. I want to give her that back. She’s the best part of me.” I trail off, biting my lower lip so hard I taste metallic in my mouth. I can’t look at them, and their silence echoes.

“Thank you.” My neck jerks up and I meet Mr. Quinn’s eyes. His eyes are the same shade of green as the flecks in Jo’s. “Maybe I was wrong.”

It’s not everything I want to hear from him, but it’s a start. If he’s anything like his daughter, admitting he’s wrong is no easy feat, and means he’s making an effort.

I nod, fighting back tears. “Yeah. Um, and I’m sorry for fucking up your post-pickleball rendezvous.”

Now would be the perfect time for a sea witch to come and take my voice.

They both cringe, understandably, and no sea witch steals my voice, less understandably.

“Um. Okay. Well. I’m gonna just. Wait here for Jo.” I hope they get the message—I got here first, so I have a claim to the spot.

Mr. Quinn scowls, and it feels like I’ve undone all the progress I’ve made with making him hate me less.

“May I suggest y’all try a shower quickie instead?” I offer helpfully.

What the fuck is wrong with me.

Mrs. Quinn laughs uncomfortably.

“I’m so sorry.” My cheeks are burning with embarrassment. “I forgot my ADHD meds this morning, and they help my verbal filter work better. When I don’t take them, it’s kind of like a manual process. I have to purposely stop and think and since I’m nervous, I’m sort of…” I trail off, horrifically embarrassed.

You know what? Maybe I’ll let them keep the lighthouse. Have their little midmorning bang and I’ll wait outside till they’re done. That way I’ll be able to catch Jo if she comes, before she’s traumatized.

To my surprise, Mrs. Quinn’s face softens. “I was diagnosed with ADHD in the spring after Nic encouraged me to get evaluated. I’ve noticed such a big difference since starting medication.”

My whole body relaxes. Mr. Quinn might hate me and think I’m a villainous harlot who hurt and defiled his daughter, but Mrs. Quinn gets what it’s like to have a brain like mine.

“I didn’t get diagnosed until my fifties,” she continues. Isn’t that wild?” She laughs again, and it’s so much like Jo’s it makes my heart ache and bloom all at once. “My two youngest both have it as well. Leo got his diagnosis in elementary school, and Izzy in middle school. But I never thought about it being something I could have. It’s really something, learning new things about yourself throughout your entire life. I raised eight children, and thought I knew everything I needed to know about myself. Turns out I was wrong.”

I feel that way, too. Like I’m still learning new things about myself and life. When I look at Mr. Quinn, I’m thrown off by his expression. Gone is the disgruntled look he was giving me, replaced by pure love and adoration directed to his wife. It makes me feel things, big things. Like maybe Jo and I will look at each other like that in thirty years as we learn more about ourselves and each other. Like maybe, not having all the answers right this very second isn’t the worst thing.

“Thank you for telling me that,” I say. “Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one with this experience and it feels less isolating knowing you understand.”

She reaches out and squeezes my hand, immediately making me burst into tears. It’s such a mom thing to do, and I never thought anyone would act maternally towards me again. How the hell do I explain to Mrs. Quinn that I thought I’d lost the right to a mother’s reassuring hand squeeze? That even though she’s not my mom, she’s planting seeds in the desert of my heart—a place where I long ago accepted my mother and grandmother’s disapproval.

Turns out I don’t have to. She pulls me into a hug and lets me cry on her shoulder as she holds me.

I know Jo has a complicated relationship with her mom, that her mom really hurt her. I also know Jo truly believes her mom makes an effort to do better. That she understands the harm she caused, and has welcomed her other queer children with open arms, despite not doing that with Jo right away.

She’s not perfect. None of us are. But I can feel how much she loves her children in the way she smooths my hair. The way she tells me over and over again that she’s here. The way she doesn’t try to stop my tears, but welcomes them as part of the human experience.

Finally I pull away and rub at my face. Mrs. Quinn licks her thumb and scrubs at the corner of my eye, where my mascara must have smudged.

“I’m sorry. Thank you. I’m sorry.” I don’t know which I want to emphasize: my gratitude for her comfort, or my remorse for having cried in the first place.

She just smiles and nods. “Of course. We’ll leave you to your grand gesture. I assume it’ll put Jo’s beloved Mr. Bingley to shame?”

I explain my plan to them. It’s outlandish and quite frankly, likely impossible. But Mrs. Quinn cries when I finish speaking, telling me she knows it’ll mean a lot to Jo.

I hope she’s right.