41. Hunter

Playlist: Love Story (Taylor’s Version) | Taylor Swift

Today has been bizarre. An undetermined amount of time after Jo’s parents left—probably to continue their post-pickleball tryst elsewhere—there’s a knock at the door. I know it can’t be Jo, since she knows how to pick the lock. I don’t know who else to expect, but I certainly wasn’t expecting to see her brother.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Ren, blinking up at him in surprise.

He holds up a Spiderman lunchbox. “Bringing supplies for the grand gesture, of course. Can I come in?”

I shrug. “Sure. But I am planning on passionately making out with your sister as soon as she gets here.”

“I will make myself scarce. Not to worry.” I close the door behind him as he steps into the lighthouse and looks around. “Damn, I’ve never been in the lighthouse.”

“The only reason I’m here is because your sister is a criminal.” I pause a beat. “Also, so are your parents.”

“Yeah, I was wondering why they knew you were in here.”

He hands me the lunchbox and I unzip it. There are a few juice boxes, packages of apple slices, and Lunchables packed into it.

“Do you think I’m five?” I ask him, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

“I panicked and had no idea what you like to eat so you’re getting what I keep in my mini-fridge at school.”

“Why?”

“Because sometimes kids forget lunch, or don’t have money to buy it or have low blood sugar or…”

“No, why’d you bring this to me?” I interrupt.

“My dad texted me and said you were camping out here and waiting for Jo. He asked me to bring food.”

Mr. Quinn asked Ren to check on me? “Thank you, and tell your dad I said thank you, too,” I say, blinking back tears.

He squeezes my shoulder and smiles. “You’re good people, Hunter. I never thought I’d be happy at the prospect of gaining another sister, but here we are.”

Obviously, I’m a blubbering mess as I hug him.

He breaks the hug first, an apologetic look on his face as he readjusts his baseball cap over his curls. “I have a private lesson in a few minutes at SandPiper Inn, but if you need anything, go to my parents’. I’ll try to check in on you again, but hopefully Jo shows up and I won’t have to.”

“Don’t text her or anything,” I plead. “This needs to be between us.”

After Ren leaves, I pull out the historical romance I brought with me. This one promises a road trip between a rake and a wallflower, and son of a gun, I’m an easy woman to please. Give me a rake simping over a wallflower and I’m content.

Throughout the day, I’m visited by the rest of the local Quinns. Millie stops by with Poppy next, handing me a package of adult diapers. She tells me she has no idea if there’s a bathroom in the lighthouse, which I also hadn’t considered.

Kat stops by a little while later, with a twelve pack of water bottles and two boxes of Saltines. It feels hyper-specific, but I’m not gonna complain.

Today, she seems like the Kat I remember from that summer, instead of the hurt woman I saw at Sunday dinner. She’s aloof and composed, but now I can see the crack in her facade. She’s trying to convince herself just as much as her family, that she’s happy, in a perfect marriage, and has no reason to be hurt.

I thank her for coming and ask if I can hug her. I’m surprised when she consents, but as soon as we let each other go, she leaves without a word.

Izzy stops by with her best friend, Finn, right after. Unlike her eldest sister, Izzy is a chatterbox, telling me all about how she’s working as a lifeguard at the community pool while home from college, and Finn’s her chauffeur. She brought sparklers, telling me that while my plan is lovely, it needed more sparkle. I love her immediately.

In contrast, Finn is silent. He’s tall—maybe a full foot taller than Izzy—and lean, with light russet brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. I ask him about himself and his eyes widen like a deer caught in the headlights as he stammers in response. Izzy squeezes his hand, like she knows how he feels which is so fucking adorable I want to throw up.

As the sun starts to set, Leo and his girlfriend, Stella, are the last to pop in.

“We got the bubbly!” Leo whoops, handing me a bottle of prosecco.

I eye him suspiciously. “How old are you again?”

He scowls and snatches it back. “If you’re gonna be a snitch, you’re not getting the goods.”

Stella looks at the stairs, an amused expression on her face. “You know, I thought this was just mine and Leo’s spot.”

I grab back the bottle, able to do so when Leo is distracted by his girlfriend. “You and the rest of this goddamn family.”

“Is it Kat and Steve? I always kinda hoped they were secretly freaky,” Stella says way too excitedly about her boyfriend’s sister and brother-in-law.

“Yeah, it’s his parents,” I inform her flatly.

Leo sputters as Stella howls with laughter, her head thrown back.

Finally I’m alone again, and a sinking feeling settles in my chest. It’s almost dark, meaning it’s probably close to eight, and she’s not here.

She’s not here.

I stumble to the stairs, lowering my trembling body to sit. This is decidedly less fun than the last time I was here.

What if she’s not coming? What if this is her answer? What if it’s too much? What if…

There’s a few clicks as the lock is picked yet again. This time, I know it’s not her.

Despite knowing not to expect Jo, I’m still surprised when it’s her father.

“Ah, Leo said you were still here,” Mr Quinn says, gently closing the door behind him.

“Yep.” I pop the p, annoyed by his appearance. “I told you I was waiting for her. However long it took.” I don’t tell him how I’d snuck up to the SandPiper Inn a few times to utilize their restroom in the lobby, because as effective the diapers Millie brought would have been, I was able to make it there and back within ten minutes. Giovanna would have waited ten minutes for me.

Wouldn’t she?

He looks around. “I don’t think you should be out here alone.” I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully, and that only makes me sadder she hasn’t come yet. I wish I could prove to him that Jo and I care about each other as much as we do. As much as I hope she still cares for me.

“No offense, Mr. Quinn, but I’m really tired of caring about what you think about me or what I do.”

He arches a brow in question, but his eyes are patient.

“Why don’t you like me? Why can’t you accept that I’m not a closeted fifteen year old spending the summer with her homophobic grandparents anymore?” Tears are in my eyes, again, but I’m so tired of trying to prove myself.

“Maybe she’s not coming, and you know what? I’ll respect whatever she chooses. But it’ll be her choice, not mine. Because I love Giovanna more than I knew I was capable of loving anything and…and she chooses me. Or at least, she chose me.” My voice trails off, the heartbreak too big to continue.

“Do you like grilled cheese?”

I blink at him through my tears. Of all the things I thought he might say in response, this didn’t cross my mind.

“What?”

“Do you like grilled cheese?” He says it like asking about my sandwich preferences makes any sense in this context.

“Yes?”

“My kids say I make the best grilled cheese. Aria made homemade tomato soup last night and we have leftovers. Come home and eat, Hunter.”

“I can’t give up on her,” I manage to choke out. “I can’t…she deserves…”

“Hunter.” His voice is gentle and he walks further into the lighthouse until he’s in front of me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “You’re not giving up on her. I can call her right now so you can talk to her. Or, if you want to continue with the grand gesture…you can keep trusting she’ll come back to you. Joey knows to come home to find what she needs.”

“Why are you being nice when you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t like me.”

Mr. Quinn is quiet for a moment before speaking again. “What do you know about that fall?”

“Jo told me some things.”

“She was completely different after that summer you spent together. She completely withdrew and…I didn’t recognize her. At the time I thought it was maybe because she liked girls. They used to tell us that, you know? That queer people had higher tendencies of mental illness because queerness itself was classified as a mental illness. I know that’s not true now, but at the time all I knew was that I didn’t know my daughter anymore. And…you were a scapegoat.”

“I was a kid.”

“Yeah. Pathetic isn’t it?” His laugh is hollow, and I turn my head to look at him. Jo looks so much like her mom, but she has Mr. Quinn’s nose and lips, and the shade of his green green eyes is identical to the flecks of green in hers. “I couldn’t face the truth, so I made up an alternative one that was easier to stomach.”

“What was the truth?” I ask.

“The truth is that Giovanna is gay and has major depressive disorder. That maybe, she would have still had that experience, even if you’d never met, even if she was straight. That my wife and I didn’t give Jo a safe place to be herself. That we were bad parents. I was a bad father.”

I don’t know what to say. Because yeah, I’ve certainly thought it, but I never expected anyone to acknowledge it.

“I don’t think you’re a bad father.” I’m careful not to blow smoke up his ass or say bullshit to make him feel better. He was real with me, and I want to be real with him. “I think maybe you didn’t know exactly how to give Jo a safe space. But I hope you know that the way she talks about you, even during that time, is with love and admiration. She knows you did the best you could, even though you hurt her. She sees the work you’ve done to be a better parent to her and your other kids.”

He squeezes my shoulder again. “Thank you. I want you to know I never hated you…I hated myself. You being back in Joey’s life was a constant reminder of that failure. It’s not an excuse, but I’m so sorry I wasn’t kinder to you, and didn’t give you a chance.”

Neither of us says anything more. I want to forgive him, but if I’m being completely honest with myself, I don’t know if I’m ready to do that yet. I’m still hurt, and while I see him and his feelings toward me in a new way, I’m not ready to offer him forgiveness.

My stomach rumbles loudly during my self-reflection and I scowl down at it, Mr. Quinn chuckling softly beside me.

“So. Grilled cheese?”

I look around the lighthouse one last time, stomach sinking as I imagine Jo walking in and not seeing me.

“I’ll text her, so she’ll know you’re waiting at the house.”

I exhale. “She’s found her way back to me before…maybe you’re right. Maybe she’ll do it again.”

Mr. Quinn gets to his feet with a groan. “Deal.” He reaches a hand out, and I take it, hoisting myself to my feet. By taking his hand, it feels like I’ve accepted his apology. I hope one day, I’ll feel ready to offer him my forgiveness as generously as he offered me grilled cheese. Because I love the woman he imperfectly raised, and unlike my own family, he’s willing to admit his wrongs and do better.

It feels like a new beginning.

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting at the island in the Quinns’ kitchen as Mrs. Quinn worries over me like I’m back from war.

“You should have gotten her sooner, Seanny,” she complains, as Mr. Quinn flips the grilled cheese on the stovetop. He doesn’t answer, but shakes his head like he thinks it would have been useless to try to get me to come back to the house sooner. He’s right.

He slides the sandwich onto a plate and ladles some soup into a bowl from the saucepan on another burner.

“Grilled cheese, extra crispy,” he says, placing the food in front of me. He meets my eyes and smiles.

I smile back, and it feels like another part of my heart is fused back to where it’s supposed to be. All by Jo’s dad’s smile and the apron he wears, proudly declaring that he’s the proud father of a smartass gay daughter in rainbow lettering.

He notices me staring at the apron and shakes his head. “Joey got this for me for Father’s Day years ago. It’s dated now, I have multiple smartass gay daughters.”

I dip the sandwich into the soup, and take a bite. “Holy shit. This is the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had.”

His grin grows. “The secret is to put mayonnaise on the outside of the bread. Old family recipe.”

Mrs. Quinn scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Oh, hush. You saw it on TikTok. But the soup is even better, right?” she says with a wink, squeezing my shoulder in a way I think should make me miss my mom. It doesn’t. It makes me miss Jo, miss everything we could have—

“Mom? Dad?” The voice I’ve been waiting all day for carries through the house, followed by the slam of a closing door. My heart sinks when I realize her voice is shaking.

She’s crying.

“Sean. Go,” Mrs. Quinn hisses, reaching over her husband to turn the stovetop off before the two of them scurry out of the kitchen.

I slowly stand from the barstool, legs feeling as wobbly and unsteady as a newborn giraffe’s as Jo’s footsteps get closer.