47. Playing Dress-Up

47

PLAYING DRESS-UP

QUINN

72 DAYS 'TIL CHRISTMAS

"Nickel tones or gold and brass tones?" I ask Veronica as we stand in an empty, industrial aisle of the local hardware store deciding on a new centerset faucet for the downstairs bathroom.

For the last month, I've worked in a fugue state.

After a night of wine and pizza and recounting everything for Veronica, she went off to school and I surprised myself by turning my pent-up attention toward the house. I changed into an old college T-shirt, ripped-up denim overalls, and a pair of workout sneakers that have seen better days. My relationship may be in shambles, but the house doesn't need to be.

In the garage, I catalogued the towers of untouched moving boxes. I unpacked lamps I thought we'd lost in the move and books I received as gifts for birthdays or Christmases or from my students. I found permanent places for them inside the house. The more personal effects I set out, the more the place came to life.

Wedding presents we never made use of—a juice press and a purely aspirational hand-crank pasta machine—got unboxed and placed in the kitchen cabinets. I jotted down in a notebook where I've put everything, so nothing is missing when I'm ready to use it.

One day, my hands got coated in an obscene amount of dirt and dust, so I went into the bathroom, turned the hot water handle, and was not even shocked or annoyed when it fell off. I had another project for my idle mind and hands.

"The gold and brass tones will go better with the bath mats you ordered last week," Veronica says, effortlessly pragmatic.

I settle on a royal style, placing it in our cart alongside a wrench and a drop bucket. On our way to the checkout, we pass the Halloween decorations. I nearly clock an oncoming cart. Stopping short, I glance up and find Kacey Ortega, our old college friend, with a basket full of jack-o'-lanterns, ghouls, and boxes of orange lights.

"Quinn, it's been forever. Where have you been hiding?" She circles around her cart to embrace me. I eye Veronica over Kacey's shoulder, unsure how to respond.

"Oh, here and there," I say noncommittally. To segue, I introduce Veronica. I can't help but notice her gaze as it takes in Kacey fully. She is objectively beautiful with long, flowing black hair and golden skin. "How are you? How's the nonprofit life treating you?"

"It's been tough as of late. We're expanding, trying to hire team members, and rapidly outgrowing our space," she says. What goes unsaid is how Patrick ghosted her on her workspace. He told me it would be a long-term project. Still, it sounds like she could use it now. "No matter, though, because we're gearing up for our big queer Halloween party, which is going to be spectacular."

"Don't you mean spook -tacular?" Veronica says, showing her goofy side.

Kacey's having a cartful of fun, and the ghoulish items make me realize that I have no Halloween plans. "Are you looking for volunteers?"

She pops her lips. "Always. Why, are you interested?"

Within the week, Veronica and I have an email full of details and responsibilities, which help keep my mind off the Christmas wonderland I left behind.

55 DAYS 'TIL CHRISTMAS

On Halloween morning, Veronica texts, I've got the costumes covered.

Fine by me! I send back because I hadn't given costumes a single thought.

I eat my words when she arrives, though, because Veronica comes right from school toting two garment bags. Inside the first is a Santa costume. Inside the second is a Mrs. Claus costume. I resist the urge to vomit.

"I thought it would be funny," she says.

"Too soon," I say dryly. "I'm not wearing that." I don't even let her inside with those monstrosities. I don't need more reminders of the magical life I had to leave behind.

In the bedroom, Veronica marvels at the new accordion-style closet door I replaced the broken one that fell off with. Her compliments wipe away the unease.

We settle on 1950s greasers. Veronica borrows Patrick's leather biker jacket that he bought at a thrift store in New York City but never wore for fear it made him look like a tool. I own a pink satin jacket, which I pair with a black T-shirt and a pair of horn-rimmed sunglasses, which I pop the lenses out of.

We don't have much time to get ready before we leave for Kacey's event, so we're in the bathroom at the lone sink, wrestling for mirror space. Veronica is going for the wet hair, slicked-back look. I find two black clips in Veronica's purse, which I fasten into my curls before grabbing for my liquid eyeliner.

"Are we ever going to talk about what's going to happen with you and Patrick after Christmas? I've been giving you your space and I don't want to pry, but I'm your best friend so I sort of have to."

"I don't know what there is to talk about."

"Have you heard from him?"

"No. Maybe he's not allowed to contact me. Maybe he doesn't want to?" That would really throw salt in the gaping wound of our relationship. I know I'm the one that left, but the memory of that night still stings, and I did it for the greater good. That's hard to remember when it feels like I'm living in a perpetual shock chamber.

Veronica catches my eye in the mirror. "Quinn, Patrick loves you. He built a life with you. Of course he wants to."

"I don't know." I swipe some blush onto my cheeks. "I don't think he built a life with me so much as for me, and I let him."

"What do you mean by that?" she asks before setting her hair with strong-hold hairspray.

I end up coughing, stepping away so I don't get any more product in my mouth. My tongue is gummy now, yet the words are anything but stuck. "For starters, he built a house for us in the North Pole without telling me. He assumed I would go along with it because, well, I've gone along with almost everything else up until now."

"Okay, I get that." Veronica jumps up to sit on the sink counter so she's facing me. "Do you still love him?"

It's a big question. I grab her closest hand, needing the grounding support to get this out. "Of course I do"—I take a beat—"but differently ."

"Differently doesn't sound so bad," she says.

"I spent a good chunk of my adolescence letting my mom fill my head with these negative ideas about men and relationships and romance. Then, I met Patrick, and I fell so hard for him so fast. I tried to unlearn all of those things my mom taught me as quickly as possible, which I think meant I never really learned who I was on my own," I say with a huff. "Before the North Pole, when we were here, in the same house but living these disjointed, separate lives, I begrudged him for not being around more for me. Whether he can't contact me or he decided not to doesn't matter so much because this time apart has shown me that I'm not Patrick's husband or so-and-so's teacher or the North Pole's Merriest Mister, I'm Quinn Muller.

"I forgot that I'm not just someone to and for others. I have to be someone for myself, too. Perhaps we were always meant to separate. Maybe two people can't grow properly unless they're apart. Maybe I have no idea what I'm talking about. Not like I had many adults modeling strong relationships for me growing up. Especially queer ones."

"Damn, that's a lot," she says, hopping off the counter and hugging me tightly. She gives great hugs and this one is no exception. "It'll all work out. I promise. Now let's finish up so we can make it to the rec hall before the guests get there. I want to show off my look."

"You mean you want to show off your look for Kacey ," I correct.

"I'm not to be shamed, okay? I'm still single and she's stunning. Let's go before my hair gets messed up."

When we arrive at the rec center, a squat brick building whose windows could use a good washing, we're surprised to see the Halloween decorations are already at risk of blowing away. It's an overcast night, wispy clouds rolling fast across the bright, round moon, so we rush to save what we can of the garland before going inside and down a flight of steps.

The ceilings are low, the lights are hazy, and the room is the size of a postage stamp.

"This has to be a fire hazard, right?" Veronica asks.

"You made it!" Kacey cries. She's dressed as a witch, except not a green cartoonish one with warts and a pointy hat. More like she's about to star in a production of The Crucible . A Puritan dress, buckled shoes, a muddy face, and the words TRY AND BURN ME. I DARE YOU. embellished on the back.

"This look. I'm obsessed," Veronica says.

We're given our posts. Veronica runs check-in. I'm manning the photo booth.

This place is run-down. Stains and cracks as far as the eye can see, much like the house before I began my improvements. Clearly, the township has relegated this queer-centric community group to the bowels of the building, which is awful, or maybe this is all Kacey can afford, which is a different kind of awful. No matter, I can see why Patrick's services were needed.

I can also see why Kacey needs to expand her team. Even with the smattering of volunteers, she has to keep the food separated based on dietary restrictions and allergies, run activities, and ensure nobody snuck in any alcohol since this is an eighteen-and-under event.

Overall, it's fun, helping the teens pose for Polaroid photos with paper props before they scurry along to other tables. For the next several hours, I say "Happy Halloween" to gaggles of ladybugs and vampires and Super Marios and hand out miniature candy bars. I think about what it would've been like to have a space like this when I was this age. I wonder if I would have gone to the same college, fallen for Patrick, married him, ended up here.

There's no way to say for certain. The only thing I'm certain of is the stab of missing Patrick that has taken up residence in my chest. I pack it down when another group of kids—this time a bunch of zombies—steps in front of the plastic backdrop.

"Say ‘boo!'" I instruct before the flash goes off. It's then that I realize, the scariest part of this evening has nothing to do with the costumes or the decorations, it's the bleakness of the uncertain, Patrick-less future rolled out before me.