The Heart Principle (The Kiss Quotient #3)(85)

“Hers broke. She’s too stubborn to take this, but you keep it in case she wants to play, okay?” she asks him.

“I will.” Quan smiles at her, his beautiful smile that brightens his eyes and transforms his face, and I think my mom sees it then—why I love him. There’s such genuine caring and kindness in him.

“Are you okay, Ma?” I ask.

She looks exhausted, but she nods. “We knew this was coming. Except for maybe Priscilla. She’s blaming herself for not doing enough.”

My mom’s words give me pause. I don’t like the idea of Priscilla blaming herself when she did all that she could, all that anyone could, really. But I guess that’s how it must be when someone’s standards are so impossibly high and their capacity for empathy so limited. They are cruel to others, and cruelest to themself.

An unexpected realization washes over me: I’m glad I’m not Priscilla.

“Do you need help with anything?” Quan asks, looking about my mom’s immaculate house for something that might need his attention.

“No, no,” my mom says, but she gives him a small tired smile. “There’s the funeral, but I need to plan that. It’s better if you two go home. Priscilla is …” She can’t seem to find the right words, so she shakes her head. To me, she adds, “It would be appropriate if you played at the ceremony.”

Hot tears well in my eyes. Not this again. “Ma, I don’t think I—”

“Just think about it. That’s all,” she says quickly as she herds us toward the front door. “Go home. Rest. Eat. You’re looking skinny. I’ll let you know our plans.”

As I’m leaving, she pulls me aside and surprises me by hugging me. She doesn’t admonish me. She doesn’t ask anything of me. She doesn’t say anything at all. She just lets me know she cares.

That is all I’ve ever wanted.





THIRTY-NINE





Anna

I’D LIKE TO SAY THAT AFTER THE FUNERAL, I MOURN FOR A couple of weeks, and then I pick up my old life where I left off. I’d like to say that now that I’ve learned to stand up for myself and stop people pleasing, it’s easy to overcome the creative block associated with my music. I’d also like to say that Priscilla and I are reconciled.

But if I said those things, I’d be lying.

Once the funeral is over, an intangible thread breaks in my mind, and I mentally collapse. I’ve learned since then that this is called autistic burnout. I can’t remember the weeks immediately following the funeral at all. It’s like I never lived them. The earliest post-funeral days that I can recall are from months later, and they involve me staring blankly into space or watching the same documentaries over and over while basically fusing my body to my couch. I don’t do anything productive. I can’t reason my way through any semi-complicated tasks, like getting the mail or paying bills or even checking my bank account balance online. I only manage not to get kicked out of my apartment through the miracle of autopay. Emotionally, I’m highly unstable. I switch between intense melancholy, rage (at Priscilla), and then exhaustion from the aforementioned melancholy and rage. I cry … a lot.

Rose and Suzie message me, but I rarely answer. I don’t have the energy. It matters to me that they care about me. I appreciate them. But I have to go through this alone and find my way back to them later.

Similarly, Jennifer checks up on me, but I don’t have energy to answer her either. Therapy can’t help me when I’m like this.





FORTY





Quan

AFTER A FEW MONTHS, I MOVE IN WITH ANNA. I’VE BASICALLY been living there anyway, so it doesn’t make sense to keep a place of my own. Because I can and want to, I take over the rent. She covers the utilities. It works out for both of us.

She’s not well, I can tell, but we’re slowly getting through this. I think I see her recovering bit by bit. When I come home after work, she’s always happy to see me. She asks me about my day and listens as I tell her goofy stuff that no one else cares about, like the seagull I saw during my lunch-hour run who stole a dude’s lunch right out of his hands or the mourning dove who tries to sit on her babies in the nest right outside my office window even though they’re almost as big as she is.

I check up on Anna every day while I’m gone, sending her text messages filled with hearts or funny memes with octopuses and other creatures. When we’re together, I hold and cuddle her a lot, because I sense she needs to feel loved. We don’t have a lot of sex, though. It’s kind of hard to have sexy thoughts when your girlfriend can barely keep her eyes open past eight P.M. and regularly wakes up in the middle of the night crying. I just take care of that kind of stuff in the shower. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t prefer jerking off in the shower to having sex with the woman I love, but I’m happy to wait until she’s ready.





FORTY-ONE





Anna

IT TAKES ME A LONG TIME TO GET TO THE POINT WHERE I FEEL mentally strong enough to practice music. Months and months. But then I obsess over getting a new violin. I won’t touch Priscilla’s old instrument. I’d rather do any number of horrible things to myself.

Naturally, this is when my mom decides to drop by my apartment. I’m stunned when I hear her voice through the intercom one afternoon. “Anna, it’s me.”