Jessica Sorensen: Nova and Quinton: No Regrets

His smile breaks through. “I was just fucking with you, Nova.” Laughter escapes his lips as he reaches for the cigarettes in his pocket. “I wouldn’t go to a party. I care about my recovery enough not to fuck up right now.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “That wasn’t funny.”

He keeps on smiling as he puts the end of the cigarette between his lips and lights up. “It kinda was.”

I shake my head, rolling down my window as smoke laces the air. “It’s not funny to make me worry like that.”

“Hey.” He leans across the seat, sticking the hand holding the cigarette out to the side and cupping my face with his free hand, startling me with his unexpected, almost intimate, touch. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s not funny to make you worry about that, but it’s always good to know you care about me.”

I sigh. “I care about everyone, which makes my life too stressful sometimes.”

“I know.” He smoothes his finger across my cheekbone and I try not to flinch, despite the fact that I want to. I wonder what these touches mean and worry that one day things are going to get out of hand and confrontation is going to be inevitable. I hate confrontation. I really, really do. “Which makes you such a good person.”

I plaster on a smile, because I have to. He’s in a fragile state—I know that. And he relies on me a lot. If we weren’t friends, I have no idea what would happen with him. Whether he’d be able to take care of himself or slip back into old habits, and I don’t want to find out.

I casually turn my head toward the windshield, pretending that the only reason is that I’m going to back up the car. “You’re so weird sometimes…” I crank the wheel to the left and finish backing out of the spot. “Always complimenting me.”

“ I’m weird.” He gapes at me, pointing at himself. “You’re the one who always says goofy things.”

“I do not,” I protest, even though it’s true. I do say goofy things sometimes, when I get nervous.

“You do, too,” he insists as I straighten up the wheel and drive out of the parking lot. “Like that one time you told me some random fact about a raccoon.”

“I do that when I’m nervous.”

“Still, it’s goofy.”

“It’s not that goofy. It just means I have a colorful personality.”

“A colorful, goofy personality.” He takes a drag on his cigarette and then starts hacking as he blows out the smoke. He hurries to roll the window down, coughing as he spits.

“You’re so gross.” I pull a disgusted face. “Seriously.”

“Hey, I have a cold,” he says defensively as he slumps back in the seat with his arm resting on the sill so most of the smoke goes out the window. “I can’t help it.”

“You’ve had that cold for a couple of weeks now. Maybe it’s time to go get it checked out.” I turn out on the main road that goes straight through the center of town. It’s bordered by trees and, since it’s fall, the leaves have fallen onto the street and sidewalks. It’s a beautiful sight and fall is one of my favorite times of the year.

“Okay, Mom.” He rolls his eyes as he takes another drag.

“Or maybe stop smoking,” I say. “You know those things can kill you, right?”

“You know, you’re sounding sort of preachy.” He ashes his cigarette out the window, grinning amusedly. “But that’s okay. I know you only do it because you’re secretly in love with me.”

I give him a blank stare, working hard to restrain a smile because the big goofy grin on his face looks so silly. “You’re such a dork.”

“Good. I can be the dork and you can be the goof and we can complete each other.”

I can’t help it. I burst out laughing. “Okay, easy there, Jerry Maguire.”

His face contorts with perplexity. “Who the hell’s Jerry Maguire?”

My laughter shifts to shock. “Are you kidding me?”

He shakes his head. “No, who is the guy?”

“It’s not a guy… well, it is, but what you just said… it’s from the movie Jerry Maguire …” I trail off as his confusion deepens. “Never mind. But may I point out that the fact that you weren’t quoting the movie makes it ten times cheesier that you just said that.”

Grinning, he raises his balled fist in the air, like he’s celebrating. “Yeah, now I’m a dork and cheesy. That makes us even more compatible.”

I can’t help but smile again, despite the fact that I think he might be hitting on me, because it’s funny. And I need funny right now. Need happy, otherwise I’ll start focusing on the worry. Focusing on Quinton and if he’s okay.

We continue to talk for the rest of the drive to the pizza place, about goofiness and being dorks. Eventually the topic shifts to school, like how many classes he’s going to sign up for next semester. By the end of the drive, he’s telling me again that I act like his mom. Well, not his mom, per se, because he rarely talks to her, something I don’t understand because he hasn’t opened up to me about it yet. But by the time we get back to our apartment, we’ve veered off the arguing and started chatting about the movie we rented, Anchorman , which he insists is hilarious and can’t believe I haven’t watched yet.

“For someone who’s so into movies, you’re seriously movie-deprived,” he says as he sets the pizza box down on the coffee table.

I put the DVD beside the television, then go into the kitchen to grab a soda. “I’ve seen a lot of movies. Just not this particular one.”

“Yeah, right. I’ve heard you say a ton of movies that you haven’t seen that a lot of normal people have.” He drops down on the sofa, kicks his shoes off, and puts his feet up.

I open the fridge door. “Well, I think we already established that I’m not a normal person.” I grab a can of Dr Pepper for me and a Mountain Dew for him before I bump the door shut with my hip. Then I toss him the Mountain Dew. “Besides, I’ve seen a lot of movies you haven’t.”

He catches the soda. “Like what?” he questions.

I pop the tab and the soda fizzles, then I take a sip as I head for the sofa. “I don’t know.” I sit down beside him, thinking of a good answer. “How about Fight Club . I know you haven’t seen that.”

He taps the top of the can before popping the tab. “Yeah, because it’s old.”

“It’s not that old,” I argue as he leans forward and opens the pizza box. “It was made in the nineties and we were born in the nineties.”

He takes a slurp of his soda, then puts the can down on the coffee table and gets a slice of pizza. “So maybe we’re old.”

“Maybe we are,” I say. “Sometimes I feel older than I am.”

“Me too,” he admits, picking a pepper off the pizza and discarding it into the box. “I think that comes with life experiences, though.”

He’s right. I think we’ve both been through so much that sometimes we both feel older than we are. It’s probably that way for Quinton, too, and it makes me want him here with me, so I can cuddle up on the sofa with him and know that he’s okay.

It gets quiet as I get lost in my thoughts and finally I set my soda down and get up to put the DVD in. Once the previews start, I return to the couch and start eating. Tristan and I chat again about being old until the movie comes on, then grow quiet.

The further into the movie we get, the closer he scoots toward me on the sofa to the point where I feel like I’m on a date. I begin questioning if I should get up and move. But I don’t want to hurt his feelings, especially when he’s in such a vulnerable place. Just like Quinton, who I wish were here with me. Quinton, who’s so far away, but I want him right here. I want to touch him. See if he’s okay. Be with him more than maybe I should—will ever be, maybe.