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All in all, Quinn thought as she put her arms on her hips and surveyed the scene, it was a successful evening.
Quinn wasn’t known for being an overthinker. Lord knows she’d gotten in more trouble than half the boys in town, proving how quickly she reacted and how little she thought.
So it was with no small amount of effort that Quinn went about planning Rachel’s birthday.
It was all she’d been talking about for weeks. During one brainstorming session late one night in the Cafe, Grady, in the middle of trying to enjoy a slice of blackberry pie, dropped his fork on the plate and said, “Quinn, I swear on Eda Mae’s lace doilies, if you don’t stop talking about this birthday thing, I’m gonna go right down to the Wagon Wheel and drown myself in the river, y’hear?”
Quinn, sitting on top of the bar counter, stood up suddenly and nearly cracked her skull on the ceiling fan.
“Dammit, Innie,” Grady yelled as he jumped to his feet and grabbed her off the counter, “You’re going to get yourself killed, you idiot.”
She turned to grab either side of his arms and looked up at him wide-eyed and excited, “Grady, that’s brilliant. The Wagon Wheel.”
Then, to his everlasting shock, she kissed him straight on the lips and ran out the back door.
Wiping his mouth he hollered at her, “So I guess I’ll tell Rach to close up shop, then?” When no one replied, he turned back, eyeing the counter and muttered, “While I’m at it, I’ll help myself to another slice of pie…”
Rachel was a surprisingly good poker player, though if she beat Grady through skill or because he let her win, she’d have to ask later.
Yes, the night was definitely a success (if Rachel’s level of inebriation were anything to judge by). She’d sure as shit been sober earlier though, when Quinn was waiting outside by the car in a suit and announced they’ be going to a show in Birmingham. With a squeal and a kiss on the cheek, Rachel hopped into the car. Quinn blushed and grinned wildly, wondering how it was that Rachel can make her feel 16 all over again.
Quinn blushes now, thinking of what they did afterward in the theatre bathroom.
The beer is cold in her hand and she takes a deep swig before rejoining the party.
Small lanterns flicker on the ground and give off just enough light to make out the bases in the dirt. Grady hollers at Rachel to put her drink down and get ready.
“A lady always takes her time,” Rachel says drunkenly and picks up the bat daintily from where it leans against the bench. She’s barely standing, but Quinn’ll be damned if she doesn’t hit anything tonight.
“Hey, Grady,” she hollers, “be sure to roll her an easy one.”
He laughs, big, from the belly, and tips his hat. “Only for you, Ms. Rachel. See if you can get this one here to let me win a round or two of poker next time,” he finishes, nodding over at Quinn.
“Don’t you dare go easy on me, Grady Kilgore!” she slurs back. “I ain’t no delicate flower.”
He tosses the ball (a light underhand seems like a fair compromise), there’s a sharp crack and Rachel stands there completely stunned. “Run, Rachel!” Grady yells as everyone whoops and hollers. The noise seems to jolt her, and after a moment Rachel screams, flails her arms in the air and gallops round the bases. Twice, just for good measure.
Quinn cheers along, clapping her hands, laughing so hard her face hurts.
Later, when Rachel and Quinn are at the watering hole- their watering hole, it’s quiet, and the buzzing in their bodies matches that of the lazy insects. A half-empty bottle of whiskey and a deck of cards sit on the shore near their clothes, but it all seems much farther away. it’s just them, and the water.
They spin together slowly, turning round and around, inhabiting the same tiny space. They switch between who’s holding who, because together they’re a pair of spoons and that’s all that matters.
Rachel’s hair is wet, but dry on top and frizzy strands glow like a halo in the moonlight. Quinn reaches to tuck in a loose lock and lets her hand linger against the shell of Rachel’s ear. It hurts, suddenly. “You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Do you know how beautiful you are to me?”
Rachel ducks her head and blushes, “When you say things like that, I do.”
“Do you really? Because sometimes I think I love you so much I might die. Like my chest could explode right here and now.” Quinn takes Rachel’s hand and places it flat on her chest, above her heart. “Do you feel that? It’s beating faster than a hummingbird. Louder than the bees.”
How they lived without each other for those two long years is beyond her. Thinking of it now is like squeezing a bruise.
“I’m just so goddamn grateful for you,” she whispers into Rachel’s fingers. “I could never love you enough.”
“Do you remember,” Rachel chokes through her happiness, “what I said to you that night, when we first kissed?” Quinn nods and Rachel kisses her. “Don’t you forget it, Innie Threadgoode. I love you faster than a hummingbird and louder than the bees. This is the best birthday I ever had. Now shut up and love me good.”
Quinn smiles and does just that.