Page 4 of On My Side (Quiblings #3)

Audrey

Playlist: Peach Fuzz | Caamp

“Don’t forget about my piano lesson later,” Piper says as we’re eating breakfast one Saturday morning.

I peer up from the Port Haven Herald crossword puzzle I’m working on. “Huh?”

“My piano lesson.” She says it slowly, enunciating each syllable, like the concept of a piano lesson is what’s confusing me.

It’s not. What’s confusing is I have no memory of her telling me about a piano lesson.

Or I’ve forgotten to remember. “When someone teaches me technique to help me play better.”

“Thank you, smartass.” I roll my eyes. “When did you tell me about this lesson?”

“On the last day of school,” she tells me through a mouthful of Reese’s Puffs. “I swear I told you, Mom—I even put it on the shared calendar.”

I pull my phone out, groaning when I see she did indeed put a piano lesson at 10 a.m. on our shared calendar. “I’m so sorry, birdie. I must’ve forgotten with the events getting canceled.”

Last weekend, the inn hosted a bachelorette weekend that ended with both brides pulling a Julia Roberts.

I received a call this week telling me the upcoming wedding, which was also supposed to take place here, was canceled.

I’ve been stressed about vendors, and figuring out how we’re going to make up the money.

I told Piper the brides canceled, but haven’t told her about my money anxieties.

“Mom?” Piper waves her spoon in front of my face, flicking drops of milk onto my lenses. “Earth to Mo-om.”

I blink, startled, but force a smile. “Of course. Yes. I want to get a few chores done today, is it okay if I pop in toward the end of the lesson?” I take my glasses off and clean them with my robe, mind running wild.

“You’re going to let me hang out alone with a stranger neither of us have ever met before?”

Shit .

“Right,” I mutter, a headache coming on. I put my glasses back on before roughly rubbing my temples. “That’s…right. An obvious thing I should not do.”

“I mean. There’s gonna be people in the lobby, and I know I can bother the front desk staff if I feel uncomfy.”

“That should be fine,” I agree, wrestling with the guilt rising in my belly.

I make sure she knows she overrides everything else, because my parents never did.

I won’t allow my daughter to know anything other than a parent who loves her and puts her above any optics.

“Sounds like you have a cool as shit mom who ingrained that in you.”

“Try annoying as shit,” my precious daughter mutters. She gets to her feet, gathering her bowl and spoon. “I’m going to head over to fuck around on the piano.”

“Sounds good.” I take a sip of coffee and as she puts the dishes in the dishwasher, I have a thought.

I hurriedly swallow, the hot liquid scorching my throat.

“Wait, maybe don’t say fuck in front of your new teacher.

At least on the first day. I don’t want another repeat of the conversation I had to have with Mx.

Asher.” I look at her pointedly, reminding her of the call I’d gotten from her English teacher right before Thanksgiving.

“Holden Caulfield is fucking obnoxious, though!” she whines.

“You’re absolutely right. But keep in mind some adults find teenagers cursing to be fucking obnoxious. And remember your poor mom has enough going on.” I stick out my lower lip, giving her a pathetic puppy dog pout.

“I’ll do my best,” she grumbles, shuffling toward the front door. “No promises I’ll be perfect.”

“Love you, birdie.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I love you, too. Doesn’t mean you’re not annoying, though.”

I chuckle as the door closes behind her, and pick up my phone from the table.

I have time to kill, and I decide to make the most of it with self-care with my favorite guy.

I know exactly what audio I want, the one he posted around Christmas that’s childhood friends to lovers with soft, slow missionary under the glow of the lights on the tree.

Either that one, or the one he posted last month with impact play and degradation.

I contain multitudes.

When I open 4Play, I’m surprised to see a brand new audio from Sky. He does this sometimes, surprise drops an audio. I scan the tags: mutual masturbation, roommates, dirty talk, consent checks, praise…

I’m pulling my robe off and heading to my room before I even finish reading, or before starting a load of laundry.

When I get to the inn, I hear them before I see them. It’s a beautiful day, the sunshine brightening the dark wood of the furniture through the bay windows. Most guests are at the beach, so the lobby is relatively empty except for my staff, Piper and the man sitting next to her.

She’s playing a piece I’m unfamiliar with, and I can tell he’s paying close attention to her, taking her seriously.

It makes my heart swell. Since Piper’s autism diagnosis, I’ve seen people handle her like she’s fragile.

My Piper is anything but fragile. Her autism doesn’t make her any more breakable than anyone else.

This seems to be a common misconception, even among caregivers and professionals.

I’m brought back to the present by piano keys clanging loudly.

“I suck ,” Piper groans, loud enough for one of my managers to glance up from the front desk.

“You don’t suck,” the man next to her reassures. “You’re better than I was at your age, and you’re learning and doing your best. That’s the opposite of sucking.”

I grin, pleased at how he’s interacting with her, how he’s treating her.

“I don’t want to learn,” Piper whines. “I want to know. ”

The man laughs, a bright, bold sound that warms me from the inside out.

This laugh feels familiar, comforting, like a hot shower after a hard day at work.

Like hot chocolate and your favorite blanket after being out in the snow.

“Don’t we all? Knowing is constantly learning, so you’re on the right track. ”

My daughter groans again and rests her forehead on the piano keys, the random combination of notes echoing in the lobby. “God, you’re such a teacher.”

There’s that laugh again, and this time, I’m disconcerted how safe this stranger’s laugh feels. How if this stranger laughed during a conversation with me, I’d tell him my deepest darkest secrets. Hell, maybe I’d even give him a set of keys to the cottage.

Piper turns her head, eyes meeting mine. Her face lights up, and she waves. “Mom!”

The man next to her looks over his shoulder and oh my god, he has the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen.

Fair skin with faint freckles across the bridge of his nose and dark wavy hair that’s falling into his eyes.

Not only does he sound safe, he looks safe.

Hot as hell, too. He’s the generically attractive man I picture when listening to Sky.

I avert my eyes, attempting to avoid his gaze, but I can feel his eyes on me as I straighten my back and stride fearlessly across the lobby.

At least, I hope it appears fearless. I do not feel fearless.

“Hi, birdie,” I say, eyes fixed on the carpet. When the hell was the last time we had this cleaned?

“Audrey?” My neck snaps up at the sound of a deep. My eyes meet Piper’s new teacher’s. He’s gazing at me like I’m a surprise, but not an unpleasant one.

“Audrey Price?” He repeats my name—my old name—and it feels like I’ve been doused with ice water. I stumble backward. He knows me.

“Who the hell are you?” I demand, probably with more intensity than is necessary.

His face falls, and I almost feel bad, but the hard work I’ve done to protect Piper and me is being unraveled by this… this… this pretty white boy.

“You don’t recognize me?” he asks, and I manage to shake my head no. “I mean… yeah. That makes sense. It’s been a long time. His eyes go to Piper. “Fifteen years, I think.”

“Are you my dad ?” Piper asks, eyes wide.

“No!” he and I exclaim at the same time.

His eyes meet mine again. “No…I’m Ren.”

I blink at him. “Ren.”

“Yeah. Ren Quinn.”

Ren Quinn? Who the hell is Ren—

I reel back as the realization hits me like a wave when you’re facing the shore. I’m forced under the surface, lungs filling with salt water as my body’s tossed around.

“No,” I say simply, shaking my head. “No.”

The Quinns were like family when I was a teenager. Mr. and Mrs. Quinn remembered and celebrated my sixteenth birthday when my parents forgot. I spent every moment I could at their house. They had eight kids so there was no lack of shouting, love, laughter…

Oh, god. The laughter.

For a long time, I’d wanted a family like theirs. I’d find someone who loved me as much as the Quinn adults loved each other and have… well, maybe not eight kids. But enough kids that our home was always loud .

He blinks at me. “No?”

“No,” I repeat, forcing myself back into the present. “You are not Kat’s annoying little brother. No.”

His cheeks flush, and I want to scream because god dammit how did I not immediately recognize him as a Quinn?

He literally looks like the image that would come out if you put pictures of his parents into an AI generator thing, but without the questionable ethics.

His mom’s dark, wavy hair and strong nose.

His dad’s freckles and eye color. Kat’s lips…

“Oh, god ,” I say, taking a step back. “You are . You need to leave.”

“ Mom ,” Piper hisses.

Ren continues to stare at me, all evidence of his smile gone. I feel like I’m too big for my body, somehow. Like my skin is too tight and is stretching beyond its limits to accommodate me.

“I can leave, that’s fine,” he finally responds, his voice even and the exact opposite of my shaking vocals. It’s disconcerting how unphased he seems to be at seeing me. He’s a ghost from my past, one of those bad, scary ones, and he has no idea.

“No, wait!” Piper’s on her feet, frantically looking between the two of us. “He doesn’t have to actually leave, right, Mom?” Her eyes are pleading, desperate, sad . My god, I’m embodying my parents. Foregoing my child’s joy and wants for selfish reasons.