Page 5 of On My Side (Quiblings #3)

“No, no, I’m sorry,” I stammer, trying to save this.

“I meant I have to leave. I have a thing today.” I’m lying out of my ass, of course.

The only “thing” on the calendar for today is laundry and this lesson.

I spin on my heel, trying to convince myself I’m imagining the disappointment on both of their faces.

“Mom?” Piper’s voice echoes through the cottage a few hours after I fled the scene of the crime.

“In here,” I answer feebly.

Her lesson ended two hours ago, and she’s just now getting home. I didn’t even bother looking at her location—I knew she was going to need space, and honestly, I didn’t have the energy to care where said space would be taken.

I burrow deeper into my blankets. Fuck, I’m a bad mom.

I sense Piper in the doorway before I hear her. That mother’s intuition people talk about? Turns out it’s not complete bullshit.

Piper walks across the room, and slowly peels back the covers, the same way she has since she was tall enough to do so. The same way she has every time I’ve hidden from the world.

“Hi,” I whisper, closing my eyes to avoid the inevitable anger I know she’s feeling.

She has every right to be pissed at me. I was a mess .

“Mama, are you okay?” I open my eyes, surprised when her face is filled with concern instead of the anger I’d expected.

“Would you believe me if I said yes?”

The corner of her mouth tips upward. “Hell no.”

I sigh and scooch backwards, lifting the blanket with my arm. “Want to come in?” I ask, the same way I have since she was little. It’s been a while, though.

She hesitates for a moment, but then she’s nodding her head yes and climbing into bed next to me. She snuggles into me, and I kiss the top of her head, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. Her hair smells like coconut, meaning she’s been stealing my good shampoo. Again.

“Mr. Q gave me a three hour lesson.” Piper’s voice is barely audible.

I blink, surprised. “That was nice.”

Piper sighs heavily. “He said he wouldn’t be able to continue teaching me, so he wanted to give me extra time…”

“He said what ?” I gasp, lifting my head to stare at her. She reminds me so much of myself when I was her age, both in physicality and personality. My hair and eyes, my stubbornness and disdain for humanity at large. “Why would he say that?”

She stares at me, her expression saying, Really, Mom? Why do you think? I sigh and comb my fingers through her hair. “Is it because I demanded he leave and pretended I didn’t?”

“ Obviously . You were weird, and he was uncomfortable after that and told me he didn’t think you’d want him teaching me. I came home to yell at you, but you’re hiding, so I think you’re punishing yourself enough already. Why do you hate him?”

“I don’t hate him. I don’t know him. I knew his family before you…” I start to explain.

“Were they mean to you when you were pregnant?” Piper asks gently. Damn, this girl knows me too well.

I sigh. “His older sister was my best friend when I was your age, but she and her family were Catholic and… and they didn’t go out of their way to associate with me.

” I don’t tell her how much the Quinn family had meant to me.

How much their absence hurt when I was pregnant.

How I’d hoped and wished and prayed they’d reach out and check in on me.

How long it took me to realize that wasn’t happening.

How much it hurt that the love they showed me was conditional, just like everyone else.

“Assholes,” Piper grumbles, snuggling closer into me. “I don’t want to take lessons from his slut-shaming ass anyway.”

“I mean… he’s like six years younger than me, so there’s not a lot to blame him for. He was a kid. It’s just… weird to see him again.”

“Wait,” Piper lifts her head and narrows her eyes at me. “The Quinns? As in Jo?”

“Yeah. Jo’s his older sister.” I’d heard through the grapevine Jo came out as a lesbian a few years after Piper was born.

When I got the email from Jo this spring and realized she wanted to use the inn for the now-canceled wedding events she was planning…

it felt like there was a mutual, unspoken understanding between the two of us.

We both knew what it was like to be ostracized by this town. “They were kids.”

“Like you, Mama. You were a kid, too.”

“Yeah, I was,” I agree, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

It’s disorienting being a parent and remembering how the adults in my life treated me when I was expecting Piper.

The lack of love and care—I can’t imagine not supporting Piper or anyone through what I had to go through alone.

“But I don’t want my feelings about his family getting in the way of your lessons.

I was watching you two, it seems like you clicked. ”

“Yeah, he was challenging me on hand placement and was asking questions about things I hadn’t thought about before.

He’s funny, too. He mentioned his sister’s autistic when I told him I was, which made me feel better.

And he doesn’t see autism as a superpower or anything, but he asked what he could do to accommodate my sensory needs.

We took breaks when I needed to, and he didn’t mind when I put my earplugs in toward the end. ”

Images of the Quinn kids run through my head like movie credits. Which one of them is autistic? Though I know it’s not my business, it makes me feel better to know Ren cares about and loves an autistic person in his own life.

“I think you should continue lessons with him,” I say slowly, like if I say it slowly, I can take it back if I change my mind. “I think it’d be good for you.”

“No. I choose you over piano lessons,” Piper says decidedly, and I smile. She’s so fiercely loyal, my sweet girl.

“But there doesn’t need to be a choice. I’m an adult, and I just didn’t expect to come face to face with my past.”

Piper searches my face. “It’s a small town,” she says, and god, don’t I know it. “You couldn’t hide us forever.”

“I know,” I admit reluctantly.

“He didn’t give me his information, but he mentioned he goes running on the beach most mornings. Like at five a.m.”

I stifle a groan. “I’ll email Ms. Santiago and see if she can give me his information.” There’s no way I’m getting up at five a.m. to accost him about my kid’s piano lessons.