Page 69 of No Turning Back
"You know what the best part is?" I say, waving my full glass dangerously close to tipping. "I no longer have to feel less like a woman."
I see Aiden's expression change, his brow furrowing as he registers what I've just said. The champagne has loosened my tongue, but suddenly I don't care anymore.
"This is why I wanted you drunk," I say, pointing at his face. "But you wanna hear this sober? Well, here goes."
I sit up straighter, the room tilting slightly as I do. "I get that I can't have kids, but being reminded of it like it's my goddamn fault was not fun."
Aiden sets his glass down carefully. "Quinn..."
"No, listen. Every fucking family gathering, that monster-in-law would come up with some way of bringing up genes and how important they are." The words are pouring out now, unstoppable. "Like me having underdeveloped ovaries was my fault. Like I chose to get an infection and have them taken out."
I grab the bottle and refill my already full glass, some of the champagne sloshing onto my hand. "She'd talk about her precious family lineage right in front of me. 'The Ortega eyes,' 'the Ortega chin,' 'the Ortega musical talent.' God, she once brought a family tree to Thanksgiving dinner. A family tree." My voice cracks on the words.
I watch Aiden's face shift from uncomfortable to concerned. He sets his glass down completely and leans forward.
"She'd point to all the branches with little baby photos, talking about who got what traits from whom. All while looking at me with those... those pitying eyes." I gulp down more champagne, barely tasting it now. "Like I was this broken thing that couldn't fulfil my basic womanly duty."
Aiden winces. "That's horrible, Quinn."
"You know what Markus said when I finally confronted him about it?" I continue, the words tumbling out faster now. "He said I was being too sensitive. That his mother just loved family history. That I was making it all about me."
The room feels too warm suddenly. I push my hair back from my forehead, feeling the dampness there.
"But it was about me. Every time she talked about continuing the family line or asked when we were going to give her grandchildren with that fake innocent voice." My hands are shaking now. "And he never, not once, stood up for me, not to her, not about this."
"Quinn, I had no idea," Aiden says softly.
"And now-" I keep talking like he's not even here, words slurring slightly as the champagne takes full effect. "Now he can have his precious biological baby with that bitch."
I settle back into the couch cushions, feeling them swallow me up, then spring to my feet, nearly toppling over in the process.
"No, wait," I say, wagging my finger at nothing in particular. "I shouldn't blame the whore. She wasn't married to me."
The thought strikes me as hilariously profound in my drunk state. I think for a moment, then announce to the room, "The fucktard and the whore!"
I fall back onto the couch, laughing hysterically, tears streaming down my face. The laughter turns to something else, something ugly and raw that's been building for months.
Aiden looks horrified, frozen in place like he's witnessing a car crash in slow motion.
I feel Aiden's hand awkwardly patting my head as I continue to sob, his touch hesitant and uncertain.
"There, there," he says, sounding completely out of his depth.
The sobs gradually turn to hiccups as I try to pull myself together. My stomach growls loudly in the sudden quiet, reminding me I haven't eaten since before the courthouse this morning.
"I'm hongry," I mumble into the couch cushion, my face still half-buried.
We both freeze at the sound of the front door opening and closing. Kate's heels click rhythmically across the hardwood floor as she makes her way toward the living room where we're sitting or in my case, sprawled across the sofa while Aiden stands awkwardly beside me.
I roll over to face her, my mascara probably streaked down my cheeks, hair a wild mess, and empty champagne bottle tipped over on the coffee table.
"Did you bring food?" I try to ask, but what comes out is a garbled mess of slurred words.
Kate takes in the scene, her drunk best friend, her uncomfortable husband, the champagne evidence and drops her purse
"What happened here?" she asks, picking open the sad champagne bottle.
"Divorce celebration," Aiden says weakly, stepping away from the couch. "It got... emotional."
