BooksBarbecue
Back Again, Rachel
Chapters (98)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. 92
  96. 93
  97. 94
  98. Acknowledgements

‘But with you, there were no signs?’

‘There might have been, though. Maybe I just didn’t notice them. Don’t make my mistakes.’

‘Oh, Rachel!’

85

Liberty and Finley had been playing on my mind. All of the Quinlivans had. But I reckoned that Quin’s parents and siblings would be better equipped than his kids to process my abrupt disappearance from their lives.

In view of how things were playing out, it was probably a blessing that I’d never assumed a proper parental role. We’d got on, though. I was very fond of them and it felt wrong to just disappear without an explanation.

But I wasn’t sure of the protocol, especially because I didn’t have a clue what Quin had told them. Was I ‘a cheating bitch’? Or had he spun the break-up as entirely his decision? Indeed, was Golden currently ensconced in Quin’s black-and-white tiled kitchen, drinking tea from ‘my’ mug, helping him find the tahini?

I really didn’t like that thought but it was impossible to extract my dislike of Golden from the whole scenario, to establish my precise feelings.

Several times I’d started composing emails to Quin, asking if I could write to his kids. But the memory of that last morning in his front hall, both of us ’fessing up to having cheated, cast a long shadow. There had been such rancour that I was reluctant to contact him, for fear of getting more of the same.

Something else was holding me back: I had no clue if things were done forever with Quin. Every single day I was surprised—almost shocked—by his absence. Did that mean I loved him? Enough to get past what we’d both done?

The only thing I knew for sure was that I knew nothing.

*

‘Well, thank you!’ It was Wednesday morning and Yara’s flowers were finally beginning to blossom. On Sunday evening, after Margaret’s brunch, I thought I’d detected the tiniest relaxing of the tightly clenched buds. Monday not so much. Or yesterday. But overnight, big changes had taken place.

Tell him.

Luke, the flowers have started. Looking good for the weekend. Does it suit if I FaceTime on your Saturday night, approx 11.30? Too late? X

Not too late. But very early for you to be getting up? 6.30am? You want to make it later? It’s good with me? L x

All good with 11.30pm. Talk then x

By Saturday evening, the tree was an explosion of pink petals.

‘Stay that way,’ I warned Yara. ‘You better be perfect tomorrow morning.’

I will be. Then, Lol.

So much for Luke offering me a later time—I was awake at 5 a.m. Still, it gave me plenty of time to fiddle around with my hair and skin and basically obsess.

Fresh, that’s how I wanted to look. Likeable.