Quintessa forcefully pulled away from Tyrone’s grip and turned to leave.
“Wait.” Tyrone called after her, “It’s hard to get a cab around here. Here, take the car keys.”
“Thanks.” Quintessa replied quietly, head bowed.
Tyrone wanted to follow her, but he knew, at this moment, the last thing Quintessa wanted was his company. How could such a strong-willed person allow others to see her vulnerability?
He had never seen Quintessa like this before. In this moment, he realized she was just a girl, after all.
Watching Quintessa drive away in his car, Tyrone felt a heavy sensation in his chest, the blazing sunlight outside did little to warm his spirits.
Back home, Tyrone felt a wave of melancholy wash over him. Sitting down, he noticed the steaming plate of spaghetti alle vongole on the table. He rubbed his forehead, wondering what Quintessa felt eating this.
Mrs. York looked puzzled. “What’s wrong, did she not like my cooking? I tasted it, and it seemed fine to me.”
Tyrone shook his head. “When she was eight, her mother passed away. The last meal her mother made for her was spaghetti alle vongole. This plate brought back those memories, and she kind of broke down. She wanted me to tell you the dish was delicious, it’s just her own issues. She’s sorry.”
Mrs. York was stunned for a moment, then scolded, “It’s all your fault, why did you have to choose spaghetti alle vongole? What’s wrong with you, there are so many other things to eat. Oh. Where is she now?”
“I gave her the car keys and let her drive off.”
Mrs. York smacked Tyrone on the head. “Are you stupid? In her condition, you let her drive? She could have had an accident! How can you be so careless and not care about others?”
That smack seemed to wake Tyrone up. He suddenly realized with the state Quintessa was in, she shouldn’t be driving.
Was his brain rusted? He must have inherited his lack of common sense from his mother.
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