Chapter Six Parker
Chapter Six
Parker
“I’m here, I’m here!” I call out to my mother as I barrel through her front door without knocking. Not that she minds.
For the second time in as many days, I’m running late.
I’m usually that person who’s borderline obnoxiously early, but not this week, apparently. This is the week—one of the most important of my life—that I decided to throw all those years of being on time by the wayside and become a perpetually late arriver.
Honestly, if it wasn’t for that damn couch, I just might have been on time.
Axel returned shortly after Noel left and grilled me for thirty minutes about what had happened. I think after the twentieth time I told him that all that had happened was that Noel had helped with the wall, he finally believed me.
It’s a good thing, too, because the absolute last thing I wanted to get into was how Noel’s parting words left me reeling.
I tried to ignore them all day, pushing them to the back of my mind, but all my efforts were fruitless. When I’d repainted the same spot for the third time, Axel officially sent me home for the day with a promise to finish painting the walls himself, since this time he ordered the right color. He swore he’d have everything cleaned up tomorrow so I could spend Thursday mounting the display stands, moving furniture back in, and rearranging the place to my heart’s content for the grand reopening after the theater ceremony on Friday, if I agreed to take a nap.
I was so tired I said yes. All it took was three minutes on my couch, and I was out for five hours, which is why I’m running in the door fifteen minutes late for Tater Tot Tuesday.
“We’re in the kitchen!” my mother calls back over the sound of Carole King from the record player in the den.
We? Who else is here? It’s probably Gran. She’s been coming over sporadically for years, just like she used to when I was a kid. Tater Tot Tuesday is famous in these parts.
I don’t know where my love of tots came from—maybe from school lunches—but I used to request them so often that my mother finally had to put her foot down and say we could only have them one day a week. And thus, Tater Tot Tuesday was born. We’ve hosted many people over the years, and sometimes it’s just her and me. When I was younger, there were always at least three of us here. But it hasn’t been that way in a long, long time.
I juggle the bag of toppings I brought as I take off my shoes. My mother didn’t have too many rules growing up, but “no shoes in the house” was one that always stuck. Once I’m free of my flats, I pad down the hall, past the photos of me and drawings I’ve made over the years that line the walls, and head straight for the kitchen, where I immediately come to a halt.
Now I know why my mother said we .
It’s not Gran, but he sure is related to her.
“Noel.”
He and my mother are standing side by side, each working on their own dinner. A carton of wine coolers sits on the counter, one missing and one sitting right in front of Noel, already half-gone. Cheese, beans, meat, and various vegetables are spread around the countertop. It’s safe to say that whatever this is, it was planned, and I was left out of the loop.
Noel’s lips kick up into a grin on one side. “Peter.”
“Peter?” My mother’s eyes widen as she looks up at my old friend. “Wow. I haven’t heard that name in ...”
She trails off because we all know exactly how long it’s been since she’s heard it—the last time Noel was here.
“I hope you don’t mind I invited Noel. But he stopped by this morning, and I realized it was Tuesday, and, well, I couldn’t resist. Besides, it’s nice to have both my kids under the same roof for a change.” She nudges him with her elbow, her hands busy spreading Tater Tots in the bottom of a glass dish. “We just started, so scrub in, and we can get these all in the oven simultaneously.”
She smiles at me brightly, and her smile would look entirely innocent to just about anyone else. But I know my mother, and right now, her smile says, Play nice and yell at me later, darling.
I smile right back, one that says, Oh, I’m definitely yelling later because what the frick, Mom? I thought you were on my side!
I set my bag of toppings on the island, then roll up my sleeves to wash my hands.
Mom’s already set out a dish for me, so when I’m finished washing up, I dump my tots into the bottom and begin spreading them out how I like them.
I’m spreading the seasoned crumbled beef my mother made ahead of time when the music comes to a sharp end.
“Ah, crud. Gotta flip the record. You two keep going. Mine are ready, anyway,” my mom announces, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she shuffles from the room. It’s an apparent attempt at getting Noel and me alone together.
I love my mother more than life itself, but right now, I want to put her in a nursing home and never visit her.
No, wait. That’s too mean.
I’ll replace all her treasured photos with pictures of Clifford, the gardener from next door. They’ve been feuding for nearly fifteen years because he ran over her violets. He swore he didn’t and that she’s the one who killed them, and they haven’t been able to let it go since.
Yes, that will be my revenge. She’ll hate it.
“Well, that was obvious,” I say once she’s out of earshot.
“To be fair, subtlety has never been Astrid’s thing,” Noel remarks, and he wouldn’t be wrong. She’s never been one to shy away from telling it as it is or letting people know her exact feelings about things, like her strife with Clifford.
We work in silence for several minutes, me probably putting a bit too much force into throwing meat on top of my tots and Noel watching me like a hawk.
Why is he here? He hasn’t bothered to show up over the years, and now, on his second day back in town, I can’t escape him. What gives?
And why did he say those things to me this morning? Why did he get jealous of the idea of Axel and me together? Why did he imply that he still has feelings for me? Why does he have to keep calling me Peter? Why—
“Did they offend you?” he asks quietly.
I whip my head toward him. “What.”
It’s not really a question, more of a demand.
He dips his head toward the pan. “Your tots. Have they done something to offend you? Because mine haven’t said a word all night, and I’m going to be pissed if you got the magic talking Tater Tots and I didn’t.”
It’s a ridiculous thing to say, and it almost makes me smile. Then I remember that this night is mine, and he’s intruding.
“Why are you here?”
“She asked.” He shrugs, tossing a few tomatoes onto his already overly topped tots. Did he learn nothing over his years of attending Tater Tot Tuesdays? If there’s one thing to avoid, it’s too many toppings. They’ll never crisp up the way I know he likes. They’ll get mushy and gross within minutes. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have come if I knew—”
“That’d I’d be here?”
“Well, yeah.”
“It’s my house. She’s my mother.”
“I know. I just . . .”
“I just find it funny that you’ve been gone for ten years, and suddenly you’re everywhere I turn.”
His hands stop, and for the sake of his tots, I’m glad. He sets the bowl of tomatoes down with a gentleness he wasn’t showing the boards he was ripping off my wall this morning.
He turns to me, crossing one leg over the other, his hip resting against the island we’ve spent so many nights at, up late talking, doing homework, or making dinner as we are now.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re heading the theater project?”
Of all the things I thought Noel would say, it wasn’t that.
It’s my turn to shrug. “I didn’t think it would matter.”
“You didn’t think ...” He shakes his head. “Of course it matters, Parker. You’re the reason I’m back.”
“No,” I argue as I reach for the shredded cheese and spread a spoonful over the top of my tots. “The donor is the reason you’re back. Trust me, naming this theater after you wasn’t my decision.”
“Why? Because it’s such an awful thing to do?”
“Because it’s tacky, and I know you agree, so don’t argue.”
He gives me no indication I’m right, but I know him well enough to know that I am. He hates the theater’s new name as much as I do.
“Why not tell me?” he asks, this time more commanding and less gentle. “That theater ... You know what it means to me.”
“I know what it meant to you.”
“For the love of ...” He growls—actually growls —and, my gosh, is it the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. “Am I ever going to live this down? Am I ever not going to get punished for leaving and living my life?”
“I never said that.”
“Well, it sure feels like it, and that’s not fair. We both know it’s not fair.” He leans into me, that cologne of his hitting my nose, making me lose focus. “Because as I recall, I asked you to come with me, Peter, and you’re the one who told me no.”
My hands pause, and I swallow the sudden lump in my throat.
Just like he knows it’s not fair that I’m upset with him for leaving, I know it’s not fair for me to act like this rift between us is all his fault.
Because it’s not. I’m to blame for a lot of it, and if he thinks the guilt of that hasn’t eaten away at me over the years, he’s wrong.
But I’m tired of feeling guilty. If we’re going to get through this ceremony, we need to move on.
“You’re right,” I tell him, setting the cheese on the counter and turning toward him. “You’re right, Noel. We should put this behind us. But if we do, that means we also put all things Axel behind us too. You’re not allowed to be mean to my business partner.”
“You need to tell that to him . I’m pretty sure that Goliath would have tried to fight me this morning.”
I snort out a laugh, turning back to my tots with a grin. “Oh, he so would have. And it would have been glorious.”
“Seeing me pummeled would have gotten you off, huh?”
Suddenly, I’m not laughing anymore. Or smiling.
No.
All I’m thinking about are the very real words Noel just uttered and how suddenly it’s very hot in this kitchen.
It’s the oven, I tell myself. That’s what it has to be. No way is it because I’m now thinking of all the ways Noel could get me off .
“So sorry about that.” My mother breezes back into the kitchen like she wasn’t just waiting out in the hallway for a break in the conversation. She thinks she’s so sneaky, but I’m onto her. “I had to change the record, then Larissa called, and you know how she loves to gab. She wanted to inform me that Noel was back in town, like I didn’t know.” She rolls her eyes with a grin. “Anyway, what’d I miss? Are our tots ready?”
I look at Noel’s heaping pile of toppings, which will take forever to cook evenly, then at my pitiful mound, and nod. “Sure, let’s get them in the oven. I need a drink.”
“Oh! Noel brought wine coolers,” she says, pointing to the carton of drinks on the counter.
Of course he did.
“Here, let me.” Noel grabs a bottle of Watermelon Lime.
It’s my favorite drink, and I haven’t had it since the summer he left. Not since I got drunk on them and cried to my mother about everything that happened with us, how in love with him I was, and how I wanted to kiss him again so badly that I ached.
Sometimes I still feel that way.
Noel easily snaps off the lid and hands it to me. He remembers that I hate opening them because they rough up my hands. Funny for someone who works in construction, but we all have our quirks.
I almost have my fingers curled around the wine cooler when he jerks it back. “Ah, that’s right. I almost forgot the taxes.”
He puts the bottle to his mouth, closing his lips around it as he tips his head back for a drink. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and I hate how much I enjoy watching it, almost as much as I hate myself for being so excited he remembered our ritual where he always takes the first drink or bite of my stuff as “tax.”
“The only time taxes are a good thing,” he says, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand before handing me my wine cooler.
I clutch the bottle tightly, hesitating. I was glad he remembered, but now I don’t know what to do. Should I wipe it off? Would it be weird if I did? I never used to before. Heck, back then, we used to share everything. Sandwiches, ice creams, drinks ... It didn’t matter because it was Noel, and nothing was ever weird with him.
Now . . . now it’s different.
And if the way he’s watching me closely is any indication, he feels the same way.
But I won’t give him the satisfaction of making this awkward. Instead, I bring the bottle to my lips and take a drink like it means nothing. Like he means nothing.
But it does matter. He matters.
And that’s the hardest part of it all.
“Is it strange to say I’ve missed Tater Tots?” Noel pats his full stomach. Considering I once watched him eat five and a half meatball subs, I really shouldn’t be surprised he finished off his overly topped tots plus half of mine, but I am. I have a feeling now that we’re finished, he won’t be moving from his Adirondack chair anytime soon.
We sit outside with a small fire while my mother cleans the kitchen. We tried to help her many times, but it wasn’t until she threatened to change the locks on the house and never invite us over again that we gave in and hurried outside before she made good on her promise.
“Do they not have Tater Tots in California?” I ask.
“Of course they do. But I can’t ever eat them. I’m always training for my next role, or we never go somewhere that has them. It’s too lowbrow.”
We.
I didn’t miss that. I want to ask what it means, if he has someone back home waiting for him, but I’m not sure I have that right anymore.
Sure, he asked about Axel this morning, but maybe I have more manners than Noel.
“Vince, my assistant, is the bigger foodie of us, so I just let him handle reservations.”
He makes reservations. That has to be for dates, right?
I push aside the thought.
It doesn’t matter, Parker. Not your business.
The crackle of the fire fills the quiet that settles between us, and for just a moment, I let myself escape back into the past when we used to do this regularly. We’d open the windows and let the record player spin us something good, watch the fire, and just be. Sometimes, we’d talk, swap stories of all different kinds, tell jokes, or sometimes, we’d just sit like we are now. But no matter what we were doing, we were at ease with one another, just like we are in this moment.
“You can ask,” he says quietly, breaking our little bubble of silence.
“Hmm?”
“You can ask if I’m seeing someone.”
I shake my head. “It’s none of my—”
“I asked about Axel this morning,” he interrupts. “It’s only fair you get to be nosy in the same way.”
He has a point ... “Fine. Are you seeing anyone?”
“No.” The answer is so quick and automatic that it makes my heart soar with a happiness I haven’t felt in a long time. “But I have.”
And just like that, the happiness is gone.
It’s silly, really, to think he’d never date or move on from fleeting feelings as a teenager. I knew he would, and heck, even I’ve dated a bit. But I still don’t like it.
“Nothing serious,” he continues, the firelight dancing in his eyes as he watches it burn. “Nothing that lasted. Nothing that ever meant ...”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t have to.
He means us. Nothing that ever meant something like what we had.
I’m not sure if that makes me happy or sad, and I don’t have time to figure it out before the back door slams against the frame, and my mother comes bounding across the lawn.
“I just heard from the Community Hall, and they say we can host the first fundraiser there,” my mother says as she takes the empty chair beside me.
“Fundraiser?” Noel asks. “What are we raising funds for?”
“The theater.” Mom takes a sip of what I know is coffee spiked with bourbon. It’s her go-to drink when she wants to unwind. She always says, “A nice nightcap for a nice day.” “Even with the town’s approved budget for it and the donation, we’re still looking at a steep uphill battle to cover the rest of the renovation. We’re going to fundraise for it.”
“You’re renovating on only half a budget?”
Half? Not even.
I shrug at Noel’s question. “It’s not a big deal. I know the town will come through.”
Or at least I hope they do. Most of the town is on board for the restoration, but there are a few who have strong feelings opposing it. I’m hoping once they see how excited everyone else is about it, they’ll change their minds.
“And if they don’t?”
“If they don’t, Parker plans to use her own money to cover some and take out a loan for the other part.”
Noel sits forward, frowning over at me. “You’re kidding.”
“She’s not,” my mother answers before I can.
I hitch my thumb her way. “What she said.”
“Parker, you can’t do that. That’s ...”
“Farcical? Heedless? Perhaps even unhinged?”
“Are you finished, Ms. Always Wins at Scrabble?” I shoot my mom a glare before turning back to Noel. “It’s my money, and I’ll do with it as I wish.”
“But that’s a lot of money.”
“I know that.”
“I can—”
“Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t.”
He knows what I mean, just like I know what he was about to do—offer to pay for what the donation isn’t covering.
But I don’t want his money, and more than that, I don’t need his money.
“Fine. But don’t you want to use your savings for something else? A house? A car? A family?”
A family? Is he serious? There’s nobody here I want to have a family with. Nobody except ... I shake away the thought.
“I already own a house, and what do I need a car for? I don’t go anywhere, and everything in Emerald Grove is walkable. A car seems like just another hindrance to the environment, is all.”
“You tell him, sister.” My mother holds her palm up, and I slap it. “I raised you well.”
“But—”
“No. No buts,” I cut in. “I’ve already made my decision. I’ve weighed this carefully and done all the math. I know this is what I want.”
Noel stares at me, the flames glinting off the blue in his eyes. Finally, after what feels like several minutes, he nods. “Okay.”
It’s all he says about it, and I don’t know why, but it feels like a weight has been lifted. I don’t need Noel’s permission or approval to do this, but I like that he trusts me enough to do this.
I know it’s a big undertaking, but just as I’m confident in handling it, I’m also confident in this town. Sure, it took some time to get the council to approve it and give me a decent budget, but thanks to our donor, it seems we have interest, and that’s what we really needed.
I don’t expect the townspeople to front the entire bill and am more than prepared to take out a loan to cover the rest. I’m just hoping for as much as I can get before it comes to that.
I settle back in my chair, not even realizing I had sat forward in the first place. “Okay,” I echo.
“Well, now that that’s settled,” my mother says, “how many people have we signed up for the bachelor auction part of the evening?”
“A what, now?”
“A date-night raffle!” my mother tells Noel with glee. “We’ve gathered all the single men in town and will raffle off a date night with them, along with several other services and items donated by local businesses. We thought of it after watching some Hallmark movie where the lawyer lady returned to her small town and fell back in love with her old high school flame, who stayed behind and became a lumberjack or whatever it is he was.”
“A horse trainer,” I provide. “No, wait. That was the other movie with a lawyer. Was he a baker? No.” I tap my chin. “I know! He was a fishmonger!”
“Can you imagine that smell?” My mother wrinkles her nose. “No, thanks. I’d rather live in the city.”
“I don’t know. The city smells pretty bad,” Noel offers.
“Good point,” Mom says. “The last time I was in Seattle, it smelled like pee, fish, and weed. Now, the weed I didn’t mind, but that pee and fish was not for me.”
“It wasn’t that bad, Mom.”
“ You went to Seattle?” Noel asks, his surprise evident.
It’s warranted, though. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been outside Emerald Grove. That may sound ridiculous to some, but I’m perfectly content staying in my little corner of the world.
Noel knows that better than anyone.
“What? It was for a work thing with Axel.”
Is it bad I like the way his eyes dim when I say Axel’s name? That I like how a little wrinkle forms between his brows each time I mention that Axel is my best friend?
Probably, but I don’t care.
“So, what? You fix up the town together and roam the state doing remodeling or something?”
“Or something,” I say, not elaborating just to irritate him.
It works, and his grip on his bottle of Watermelon Lime tightens just a little.
“Well, if it’s anything like the work you’ve done at the café, your success is well deserved.”
My mother gasps. “You’ve seen the café? That’s ... That’s ... Well, that’s a big load of crap!” She huffs. “Even I haven’t seen it, and I got her the dang job.”
“You did not! Axel and I”—I dart my eyes to Noel, and yup, the wrinkle is there—“got that job all on our own, thank you very much. We were having Rossi breakfast sandwiches”— Did that wrinkle just deepen? —“and came up with the idea right there in front of Gianna and Greta. They approved and asked us when we could start.”
“Then you went and closed down the town’s favorite breakfast and lunch spot for eight weeks .” Mom pouts.
“It would have been six if Axel had ordered the right materials.”
“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?” Noel questions.
“No. Our business is doing just fine. In fact, after the theater reno, we’re thinking of updating the high school. Axel and I make great partners.”
“I need a drink,” Noel announces suddenly, shoving from his chair and stomping toward the house.
I watch him leave, his gait quick, like he’s on a mission to escape as fast as possible.
My mother clucks her tongue once he’s tucked safely inside the house.
I turn to her, brow raised. “Yes, Mother?”
“You’re being mean.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too, and you know it. Teasing him with Axel’s name like that. You know they have history.”
“ I have history with Axel, too, you know.”
“Yes, but you’ve also had ten years of getting over it and discovering that he’s matured and turned into a fine young man. Noel hasn’t. It’s still fresh for him.”
I slink down in my chair. I hated being reprimanded as a kid, but somehow, it feels so much worse when you’re pushing thirty. “Yeah, well, whose fault is that?”
“Parker . . . ,” my mother says sternly.
I sigh. “I’m being petty.”
“You are. And while you have a right to be upset about him not returning, you can’t be upset about him leaving. You supported him then. You can’t take it back just because he decided to stay gone.”
“Like Frank decided to stay gone, right?”
She cuts me a sharp look. “Noel is not your father, Parker Bernice Pruitt. You know it as well as I do. Don’t put what that man did onto him. That’s not fair.”
I swallow because I know she’s right about that too.
It’s not fair. My dad leaving and Noel leaving are two different things. But somehow ... somehow, they feel an awful lot like the same.
My dad left suddenly in the middle of the night, leaving nothing but a note and a number to reach him. We never called it, and he never called us.
Noel’s departure wasn’t so sudden. He’d been talking about going for a long time. I guess somewhere along the way, I’d developed this thing in my head where I told myself he was just dreaming and that he’d never actually leave.
Then our senior year ended, and he told me with finality that he was moving away. I told him to go. Why wouldn’t I? He was my best friend. Yes, it was going to suck for him to leave, but I wanted him to be happy. I wanted him to find that thing he always seemed to be missing.
The nights I’ve lain awake wondering if my father found what he was looking for rival the nights I’ve spent wondering if Noel found what he’d been after.
While I’ll never have that opportunity with my father, I do have the chance with Noel. Maybe I should seize it.
“So tell me more about this raffle,” Noel calls from the porch as the screen door closes behind him.
“Just give him a chance,” my mother whispers. “Who knows? Maybe he’s changed, just like Axel did.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Or maybe it doesn’t matter. We both know he’s not sticking around. He’s leaving after the ceremony, gone out of my life again so he can live his, I can live mine, and things can go back to how they were.
I thought it was what I wanted, so why does it scare me so much?