Casually Yours

Chapter One

Seven years ago

Parker Tran is the last person I want to see waiting for me.

Unfortunately, I don’t think he’s here for anyone else. I’ve only made it one foot out the door of Rocky’s Diner when I spot the Jeep. A pair of familiar eyes, colder than I remember, bounce from my face to the two extra-large Styrofoam cups in my hands.

“Two-for-one strawberry milkshakes.”

I’d spent days envisioning this in preparation for my return to Silverpine.

Try as I might, I knew I could only avoid him for so long.

In all the simulations I’d run in my head—during lectures, study sessions, at three a.m. when sleep wouldn’t come—I’d have the perfect, sardonic remark ready to devastate him. But that wasn’t it.

“I didn’t get one for you,” I add, just so he knows this isn’t a happy reunion.

“I’m not here for the milkshake.” His grip is already on the door of the black Wrangler, as if standing here with me for a second longer might put him in danger. “Can we go?”

“I don’t need a ride,” I say automatically, still standing half in, half out of the door of the fifties-themed diner.

I glance over my shoulder. The only other patron is smacking the decrepit jukebox, trying to get it to return his quarter.

That thing’s been out of commission since I was in middle school.

“Actually, I’m going to enjoy these here. ”

A teenager wearing a staff apron saunters over. “We’re closing in five.” Damn it. Parker is looking at me expectantly, but I won’t give in without a challenge.

“What are you even doing here?”

“My mom asked me to pick you up. Demanded, actually.” Ah, that’s my fault. C? had called earlier to invite me to dinner, and I’d let my location slip. Since she’s sent this harbinger of doom to come collect me, it looks like my attendance isn’t up for debate.

“I can walk back.”

At this, he throws his head back, and his hand drops from the car. He’s going to run it through his hair now.

He does—a show of his irritation. And now he’s going to sigh.

“Get in the car, Dani,” he says with a loud huff.

I watch thick bangs fall back in place over straight, dark brows.

His teammates once bleached his hair blond for freshman initiation.

Now that we’re well into junior year, his natural color has fully grown out, and I’m reminded, with great vexation, how much I prefer his black hair.

Not that the blond looked particularly bad.

Even if initiation had entailed shaving his head, I doubt Parker Tran could ever look bad.

Has he gotten taller too? He’s well over six feet now, and sometimes I think that growth spurt will go on forever.

“Do you want to tell my mom you’re going to be late for dinner, or should I?”

I could run, zip right past him, and I doubt he’d make the effort to chase me.

But it’s not the six-something quarterback I’m afraid of.

A dinner invite from C? is like a royal summons.

I’ve seen her discipline her boys for disrespecting the sanctity of a shared meal, and I don’t ever want to be on the receiving end of that straw broom.

“Fine, let’s go,” I relent, and Parker opens the door of the Jeep for me because I’m holding two milkshakes bigger than my head.

Not because he’s a gentleman. And definitely not because he likes me.

It takes a mighty hop to get in, an ungainly sight as my legs kick at the air before I finally land on the seat.

I blame it on the custom monster-truck tires.

“Careful with those.” He eyes the milkshakes warily as he settles in next to me with notable ease.

I try to squeeze a shake into the center console, but it’s no use. “Why are your cup holders so small?”

He bats my hand away. “They’re normal sized. Anything that doesn’t fit probably isn’t meant for human consumption.”

I set the cups on the dashboard while I buckle my seatbelt, and Parker winces.

The Jeep is his baby, the apple of his eye.

He’d been saving up for it since we turned twelve, painting houses, mowing lawns, and working part-time at a sporting goods store one summer.

When he landed his D-1 scholarship, his parents chipped in a sizeable gift, and the motorized eyesore was his.

It isn’t until the milkshakes are safely in my lap that he finally starts the car.

We drive down roads that we’ve memorized, past weathered brick shopfronts, the general store run by three generations of Dawsons, and bookstores whose shelves I’ve devoured to the very last book.

If I weren’t so conflicted about coming home, I might fall for its nostalgic trap of silver-barked pines shimmering through the fog and air that somehow always smells like fresh bread.

Once we reach the town’s center, we’re stopped by the first new faces I’ve seen in years.

Parker rolls down the window to give directions to an elderly couple.

Travelers lost on their way to Portland make up most of the traffic that comes through here.

Just as predictably, the couple erupts in affable laughter, having had the good fortune of encountering this small town’s sweetheart.

Parker must’ve said something witty and endearing.

I don’t know, I’m not paying attention. I stare straight ahead, fixated on skies the same shade of gray as the days when Nathan would drive us into the city.

Back then, Nathan was the only Tran brother with a driver’s license, and Parker was still someone I called a friend.

From here, only three main roads intersect the center: Pine Street takes us to Green Valley High, our old school; Oak Street leads to the pharmacy that Parker’s family owns; and Cedar Street is the way home.

The Jeep careens right onto Cedar (again with the monster-truck tires), and I shift all my weight to not lean toward him.

“The milkshakes,” he reminds me. “Careful.”

I’m already regretting getting into this vehicle.

Time seems to slow down in Silverpine, but right now, it’s the tension that’s making the seconds crawl by.

What should be a ten-minute drive feels like a depressing kiddie train looping around a mall—except the mall is Hell, and no matter how hard you cry, the ride never ends.

“You haven’t been home for longer than an hour since you came back from New York.”

It takes a second to register that he’s talking to me.

“And?” The less time I spend at home, the less likely I’ll run into you.

It doesn’t require much brainpower to figure that one out.

It’s the first holiday back from college since we’ve stopped talking, and living next door to the very person I’m trying to evade means I have to constantly be on the move.

Even my oblivious father is beginning to wonder why his homebody daughter is anywhere but home.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’ve been out catching up with people,” I lie. “It’s been a while.”

“Like, real people?” he asks. “Do you have friends here?”

I can’t tell if it’s a joke. “How long are you going to stay in town?” I deflect. “Don’t you have practice?”

“I don’t really want to talk about football.”

“Oh my god.” I touch my forehead with alarm. “Did I just prove quantum jumping is real?”

“Quantum what? What does that even mean?”

“It means I’ve jumped into an alternate universe where you don’t talk obsessively about football.”

Parker clicks his tongue as the car rolls to a stop at a red. “You always have to be a smartass.”

The foam cups are icy cold in my hands, and my fingertips feel numb. “Can I put these down? My hands are freezing.”

“Don’t,” he warns. “If that shit spills, it’ll be impossible to clean, and I’ll never get the smell out.”

“Your car already smells.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“You could cool it with the cheap body spray.” I know, I’m being petty. “It’s hard enough sitting here without the ghost of a teenage boy trying to smother me.”

His hand on his face does little to hide his annoyance. “Dani, I’m trying to be patient. I’ve been waiting around all weekend to talk to you, but if you’re going to be like this—”

“You want to talk about what happened last Christmas?”

He stares straight ahead, his jaw clenched. Not a word. I expected as much.

“Don’t bother then,” I say decisively, and we don’t speak for what’s left of the ride. Meanwhile, a pit of dread is opening in my stomach. Why did I bring it up? In the quiet, I wonder if he, too, is replaying that day in Grand Central Terminal and how everything changed afterward.

Parker pulls up to his house and cuts the engine, leaving an excruciating silence.

The old basketball hoop looms above us, just as durable as the family’s old Toyota parked ahead.

Like the rest of Silverpine, time has frozen this driveway.

It causes a lump in my throat, and I don’t climb out of the Jeep just yet.

We met on this small stretch of pavement when we were both seven.

We learned to ride bikes here. On Saturday mornings, I’d scurry across from my house to watch cartoons with him.

We had driving lessons in the Toyota, and I was there when he backed the car into the hoop stand and for Chú’s wrath, entirely in Vietnamese, which was still terrifying even if I didn’t understand a word.

Some mornings, when I was up early enough, I’d watch him bolt out the door for practice.

I can’t think of this place without the memory of Parker, like a thorn in my side.

As the bright-eyed boy running under the sun or the varsity quarterback, he’s there in every imprint with an old football, its leather faded and cracked, tucked under his arm.

But that was a different time. Parker is still the boy who lives next door, but we don’t talk anymore.

I stack one milkshake on top of the other and reach for the door.

“Wait,” he says suddenly. “How are we going to get through dinner like this? Everyone keeps asking what happened between us.”

“I’ll just ignore you, and you can do the same.” I shrug. “It’ll be so awkward they’ll have to drop it. You did a really good job at that back then. Pretending I don’t exist.”

“That’s . . . that’s not what happened.”

“Then why didn’t you show up that day, Parker?”

A tense gaze connects us, but once again, radio silence. Another unwanted memory invades my mind. Why now, of all times? I remember being right here when I showed him my welcome packet from Columbia. He said he’d visit me in New York. I promised I’d come watch him play.

Now, I count the days until we’re both back at school on opposite sides of the country.

Even if he were to explain, I’m not sure I’d want to stay and hear it. The truth is, there’s no excuse that would make a difference now. I’ve already moved on with my life post–Parker Tran. At some point, everyone leaves, and even he isn’t an exception.

I turn to make my exit, but a hand lurches forward with a reaction time that only makes sense for an athlete.

I don’t realize the Styrofoam tower on my lap is already toppling until Parker’s reaching for it.

But it’s too late. A milkshake collapses at my feet with a pop, sending an explosion of sugary pink all over the Jeep’s shiny black interior.

For a moment, we’re silent again, eyes glued to the creamy pool around my sneakers. Then, Parker’s voice cuts through the cold air.

“For fuck’s sake, Dani, I told you to be careful!”

“Oh my god, will you relax?” I try to pick up the cup, but it slips from my grasp. My feet twist in the sticky mess, detaching from my brain amid the panic.

“Stop moving, you’re getting it everywhere!”

I turn to see hellfire in his eyes.

“I knew this would happen. Who even orders two extra-large milkshakes? It’s like you’re difficult on purpose.”

“You make it sound like I’m the unreasonable one, when we both know you’re going to scrub this car down with a toothbrush. Take your time, by the way, we won’t miss you at dinner.”

I watch his ears go red. “You know what, I didn’t miss this. You . . . you were always such a . . . such a—”

“A what?”

“A goddamn smartass,” he spits. “You think you’re always right. It doesn’t matter what I say when you’ve already made up your mind.”

He seethes, and an exasperated hand flies to his hair again. “You know what? I don’t care anymore. You can keep avoiding me. I’ll do you a solid and stay away from you too. See if I give a shit if we ever talk again.”

Parker’s words land with a thud. I swallow whatever emotion is gathering in my throat and prickling at the back of my eyes.

“You won’t have to worry about seeing me around here again. Or ever, for that matter.”

“Just get out of my car.”

“Gladly.”

I yank at the handle and force the door open. The driveway becomes a blur as anger rushes to my head. I think I see C? on the porch waving me in, but I’m too focused on the fiery thrum between my ears to be sure.

“On second thought, you can have this.”

I whip around and dump the second milkshake on his lap.