Chapter Fourteen
Four years ago
Oak what matters is that he didn’t want to stay. And as it turns out, I’m done wondering why the people around me don’t want to stick around.
I expect my accusatory tone to bring out Nathan’s defensiveness, but he just stands there, openmouthed, his brows drawn together.
“Did you say Parker didn’t show up in New York?”
Now I’m just as confused as he looks. “He didn’t tell you?”
“I always assumed something happened on that trip. Like you two had a huge fight or something. But if he didn’t show up—” He stops, the implications of this missing piece of information clearly hitting him. “Why didn’t you say anything to us?”
“I thought you knew.”
“You thought we knew and that we were all okay with it?”
I nod slowly.
“Dani, it was never about taking sides.” Nathan looks at me as if he can’t bear to believe I’d thought otherwise.
“If anything, my stance is that there’s been a communication breakdown on both ends.
That’s why I feel so strongly about you reaching out to him.
Parker, he—he had a lot going on, too, with his situation and, well, it’s not my place to get into it.
Those are things he has to explain to you. ”
I return the sriracha bottle to its shelf before it explodes in my grip. “I’m sorry, Nathan, but it just sounds like you’re trying to cover for him.”
He frowns, adjusting his glasses. “I think him bailing on you wasn’t that simple. He probably struggled with it a lot too.”
Struggled? The Parker Tran who has done just fine without me?
Before I blacklisted “football,” his school, and his name on every search portal and social media site, I did come across a post on his team’s page.
There on the gridiron was the number 11 jersey in the middle of a celebratory huddle, exalted fists in the air. Living the dream, right?
“Can I ask you something?” I say. “Did Parker ever start in a game?”
“He did. In his junior year.”
Just as I thought. “Why wasn’t I invited?”
“I wish I had an answer for you.” He sighs and moves his basket from one hand to the other. “I asked him the same thing. He just said you were no longer speaking.”
So much for promises. How do you go from talking to someone every day to removing them from the biggest moments of your life?
I guess at some point, Parker decided there wasn’t any room for me in his big dreams. It doesn’t come as a shock to me, but it still feels like a belated sucker punch to the gut.
“I’m assuming you stopped following college football,” Nathan says.
I shoot him a look that says, Isn’t it obvious?
“It’s just that—I don’t know, maybe if you heard it from him—”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Nathan.
But if Parker wanted me in his life again, don’t you think he would’ve tried by now?
” My voice comes out firm, steeled with resolve, and I hope he notices.
“You may not believe me, but I’m really fine if I never hear from him again.
I’ve had to learn this the hard way, but if someone abandons you, it’ll only hurt you more if you keep holding on.
I can’t keep getting burned by the people I thought would be around forever.
In the end, there’s nothing I could’ve done differently to make them stay, so why try now? ”
To my surprise, Nathan doesn’t challenge this. He lets me withdraw from the conversation, watching as I pick up a bottle of mirin and two instant ramen packets, tossing them in my basket. Before I leave the aisle, I give him one last meaningful look.
“Can you do me a favor? Don’t tell Parker you ran into me or that we talked about him. And please, if you can help it, don’t let him know how I’m doing. I don’t want to know about him, and I don’t want him knowing about me.”
He hesitates but eventually promises me his discretion. “And what about my mom? What if she asks about you?”
My gut takes a second punch. This one feels a lot more like guilt. “Does she ask about me?”
“Of course she does. She still thinks you and Parker are going to make up. That you drifted apart because of the distance, but you’ll reconnect someday.”
Why does it feel worse knowing C? is still gracing me with the benefit of the doubt? If she hated me like her son does, I wouldn’t feel so rotten for letting her get caught in the crossfire.
“She misses you, you know,” Nathan continues. “But she figured you love your big New York life so much, you don’t have time for us small-town folk anymore. Not that she blames you for it. According to her, it’s all part of growing up.”
How do I explain this to her—that I can’t go over there, answer questions about Parker, and stand in the same rooms we grew up in without the memories haunting me?
I know it makes me a coward, because I can’t tell her the truth: I need to avoid her so I won’t have to hear how amazing Parker’s life is after leaving me in the dust.
“Tell her I’m well,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat, “and that I hope she’s good too.”
I part ways with Nathan to browse another aisle, while he pays at the checkout counter. When he reaches the door, he looks back and gives me a perfunctory wave.