Chapter Twenty-Five
The next morning, my back is pressed against what I think is a woodworking bench, but I can’t be certain.
In the pitch black, I can’t tell a hammer from a saw, and I’m afraid I might lose a finger.
But as soon as I’m hoisted onto the tabletop, and Parker’s mouth finds mine, the surface of sharp objects is about as threatening as a bed of clouds.
Because that’s what Parker’s kisses feel like—being in the freaking high heavens.
The muffled instrumental of “Careless Whisper” fades through the walls, until someone in the living room hits replay. Feedback from the karaoke mic screeches with a vengeance, and Chú’s voice resumes its soulful crooning: “I’m never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm.”
I’d be impressed that he can muster this much passion for his third straight rendition, if I weren’t so desperate to block out his voice. When Parker suggested we meet for a rare moment of privacy, this was not the ambience I’d hoped for.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I can, you know?” He pulls away from the kiss, and I’m yanked out of the clouds, crash-landing back in his family’s garage. The sultry saxophone intro taunts us in the distance, for the fourth time. “My dad’s singing is kind of killing this for me.”
“No, I get it.” I hop off the workbench and brush the sawdust off my pants. “He really likes this song.”
“Why did I think it was a good idea to buy them a karaoke machine? They make me regret it every time I’m home.” Parker’s shadowy figure moves to the light switch, and the garage is illuminated with a flicker, along with the hot shame between us. “So much for sneaking around.”
“We need a new rule: No hooking up when we’re back home,” I propose. “Our parents are already on high alert whenever they see us together. It’s impossible to get any alone time.”
“Looks like we have no choice.” He sweeps his bangs out of his eyes and tips his chin at me. “I take it your hickey hasn’t faded.”
I tug at the collar of my sweater. My skin underneath is warm and a little clammy. “I’ve had to wear nothing but turtlenecks in my own home because of you. I keep telling my dad that I’m cold, and he cranks up the heat each time. I’m living in a fucking sauna.”
Parker finds this hysterical. I refrain from kicking him.
“Welp, we gave it a valiant try. And now I’m going back to roasting in Mount Doom,” I say dejectedly, turning toward the garage door.
“Wait.” He snags the back of my turtleneck, and I come to a cartoonish stop, arms flopping about. “You don’t have to go home. I have a better idea.”
Parker sits in the driver’s seat of his dad’s new Toyota SUV, one hand on the wheel, the other raked through his hair, elbow perched against the door.
I must be wired to expect nothing but trouble from him, because I’m genuinely astonished by how harmless his idea is: grab some takeout, take a drive on the I-84 up to the Columbia River Gorge, and be home in time for dinner.
It rained this morning, and now the sky is overcast. Silverpine stretches out before us with an undertone of gray—rows of trees and rooftops shaded under gloomy clouds.
The forecast said to expect showers today and tomorrow and the day after.
Maybe it’s because I grew up here in the Pacific Northwest, but I don’t mind the rain.
As soon as we get a stretch of sunny days, I’m the first to complain that it’s too bright.
Parker says his mom tried to send him out with an umbrella, and we laugh about that for a solid minute, because, can you imagine?
“Where’s the Jeep?” I ask.
“In a storage unit.”
“You didn’t take it to San Francisco?”
“Nope,” is all he gives me. He’s adjusting his mirrors when he skims a look over my outfit. “Why didn’t you change? You don’t have to hide your hickey around me.”
“I don’t want the outside world seeing this monstrosity.”
“It can’t be that bad. Let me see.” At the next stop sign, Parker reaches over and lowers the fabric around my neck. Every neighboring muscle tenses when his fingertip meets my skin. “Damn, I did that?”
“You’ve branded me like livestock.”
He bites back a grin, wisecrack at the ready, until I terminate it with a glare.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Sighing, I let my gaze fall to the window. “You’re right. I don’t.” He doesn’t respond, but out of the corner of my eye, I see him reach for the dashboard to turn down the heat.
We can’t agree on pizza, so we compromise and grab SuperDeluxe.
It turns out we share one unanimous opinion: SuperDeluxe makes the best burgers in the state.
Before we exit the parking lot, Parker opens his Spotify app.
Song titles zip along the screen as he scrolls.
“What do you want to listen to? I’ll let you pick. ”
“Gotta be ‘Careless Whisper’ then.”
A sigh leaves his lips. “I’m just going to search ‘driving playlist.’”
“So what excuse did you give your parents to get out of the house?” I ask, locating the takeout bag with my Single Deluxe combo. “I told my dad I was going to the bookstore. That usually gives me a few hours.”
“I didn’t have to give them an excuse.” He helps himself to a handful of fries off my lap before I have a chance at them. “I said I was hanging out with you.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of sneaking out?”
“I don’t think we need to sneak out if we’re going for a drive.
Besides, my mom’s too excited about us making up.
She’s not going to risk it by meddling now.
” He looks over his shoulder as he merges onto the freeway.
The vein in his neck distracts me, and I have to force my attention back to unwrapping my burger.
“She’s, uh, kind of always wanted us to date, or something. ”
“You know, I got that vibe. I’m surprised she wasn’t deterred by the near decade of no contact.”
“It’s been in her head since we were kids. She was convinced we’d end up together and only dropped it when I met my first girlfriend. This weekend has her hopes up again, I can tell.”
Girlfriend? That’s the first time I’ve heard Mr. Commitmentphobia mention anything of the sort. Ever since I learned about his permanently single status, I’ve pictured Parker hightailing it at the first sign of commitment.
“I thought you didn’t do relationships.”
“I’ve had girlfriends before. That’s how I realized I wasn’t cut out for dating,” Parker explains. He signals for me to pass his Double Deluxe combo to him. “I think my mom mentioned you brought someone back to Silverpine before. Must’ve been serious.”
Despite my effort to block out any and all Parker Tran news for the last seven years, it makes sense that it didn’t work both ways.
I knew C? had seen me with my college boyfriend a couple of times, even when I was trying to keep a low profile.
What I didn’t know was that she’d relayed that information to Parker.
“Not really. Just a guy I was seeing in school. I’d met his family already, so he really wanted to tag along and meet my dad.”
“And what did your dad think of him?”
What did my dad think of Graham—the guy who thought it would be impressive to speak to him only in haiku? He wasn’t exactly a fan.
“Didn’t say much. He tends to avoid any discussion that involves my love life.” I bite into my burger and wipe the sauce off my mouth with a napkin. “Have you met Irene yet?”
“Nathan’s girlfriend? A couple times, yeah. She’s nice.”
“I thought you’d have more to say about your future sisterin-law.”
His brow furrows at this. “What do you think about that?”
“What? Nathan getting married?”
“I worry that he’s jumping the gun for the sake of settling down.”
“Three years feels like a reasonable amount of time to know if you want to marry someone,” I counter.
“I don’t know.” He pauses to chew on a fry. “Maybe it’s because I’ve never felt that way in a relationship. Of course, mine didn’t last even half as long, but I don’t believe in a checkpoint that says, hey, if we reach this mark then we’re set for life.”
I fold the corners of the paper around my burger, pretending I’m far more interested in that task than in what Parker’s saying. “Is this how you found out you’re not cut out for relationships?”
“Well, they all started the same way: I’d have feelings, until I didn’t.
Nothing seemed to last longer than the initial spark.
I wanted to be all in, but I couldn’t force feelings that weren’t there.
When you have to remind yourself to be affectionate, it doesn’t feel authentic anymore.
” He reaches for another fry, shrugging.
“That’s just me, though. I’m not saying that what Nathan has isn’t real.
She’s the only one who laughs at his jokes, so that has to count for something. ”
I let his explanation bounce around in my brain. “Then how would you know you’ve found the person you want to spend the rest of your life with?”
“I don’t think it’s about time. I think it’s about not having doubts.
That unshakable certainty that this is the person you want to wake up to everyday, through the good and the bad,” he continues.
“But like I said, I’ve just never felt that way with anyone I’ve dated.
The only time I’ve ever felt that certain about anything was—”
He cuts himself off, and my eyes snap to him instinctively. “What? Football?”
“Yeah.” He takes a sip of his pop. “Football.”
The sun begins to peek through the clouds as we drive along the freeway, and I take it as another indication that the universe is bending over backward for the man beside me.
It’s still early enough in the day that we beat the weekend traffic, so the ride is mostly smooth.
Parker doesn’t say much, but he asks for a sip of my Fizzy Water, and I take one of his nuggets as compensation.
When we turn onto the Historic Columbia River Highway, memories of past trips along this very road come rushing back.
First, I spot the Sugarpine Drive-In, where Chú took us for ice cream so many summers ago.
Next, we pass the Vista House at Crown Point, a field trip destination from our elementary school days.
I know this little stretch of Oregon better than I thought.
I remember the cliff walls and the seemingly endless span of trees: dense shades of green broken by autumn stripes of yellow and orange.
It’s a sight I’ll never get tired of. I fall into quiet contemplation until Parker pulls into a parking lot and beckons me out of the car.
“We’re ahead of schedule,” he says when we make it to the Horsetail Falls trailhead. “Let’s take a walk. It’ll be nice.”
“That’s a funny way of saying we’re going for a hike.
” I look at him like he’s telling a bad joke.
“Parker, we don’t have any gear.” I glance down at my Converse high-tops.
I don’t know what sneakers Parker has on, but I think they might be the Dior ones that had Tae-woo foaming at the mouth.
Either way, they look expensive. “Neither of us are wearing the right shoes.”
“If I remember correctly, the first waterfall is less than half a mile away, and the trail isn’t anything too challenging. I think it’s supposed to be beginner level.” He ignores me and starts walking ahead. “We can probably get to it in twenty minutes.”
I don’t budge, even when Parker stops and faces me.
“Would you like me to carry you, princess?”
“I’m good,” I mutter, dragging my feet forward.