Chapter Forty-Two
I suppose Estelle was onto something. A few days of bumming around without any work to do, and my bed has quickly become my favorite place on Earth.
I can’t fathom being anywhere else at ten a.m. on a Friday.
It almost seems audacious of the universe to expect me to go back to an existence in which I am away from my home, saddled with real-life responsibilities.
I look over at the curled issue of From Venus on my nightstand and blow out a resigned sigh before peeling myself off the bed.
I leave for New York tomorrow; I’d better make use of the time I have left.
After washing up, I head downstairs, where the door to Dad’s office is closed.
I don’t want to bother him, so I go straight to the garage, where he’s left a pile of flattened cardboard boxes.
I take one with me, send a quick text to Parker, and make my way back upstairs.
Standing at the center of my room and tapping my foot against the carpet, I take a long, hard look at the old birch dresser.
Then, I sit down and pull open the bottom drawer.
The copy of Moonstruck catches my eye, and I pick it up to run my hand over the creased cover.
The image of an enamored Cher, arms thrown up, has long been burned into my mind.
Here is a woman struck by love, and for all the trouble it’s caused her, she’s never been more liberated.
Just like the night I first kissed Parker, I think of Mom crying as the end credits rolled across the screen.
Was it only Moonstruck, or did all the movies she loved so much bring out the hopeless romantic in her?
For a long time, that was the version of her I chose to remember.
I’m sure that whimsical woman in my memory would kick her feet up and squeal if I told her all the little things Parker did to make my heart race.
And when it came down to it, I’d ask her if letting him go again is the right choice, or if I’m making a mistake.
If she were still that version of my mother today, perhaps she’d know exactly what I’m supposed to do.
Reaching into the drawer again, my hand bumps a wooden case in the corner, knocking the lid slightly ajar.
I lift the music box with careful hands and wind it up using the small metal turn key.
The drum rotates within, its pins intricately plucked to produce the melody.
I listen to the chime of the first notes and a familiar warmth spreads through me down to my fingertips, which have gone still.
A knock on the door snaps me out of my reverie. I call out, “Come in.”
The door clicks open, and Parker pokes his head in. When he spots me by the open drawer, he doesn’t speak a word and waits for the song to come to its end. “I’ve never seen that before.”
“I stored it away because I was afraid of wearing it out,” I explain.
“It plays ‘Moon River.’ I didn’t know the title at first, and for the longest time, it was simply the song from Mom’s music box.
Then I found an old cassette mixtape that she had made herself, and Audrey Hepburn’s version was the first track. ”
“Breakfast at Tiffany’s, right? You mentioned it’s one of her favorites.” He steps inside, closing the door behind him. “I got your text. Lucky for you, bubble wrap is yet another thing my mom hoards.”
“Perfect.” I grab the roll he extends to me, tearing off enough to wrap around the music box.
“Are you packing already?”
“I’m sending these back to my mom,” I reply, meeting Parker’s troubled gaze. He studies my face, concern written in his features. “A belated wedding gift.”
“Your mom got married?”
“Yes, and I wasn’t invited. I think she didn’t want me to feel obligated to attend.”
He takes the spot next to me on the carpet and says softly, “I’m sorry, Dani.”
“I should’ve expected it. She’s been worlds away, living her own life since she left. It just so happens there isn’t any room for me there.” I try to crack a smile, but it doesn’t do much to ease his worry.
“That doesn’t mean you have to be fine with it,” he says. “Are you sure you want to give up all this? I know how important it is to you.”
“My dad is very likely going to sell this place. It seems kind of silly, trying to take her from house to house when she never wanted to come along.”
When I used to picture this moment, I was afraid it’d be too painful for me to bear.
But thinking of Mom receiving this box now, it doesn’t scare me anymore that there might be a future where we can’t go back to the way things were.
All those memories I’d kept sacred in that drawer, they’re like pages I’ve read too many times, I can flip past them now without flinching.
“It’s always going to hurt a little,” I admit as I start on a pile of Disney classics, retrieving each tape one by one.
“There was a time I thought I was missing out on something by not having her around. I used to look at other families and wonder if mine was incomplete. But if I’m being honest, I stopped feeling her absence a long time ago. ”
“When did that start?”
“Sometime after my third Christmas with you guys.”
Parker watches me attentively as I move the box closer. “What do you need me to do to make this easier for you?”
I purse my lips, thinking. “You can help me bubble wrap.”
With a nod, he reaches for the roll. As he lifts a VHS tape from the drawer, he says to me in a gentle whisper, “What you’re doing is really brave. I hope you know that.”
The box gradually fills up with neat, meticulously padded columns.
I hand him the last of the tapes after they’ve been wrapped, and we place the music box in a secure corner where it won’t be jostled around.
Once the drawer has been emptied, I seal the cardboard and Parker carries the box downstairs, leaving it by the front door.
“Is that all you’re going to pack?” he asks when he returns to my room.
“For now,” I say, plopping onto the bed. “There’s still time. The listing hasn’t even gone up yet.”
“It’s so weird to think of you moving. I can’t picture anyone but you and your dad living here.”
“Don’t start that,” I warn. Once we start getting sentimental over the move, it’ll sink in that it’s really happening.
“You know how you’d leave your desk lamp on whenever you stayed up late to study?
I used to be able to see it from my room.
” He glances over at the window. “Back then, there were nights when I’d get anxious about recruitment and couldn’t sleep.
But if I looked over and saw your light on, I knew you were still up. It made me feel less alone.”
I follow his gaze to the curtains glowing faintly, sunlight seeping through the fabric. “I didn’t know that.”
Parker seats himself at the foot of the bed, and his broad frame makes it hard not to get close. I cross my legs, and my thigh rests against his. “I wish I’d gotten here sooner. You’re already leaving, and we barely got to hang out.”
“When do you have to go back?”
“Monday. I’m flying straight to Detroit for the draft,” he murmurs, reaching over to stretch his left shoulder. “I’m assuming you’ve already started working on the next issue.”
“I’m a week behind because of this little getaway,” I groan.
“I hope that doesn’t mean you’re going to work insane hours again. Seriously, you should be sleeping more.”
“Take care of yourself before you worry about my sleep, Parker.”
“I can’t help but worry about you, though.” A smirk lifts the corners of his mouth, but it’s a bittersweet one. “Hey, I wanted to ask. There’s got to be a universe where we stay in Silverpine, right? What do you think it’s like?”
I’ve thought of this before, another world where Parker and I didn’t leave for college and never had that falling out. “Hmm. Do you remember that sporting goods store you worked at for a summer? I imagine you open one just like it.”
“Oh, yeah. I liked working there.”
“I know.” I add, “You also coach a youth league on the weekends.”
“You definitely still write,” he inserts. “You also revive the local newspaper, because you’re always saying it’s a pity that no one reads it anymore.”
“The Pinecone Press,” I beam at him. “At the end of the day, we come back to your place for dinner, then movies at mine. Um, but at that rate, we might never leave home, and then my dad will be begging me to move out.”
“My mom would love that. I would too.” He grins and offers his hand on my lap, open and waiting. I stare down at the quiet invitation before lacing my fingers through his, allowing the warmth of his touch to flow through me.
After Dad moves, we’ll be a two-, maybe three-hour drive apart.
I won’t have to make the journey out here to see him.
I’m certain Parker has realized this as well.
Without our house, that means fewer occasions to be in Silverpine, fewer holidays spent next door.
I’ve already missed so many Thanksgivings that I won’t be able to make up.
Will there still be a chance for me to mend those bridges?
Or will there come a time when, once again, Parker isn’t in my life anymore?
In the past, I was so confident our friendship could make it through anything. But then it was lost without warning, and before I knew it, seven years slipped by. The worst part is, at some point, its absence became normal to me. I learned to live without him.
“What time is your flight tomorrow?”
“Noon. My dad is going to take me early in the morning. Then I guess it’s back to real life.” I grit my teeth against the slow-burning ache. Even though nothing about the three months in New York felt real to me.
His hand tightens around mine. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to saying goodbye to you.”
Before I can respond, Parker brings me in for a tight embrace. Just like when he held me on New Year’s, I feel it in my soul: cozy, soothing, home. We sit like this in a tender, unhurried moment, and when he kisses my forehead, I close my eyes against his chest.
I love you.
Then and now, I never stopped loving you.
A sting rises behind my eyes, but I hold it back, laughing to myself. “This is silly. We’ll see each other again, even if it’s not in Silverpine.”
I know this, but why is it so hard? Why is it that every time we say good-bye, it feels like the end?
Since I was a child, I’ve felt like I was chasing something that stayed just beyond my fingertips.
But for three magical months in New York, I had a glimpse of what it looked like to have it all: those nights at the hotel when I thought my heart would burst, conversations that made me laugh like a kid again.
Not just the heated moments, but the slow afternoons playing video games and falling asleep on the couch.
Every time, it was Parker on the other end.
It’s always been Parker. How could it ever be anyone else?
Maybe in that other universe, I’d tell him all this, and he’d want the same thing. Not casual, but the real thing. In all the variations of timelines and parallel worlds out there, there has to be one where we get it right.
Although one thing, I’m sure, is a constant in every universe: I’ll fall in love with Parker Tran every time.