16. 16
T he house is a light yellow. As we drove in, I noticed every house is painted one of five different colors. White, gray, blue, cream, or black. There were no other options in the neighborhood. All the houses are single level with well-manicured, but small, lawns.
But Anastasia’s parents’ house is slightly different from all the others. Theirs, instead of a cream, is more a pale yellow. Instead of a single level, there seems to be a small amount of space above the garage. Where everyone else’s lawns are well manicured with perfect rows of bushes under the windows, a riot of color and unrestrained flowers sit.
The house feels happy. Loved. Like a family that has so much love it spills out to be seen by everyone that drives by.
I feel myself smiling at the structure that is so different from anything I’ve ever lived in before.
While my current house is beautiful, there’s nothing about it that screams love and joy. It simply looks perfect and cold, like marble.
Cameras wait for me on the lawn, set to film me from the moment I step out of the car.
Settling into Parker, House of Desire , contestant, I grab the flowers from the seat next to me. I went to three flower shops after leaving the bakery, but I think the ones I picked are perfect. The blooms match the colorfulness of those in front of the house so well. When I saw the bouquet, I knew it was the one I had to bring with me for this date.
Our earlier kiss enters my mind as I open the door, ready to see the stunning raven-haired beauty who continues to draw me to her, and I wonder if something permanent could come from this show.
The black front door opens as I reach for the doorbell, and Anya stands in front of me in a blue dress the color of the cloudless summer day.
She smiles up at me, and out of reflex I bend down to give her a kiss.
“You look like a dream,” I tell her. Her hand snakes out and gives me a sharp pinch on my forearm. “Hey! What was that for?”
“Just wanted you to know you weren’t dreaming,” she says, her smile beaming.
“Thanks for that.”
“Any time. Are you nervous?”
“Should I be nervous?”
“I dunno,” she shrugs. “You’re going to be grilled. I haven’t brought someone home in longer than I’d like to admit.”
“I can handle anything they throw at me. Don’t worry. ”
“Would you like to come in?” She moves to the side and I step into the small entryway. “Are those for me?”
“Um, actually, no. They are for your mother.”
“You’re going to kick Dom out of his spot as the favorite. Come on.” She grabs my hand and leads me through the house.
Just like outside, the inside is exuberant in showcasing the love of the family living within its walls. Pictures overflow the walls with every member in various ages and activities. The walls are various shades and colors, but they all go together instead of making the space feel chaotic.
I lean to look harder at one picture where she’s maybe seven years old and missing her two front teeth. A boy, who I assume is Dom, has his arm slung around her. They are both covered in streaks of mud, grass stains, and are soaking wet.
“This is my favorite,” I say, touching the frame with the tip of my finger. “You both look so happy.”
“I was. It was the first year we had a slip-n-slide and that was the first time we got to use it. I think we slid down that thing a hundred times.”
She grabs my hand, linking our fingers, and pulls me toward the right, through an arch, and down a step into the wide living room.
“Everyone, this is Parker,” she says by way of introduction, dropping my hand so I can move into the room.
The cameras are set up, but this time they are on tripods so as not to impede us in the space.
“Hello, Parker. I’m Gwen. Welcome to our home.”
Gwen’s delivery is slightly stiff and has me fighting down a smile. Anya rolls her eyes and I assume she tried to tell them to act natural. Awkwardness aside, it’s easy to see where Anastasia gets her beauty from. Gwen’s black hair matches her daughter’s, except the gray streaks through the strands.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, bending down to brush a kiss against her cheek. “These are for you.” I offer her the flowers as I pull away and see the same smile I’ve seen on Anastasia’s face.
“My goodness! They are so beautiful. I must find a vase for them. I’m sure it’s collecting dust since my son never brings me flowers,” she says, giving the evil eye to Dominic.
Where Anastasia favors her mother, Dominic favors their father. Except his stature. That seems to be all his own. Anastasia stands taller than both of her parents, but where she’s a few inches taller, Dominic towers. I think his arms are even bigger than mine.
Anastasia snorts with laughter and I try to hold in my own chuckle.
“Mama, I’m busy ! Does it not count that I pick you and your drunk friends up from Bingo?”
“Maybe it’d count more if you didn’t get drunk as well, causing us all to have to call your father.”
“Let’s all remember Parker doesn’t need to know about our apparent alcoholic tendencies,” Anya tells them with both mortification and love in her voice.
“Oh, I like to get as full a picture as I can,” I tell her. Her scowl directed at me merely makes me laugh.
“Please ignore my wife. She receives plenty of flowers from me,” her father says, stepping forward, offering me his hand.
“I have no doubt, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise. My name is Carl. If I could just say, I might be biased, but even without the show airing yet, I know Anastasia is the best person you have left. ”
“I agree with you completely,” I say before leaning toward him conspiratorially. “But don’t tell anyone else I said so. At least until the end of the show.” I try to pull my hand back, but he holds tight and I don’t want to yank it from his grip.
“Are you going to propose to my daughter?”
“Dad!”
Anya’s father might only come up to my collarbone, but in this moment, he makes me feel like I’m eighteen again.
“I can’t tell anyone who I’m picking, I’m sorry.”
“Dad, let the guy go,” Dominic says, nudging him. Her father gives me one more glare before letting me go and moving off to a recliner.
“Hey, man, I’m Dominic.” His grip is strong but not in a trying to be intimidating kind of way. “I loved House of Deceit. You and Charlie were my favorites.”
“Hey, good to meet you. And thanks for saying that. I might be biased, but Charlie was the best one on that show.”
“Who’s Charlie?” Gwen asks, coming back into the room, the flowers in a vase she sets on the mantel.
“Parker’s ex-girlfriend,” Dominic says.
“Parker’s best friend,” Anya tells her at the same time.
“You’re friends with your ex-girlfriend? Anastasia, did you know this?” Gwen asks looking between us and I feel my heart sink.
The last thing I want them to think is I’m not serious about their daughter.
“It was a fake relationship, Dominic,” Anya says, with a glare before turning to her mom. “He and Charlie are just friends.”
Her knowledge of the situation makes me nervous. We hadn’t really talked about my friendship with Charlie, and I’m not so delusional to think some women won’t feel threatened by my closeness to her.
“Anya is right, Gwen. Charlie is just a friend.” I look down at Anya. “Did you watch the show?” I ask her, nervous.
For some reason, all I want for her to say is no. That she has no preconceived notions of me. That she isn’t judging me for the edits Frank, my wrangler and the decider of what clips were aired, had put in the show.
“No, but Lorelei told me you were going to be the lead of this show. Once I was accepted, she told me about Charlie just because she knows whomever you choose will be compared to her and wanted me to be prepared. Other than that, and telling me you’re a good guy, she didn’t tell me anything about you as a person,” she reassures me, squeezing my arm.
“If you want to talk about it, just let me know.”
She leans forward and kisses my bicep and my heart flutters. “I’m good.”
Dinner is fantastic. Gwen pulled out all the stops, making various family recipes. Anya and Dom tease her about the effort she put into the meal for the cameras. Blushing, she swatted both of them with her towel as Carl set the various dishes on the table.
As the meal came to an end, I felt the air shift.
“So, Parker, tell us something about you. I feel like we’ve been talking all night,” Gwen says, putting her knife and fork down in exchange for her glass of wine .
Wiping my mouth, I prepare for the grilling Anya warned me about and that I have already received at Leslie and Zoey’s houses. Luckily, I’m much more prepared now than I was in the beginning.
“What would you like to know?” I ask.
“What do you do for a living?” Carl asks.
“I own a construction company. We specialize in custom homes. We are a one stop shop for people, so when they come to us, they know the entire process will be handled with the amount of care you want in your forever home.”
“That must pay very well,” Gwen says and I smile at her.
I don’t have any notions my ability to afford a nice lifestyle for myself and a future partner isn’t a consideration in a parent’s mind.
“I’m very comfortable. It does require a lot of long hours, though.”
“Anya’s bakery requires long hours, too. She works very hard for her business.”
“Papa,” she says, dropping her face in her hands, embarrassed, a blush creeping up her neck
I press my leg against hers under the table, offering silent comfort.
“I have no doubt she does. It looked like an amazing shop and I could taste the love she puts into her cupcakes,” I say, causing her blush to deepen and my chest to warm at the sight.
“Would you expect her to give up her dream for yours? Where is your company even located? If you don’t even live in the same state—”
“Dad,” Anastasia interrupts, “he lives here. He wouldn’t expect me to give up my bakery.”
“She’s right. If it’s something she’s passionate about, I would support her in whatever way she needs. In fact, after tasting one of her cupcakes this morning, I have every intention of instructing my team to use her for the cookies and cupcakes we give to our clients when they move in. Unfortunately, I can’t talk to my business manager until I’m off the show since our phones were confiscated, but it will be a change I implement immediately.”
I didn’t mean to say this. Even though it’s true, I don’t want Anastasia to think I’m simply trying to win points with her parents. Her baking is so good, everyone should try it. No matter if it works out between us or not.
Her hand slides onto my thigh under the table, giving it a squeeze. I press my elbow to her arm for a moment before we both retreat to our own space again. Catching the look her parents share, I know it’s time for us to split off. Production requires I have one-on-one time with at least one parent for each woman so they can get footage of me talking about my feelings more. When it happens, and with which parent, is up to them.
“Parker, would you mind joining me for a drink outside? I’d just like to spend some time with you one-on-one,” Gwen says.
“It’d be my pleasure.” I stand from my chair before bending down and placing a kiss atop Anastasia’s head. “I’ll be back,” I tell her.
“I’ll be here.”
Anya’s mother grabs her glass and the half empty bottle of wine from the table before making her way through the kitchen and out the sliding glass door leading to the backyard. The space is simple, but inviting. She sits on an outdoor couch as I take a chair next to her.
“Do you want to know how long I’ve been married, Parker?” she asks, topping off my glass of wine .
“I’d love to,” I say, taking a sip, wondering how this conversation will go. The talk I had with Leslie’s father about blood lines and how his daughter is meant for society, not working, could have gone better. But I don’t think Anastasia’s parents have an elitist bone in their body.
“I have been married for forty-seven years. Anya’s father proposed to me when I was just sixteen. Our parents wouldn’t hear of it, of course, but they just assumed our engagement would end when our relationship took its natural course. As one does, during those years.
“But we knew what we had was real. Anastasia wants that. She doesn’t need the ring or the paper or anything, but if she commits, if you do this with her, that’ll be it. Are you prepared for that?
“Are you prepared for commitment?”
I consider the question thoughtfully. While I don’t think I know any of these ladies well enough to get married tomorrow, I consider if I even want to be married again. Something I had considered in an abstract kind of way is now not an abstract thought.
Marriage doesn’t mean the person is going to stay.
“I’m prepared to see where things go because I don’t think I can say I’m prepared for marriage at this moment. You might not know this about me, but I was married before. I didn’t take that commitment lightly. I didn’t take the ending of it lightly. And I won’t enter into another relationship lightly.”
“Why are you on this show if you’re not looking for love?” she asks, frankly. I appreciate her directness.
It’s a fair question and until this moment, I couldn’t admit the answer even to myself .
I stare out at her backyard, feeling like I’m on Sharon’s couch during a therapy session. Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I tell the shadows and darkness my truth.
“Because I hoped I would find someone who made me think I deserved it.”