Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“It’s a corporate holiday,” Isaac says, in a voice that doesn’t really sound like he actually believes what he’s saying. “It was made up to sell chocolate and greeting cards.”
Bea cuts her eyes at him. “I wasn’t really asking you.”
“Ouch,” Isaac says, tossing a French fry across the table at her.
“He’s right,” Parker says, chewing on his thumbnail. “It’s dumb. George is taking Paige to some really expensive restaurant or something. We’re not going to be wasting our time. Right?”
Zach hadn’t given it any thought. “Right,” he says, shrugging.
“Ugh,” Bea says, shaking her head. “I hate hanging out with boys.”
Except, the next day Parker shows up on Zach’s porch, kicking the screen door instead of knocking because he has a huge, potted plant in his arms. It’s a real one, the kind you get from a nursery instead of some place like Home Depot or something.
“Is that a fiddle-leaf fig?” Zach says, holding the door open so Parker can come in.
“I can’t believe you have, like, zero plants,” Parker says. He sets it down in the living room, hands on his hips.
Zach slides his arms around his waist, pulling him close with a laugh. “I thought you said you weren’t getting me anything for Valentine’s Day.”
“Shut up,” Parker murmurs, and leans in to kiss him.
- - - - -
Parker and Paige turn eighteen exactly four days before Zach’s own birthday, on February 24.
It’s Bea’s idea to throw the three of them a joint birthday party.
This will be the first time that Zach is stepping foot inside the Reids’ house since their Acadia escapade, and he’s extremely nervous.
Facing Mr. and Mrs. Reid again feels like an insurmountable struggle.
He doesn’t know what to say to them. Parker told them that they were together, but he hadn’t elaborated on how well that particular conversation went over.
In the end it all turns out fine, despite Zach’s proficiency at catastrophizing. Mrs. Reid greets him at the door, hugging him tight around the shoulders in a certified Mom Hug.
“Happy birthday, Zach,” she says softly against his cheek, before pulling back, squeezing her hands on his shoulders. Zach smiles back at her, a weight lifting off his chest. Parker’s mom doesn’t hate him.
Everyone who came to the Halloween party is in attendance again.
Zach hasn’t had a birthday party since the fourth grade, when he cried all morning the day he was supposed to hand out his mom’s homemade invitations to the kids in his class.
He’d vomited from anxiety an hour before the party, and only six kids had shown up.
Ever since, his mom had tried to make his birthday fun with just the two of them.
As Zach makes his way through the foyer into the spotless living room, he’s pleased to see George, and Alicia, and even Ben. Zach makes sure to stand close to Parker, looping one pinky through his, so Ben knows that there’s no reason to follow Parker around this party.
Mrs. Reid has purchased a three-tiered cake which Zach privately thinks is way too much, but she seems like she’s really trying.
Parker nudges Zach with his shoulder and says, “Family therapy is really working,” while pointing out the snacks laid out on the coffee table: real soda, brand-name chips, pizza, and candy.
Bea has an itinerary for the party, but she gets as far as dictating when they should cut the cake and sing “Happy Birthday” before it devolves into complete anarchy.
Isaac finds Parker’s PlayStation tucked into the bottom of the entertainment center in the living room, and after they hook it up, everyone takes turns playing Guitar Hero.
Zach, who is still really bad at video games, tries to sit out but Isaac shoves a fake guitar into his hands regardless.
Parker folds himself behind Zach on the couch and tries to instruct him, but all Zach can manage are discordant notes and a very disappointed fake crowd.
At some point in the evening, Parker, Alicia, and George “take a walk.” They come back ten minutes later smelling vaguely of weed, despite their attempts to cloak it underneath a layer of Alicia’s perfume.
“I cannot believe you’re a double Pisces couple,” Alicia says later, while everyone is standing around the kitchen island, passing around forks and eating bites of cake right off the cake stand.
She makes them all give her their exact birth times and plugs them into some website on Paige’s laptop that lays out their star charts.
“Is that a bad thing?” Zach asks, worried.
“I mean, it makes sense. You guys are so cute it’s almost insufferable,” Alicia points out.
“Ew,” Parker says, even as he leans over to look at the computer screen. “Does this thing do fortunes? Can you see if I’m going to graduate?”
The party wasn’t planned as a sleepover, but no one leaves anyway.
Paige brings down piles of blankets and pillows and everyone collapses onto couches and chairs in the living room.
Zach sleeps on one of the sofas, and Parker sprawls out on the other side, their legs tangling together in the middle.
Sometime in the night, Parker jostles Zach awake, kneeling up over him. His face is mostly shadowed, illuminated only by the light from the muted television, which has begun its late-night parade of infomercials.
“Huh?” Zach blinks up at Parker, squinting at his bleary, pleased face.
Parker squeezes himself down between Zach’s body and the back of the couch. He doesn’t fit at all, but Zach can’t bring himself to mind. “It’s two thirty-six,” Parker whispers.
Zach tries to see the face of the grandfather clock against the wall, but it’s too dark. He settles back down and turns his face toward Parker’s, feeling his breath puff against his cheeks. “Okay?” Zach says cautiously.
“Now it’s two thirty-seven,” Parker says firmly, without looking at the time. “Happy eighteenth birthday, officially.”
Like most of the surprisingly sweet things that Parker does, this makes Zach want to kiss him into oblivion.
He looks all dark and grumpy, but really, Parker is such a softy.
Zach settles for turning toward him on the cushions and tucking an arm around his waist, pressing a soft, lazy kiss against his bottom lip.
When they part, they settle together with their heads against the arm of the couch.
“Officially,” Zach says. “Should I feel eighteen yet?”
Parker shrugs. “Nah,” he says. “Give it a minute.”
They lay there, face-to-face, and Zach occasionally whispers, “How about now?” until Parker is stifling laughter against his shoulder, his body quivering with it.
It’s not the most comfortable, squeezing themselves together on the couch like this, but Zach is utterly loath to move, so he doesn’t.
He falls back asleep like that, to the low sound of Parker’s breathing and each movement of his ribs.
Zach doesn’t feel very different now that he’s eighteen.
He still spends his days mostly nervous, at times impossibly anxious.
But more often than not, the scale tips in his favor and the good days start to outweigh the bad.
Everywhere he turns to look, Zach has someone: Bea or Isaac or Paige, his mom…
And always, always Parker.