Chapter 8 #2
I do the math and immediately regret it.
He’s ten years older than my teenage son—and seventeen years younger than the real me.
A whole, entire, full-grown almost-adult of years younger than me.
I think my heart drops a smidge. I feel a splinter of compassion for Kristin Cavallari and that Montana hottie she dated.
Twenty-three looks pretty darn young—but not too young, necessarily.
I brush the buzz of attraction aside and gather my wits back up. “You don’t want to take me out,” I reply, cheeks warm with the flattery. I almost say, I’m married. I almost say, I’m old enough to be your mother. I almost say, You should be dating models. Little nineteen-year-old models.
And, yes. Save. Plan. Invest.
Good boy.
Great choices.
He pulls at his chin. “No, I do. In fact, in this moment, I’d love nothing more than to take you out on a date.”
Just then, three flappers swoop in to flank him. “Parker!” they swoon. Strings tangle, feathers tickle, red lips pepper his cheek. “Come dance with us!”
It clicks that he looks like a Parker.
Just so perfectly Parker.
He side-hugs them sweetly. I stare at them blankly.
If I’m a junior, they must be freshmen. They don’t seem to know me, either—but they’re sure scowling.
All I can do is smile. Clearly, I am occupying their crush.
I’ve always thought you can learn a lot about a guy from how he treats women who want him but whom he doesn’t want back.
“Lucy, Ashley, Jillian,” he addresses them one by one. “You all look beautiful.”
Doing well, Parker.
They giggle, their voices mingling. “So do you.”
“I might come dance later.” He nods his head toward the bar and then turns to me. “Do you guys know—”
“I do,” one of them finishes, her sable hair in a low tight bun. “I mean, she’s older, but—”
I don’t appreciate the emphasis on the word. She has no idea.
“—we’re both theater majors,” the girl continues. “And supposedly she’s incredible.”
“Is that so?” asks Parker, curious.
“No,” I say. “Well, yes to being a theater major. But—that’s very kind. I’m not sure I’d go that far. Thank you.”
Wait, was I incredible? I recall Mr. Fuentes’s accolades. Was I always more talented than I knew? I consider again: What if I’d known?
The girl purses her lips and nods, so apparently, yes, I was worth the compliment. With a few more words, she and the others leave in a flourish as fast and feathery as their arrival.
Only one more duo stands in front of us now before we’ll gather our drinks.
“So,” Parker says, “I’m here going on and on about modeling and you weren’t going to tell me that you’re an actress? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but we’re basically the same in this town.” He whispers the last part throatily.
“Actress is”—I scrunch my nose—“a strong word. I’m just a student. I have a full year left of school, and I’ve never done anything besides school theater.”
We reach the bar, finally.
“Club soda with lime, please,” I request with a smile, thankful to break the subject.
“She’s wild,” teases Parker, reading from the specialty drink menu. “Didn’t you just turn twenty-one?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Keeping it mellow tonight.”
He addresses the bartender. “I’ll try the Daisy Buchanan, please.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“What?”
“You waited in that whole line to order the girliest thing on the menu?”
He points at the fine print. “It has an actual daisy in it. And pineapple juice. Not to mention rum.”
I smile, sidestepping. “Don’t let me get in the way.”
Done at the bar, I follow him to a cocktail table. I don’t need to mingle with every boy here to know that Parker’s emotional intelligence, sobriety level, and financial independence probably all stand out like he does.
I’m enjoying his company, honestly. He is one hundred percent pleasant and lovely. I levitate at his side, fun and feminine, like that drink in his hands.
We toast and talk and lose track of time—by which point I find myself so at ease that I’ve taken off my heels and he’s disappeared to get me another club soda.
Quinn appears at my side like a cat. “Well, well, well,” she observes. “Who is that, and how come I’ve never seen him around before?” She squints at his back. “Or wait. Have I? He looks . . .”
“Like he belongs on a billboard?” I sip on my glass and wait.
She socks my shoulder, eyes going huge. “Stop it.”
“It’s true,” I say through a piece of chomped ice. “Parker. Super-senior, supermodel. He rarely comes around, I guess? I’ve never seen him in my life.”
In either life.
Quinn brushes at a strand of her midnight-black hair, curling down her pretty cheek. “You’re smiling.” Her eyes probe me. “Over a boy.”
I flush, touching my cheeks. “Am I?”
Was I?
She grabs my wrists. “I love seeing you happy! And for the first time in so long, not thinking at all about him.”
My mind flips into a roller coaster of loops and dips. She means Reid, of course. I’m not thinking about my husband or children or job or mortgage or full-on life out there, somewhere.
But no. She doesn’t mean Reid. She means Holden. I resettle for a second after the whiplash.
On my twenty-first birthday, I was still bruised, at least slightly, from our horrible breakup.
Meeting Reid marked a pivotal turning point in my road to true healing.
His guileless presence came like a cure.
No expectations, no games. With his companionship, Quinn’s loyalty, and my prayers, morning eventually dawned again.
But what about now? What in this world happens now? I should be excited; I’m woozy instead. I grab for the table’s edge. Reid isn’t here to save me. And all I got was this stupid pickleball.
“Sutton?” Quinn asks. “You all right? Your face just went white.”
“Yeah—I . . .” I glance instinctively around the party for Holden—but no, he wouldn’t be here.
He never came to any official fraternity parties, avoiding them like a leper colony.
Certifiably far too cool, he was the self-proclaimed Most Anti–Sigma Chi Member there ever was.
I think he expected a crown for it. He once claimed he’d “rather eat a pocketknife” than go to a theme party—and yet he refused to deactivate from the house.
I cough.
My gaze tracks over the party to the ocean, glittering navy under the moon.
Something about this moment, acute and expansive at once, tells me how much I need Quinn.
I need her now, I need her then, I need her here, I need her everywhere.
I need her like a Dr. Seuss book. And I know she needs me too.
“I think we should live together after graduation,” I blurt suddenly, desperate to plant the seed while I have the chance, praying it sticks.
She laughs. “Um, okay?”
My eyes narrow. “I’m serious. I was just .
. . uh . . . getting to know Parker and talking about his life here in LA.
And I know we have a year to think about it, but .
. .” I’m so clumsy. I’m fumbling. I’m saying it anyway.
“I think we should do it.” Please don’t leave me alone in this scary new world.
“You take your gap year before med school,” I continue, “and I’ll do . . . whatever. But whatever it is, let’s do it together. Okay?”
She tilts her head. “Here? LA?”
“Yes.”
She extends a gloved hand. “Deal, my lady.”
I shake it. “Really?”
She nods. “I mean, I’ll miss the sorority house maid service. The bunk beds? Less so.”
I pull my elbow into my ribs in a yes! “Can I ask you something else?”
“Of course.”
I don’t know why, but I just need to know. “Have you seen Holden lately?”
Her eyes flash. She chews her lip. Hesitates. “Maybe I have.”
“Maybe you have?” My pitch rises. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because.” She huffs. “Every time you hear anything about him, you—” She circles a hand around my head, like she’s miming Saturn’s rings. “Retreat into your own planet. Disappear into a depression. We are done with him. God has something so much better for you.”
Inhaling the breeze, I say nothing. Was Reid my better? And did I blow it? Or was there something else better in this timeline, too?
What could I do but hope?
I summon a smile. “Okay.”
“Okay,” she says, lifting her face to the stars. “There’s a whole world out there, Sutton. As long as you’re Holden onto the trash, you’re not going to find your treasure.”
“Wow, good one.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ve been waiting to use it. And for the record?”
I wait.
“I saw him at the student commons last week. He reeked of booze. He was all alone. I told him he was a horrible human being. In case he forgot, from the last seven times I told him.”
“And that’s why you’re my best friend.”
“And roommate!”
“That too.”
When Parker returns with two fresh drinks, the word treasure sticks in my mind. I suspect he might be one. “Thank you,” I say. “So much.”
“I’m Quinn,” she interjects charmingly. “We’re a package deal, I’m afraid.”
Parker sets down his drink to grab her hand. “Quinn! Like the medicine woman?”
She nods at me. “I love him. He’s in.” She looks at him. “Exactly. Give me ten years. I’ll write you whatever prescriptions you want. You know. Within reason. Don’t be weird.”
“Lucky me.” He lifts his second Daisy Buchanan. “I get a date and a doctor in the same night.” His eyes slide to me as he taps my calf with a dress shoe.
It’s nice, I think? This is so weird. And wonderful?
Just when I think this night defines youthful perfection—charmed by Parker, loved by Quinn, awestruck by the grandeur of everything—off in the corner, I see him.
Skulking, sipping a drink. A short blonde in a white dress and red lips is talking to him—but he is ignoring her deeply.
He’s staring at me instead, all brown eyes and brood in suspenders.
It’s Holden.
What the actual heck?
No, a mirage. Right?
Wrong. I grab Quinn’s wrist in a panic, just as Parker nails a joke. I hate that I missed it. She laughs and tilts her head to mine.
What’s wrong? she mouths.
I lead her eyes with mine to the hazard. When she sees him, my body begins to bolt, practically without my permission. One foot back, then the other. “I am so sorry, you guys! Too many of these. Ha!” I raise my glass in what I know is goodbye. “I’ll be right back. Restroom!”
I cannot run away fast enough. Is he really crashing this party? Is he really crashing my existential experience? Come on.
Because: no. I will not get the most out of this massive gift if I have to face Holden already. I’ll take this memory before it goes up in flames. This party, this perfect night, Parker. He’s hooked my interest—I sense something there—but I know I must tear away.
Let’s grow up a smidge more. I’ll have to see what comes next. Can college get much better, anyway?
Nestled in the bathroom, I lean against the wooden vanity with its brass hardware, admiring the rectangular-tiled walls.
Don’t forget about our deal, good doctor.
I pull out the pink ball stashed in my black satchel.
I count to twenty.
I’m gone.