“Hey, Parks,” I start as I step back into his room. He jumps up guiltily from where he’d been sitting at his computer desk, not putting up the washing. I let it go for now, feeling like the Jack conversation trumps all else.
“I’m doing it!” he says hastily, grabbing a T-shirt.
“It’s fine, bud. But hey, you know that Jack isn’t my boyfriend, right?” Parker stares at me like I’ve suddenly started speaking in Latin.
“Yeah, he is,” he replies, using the same tone he’d use to explain to me that two plus two equals four. Unease parks itself in my gut—God, is this where my mother got all her ideas about me bringing men over? Did Parker tell her about Jack and call him my boyfriend?
“No, he’s not. He’s just a friend,” I correct, feeling a strange sense of disappointment at the words.
“He eats with us sometimes, and you guys sit really close when you’re on the couch. Remember? When we watchedPlanet Earth?”
I stare at him. “The couch isn’t very big,” I reply somewhat weakly. “And all three of us were using it.”
“You put your arm on the back,” he reminds me, almost sending me into cardiac arrest. There go all my hopes that he is still too young to notice things like this.
“Well…okay, yeah, I did. But that was just to stretch my shoulder out, not because I was?—”
“—snuggling,” Parker fills in stoutly. “So, he’s your boyfriend.”
I close my eyes, and try to think of a way to argue with someone who’s at the age where he thinks he knows everything. We werenotsnuggling, even though the size of the couch—and the size of Jack—made it a tight fit and we were pressed a little closer than we might have preferred.
Or maybe closer would have been preferred,Victoria puts in, her voice whispering what I’d already been thinking for myself.
“Parks, you can’t just assume you know what other people prefer. Jack might not like boys like that. It might make him uncomfortable if you said he was my boyfriend.”
Parker frowns at me, shirt discarded on the bed and all pretense about folding washing dropped.
“Well…Jack likes you,” he says. “He gets really red when you talk to him. And he laughs at all your jokes, even when they’re really stupid.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I repeat, choosing to ignore that crack about my jokes. I tell phenomenal jokes.
“Fine,” Parker agrees, although he does so in a tone that heavily implies he’s only agreeing with me to end the conversation. “But he should be. I like him, and we could all live together like Nico and Anthony and Drou do. Jack and I could play Minecraft, like, every single night.”
Perfect. Not only do I have a boyfriend, but apparently I have one who’s committed enough to move in. Wedding bells are clearly on the horizon.
“Parker,” I mutter, exhaling heavily.
A timid knock interrupts what was surely going to be another five minutes of fruitless arguing. Parker’s eyes light up, and he pushes past me to run to the door.Oh look, your boyfriend is here, my sister adds happily, deciding now is the perfect time to hop back into the conversation.
Following the trail Parker blazed into the family room, I watch as Jack carefully removes his shoes and places them next to mine by the door. His washing bag is leaned against the wall, and likely contains not only dirty clothes, but a book as well. Jack is never without one. Parker stands next to him, jabbering excitedly. His dark brown hair contrasts sharply with the red of Jack’s, and he looks freakishly small when Jack straightens back up. He catches sight of me and smiles. He also blushes, which I’m sure Parker will assume means we’re in love.
“Hey, Bluey,” I greet him, and watch as the smile grows at the use of the nickname. He looks good, wearing a hideously brown long-sleeved shirt that nonetheless makes his ambereyes and freckles glow. I obviously have good taste in fake boyfriends.
“Hi. Thanks for letting me come over,” he says, the way he does every single time he does washing here.
“Anytime, bud,” I tell him, the same way I reply every Saturday. He smiles, and my stomach takes a slow dive down to my toes. I’ve always liked him—how could I not?—but now… Now, with one stray comment from a kid, thewhat-ifsdon’t seem half as fanciful as they did before. Wecouldbe boyfriends. There is not a single thing holding us back from that.
Steps tentative, as though even now he’s waiting for me to tell him he can’t, Jack carries his washing bag over to the laundry. Parker trails after, yapping away. Deciding that now is probably the time to catch up on my own scary to-do list, I head down the hall to my bedroom, intending to hang up the clothes that have been gathering wrinkles on a chair for the last week. I push all thoughts of Jack to the back of my mind.
Having made the decision to just get it done, it takes only ten minutes to put them up. That finished, I listen for the soft conversational sounds coming from the kitchen—Jack’s voice a low rumble; Parker’s high-pitched and youthful. Figuring that they’re occupied enough not to miss me, I heave a deep sigh and duck into my bathroom for a long-overdue clean. I’m standing in the bath, scrubbing the wall of the shower and patting myself on the back for being cleaner than Parker, when I hear my name being called.
“Back here!” I yell, kneeling down to begin attacking the lower tiles. My eyes are watering slightly from the smell of the cleaning solution, but now that I’ve started, I want to finish.
“What are you doing?” Parker asks, walking into thebathroom and attempting to get a grasp of the obvious. I glance over to see Jack hovering behind him, face crimson as though embarrassed to be in my bedroom. I sit back on my heels and tug off the rubber gloves.
“I figured I’d clean since you two were doing washing,” I tell Parker, who looks a little guilty at the reminder of what he’s avoiding.
“I’ll clean the kitchen,” Jack offers, which earns him an incredulous look from both me and Parker.
