“There he is!” he says, before shoving another massive bite into his mouth.
I leave the phone between us, the tinny sound of the game coming through the small speaker. He doesn’t seem to be interested in the game itself, but more for a glimpse of his uncle. I decide I’m going to tell Desmond later, once he’s home. I have a feeling he probably doesn’t know quite how much Parker actually loves him.
“Have you ever played Uno before?” I ask, as we finish up dinner and wash the empty casserole dish. Parker, loading our plates and silverware into the dishwasher, nods.
“Yeah! We have a few games. Mom liked playing Sorry! but Dad preferred card games.”
I glance over at him, surprised and a little wary about the casual bringing up of his parents. He doesn’t talk about them often, or at least not when I’m around. His expression is hidden, though, face ducked as he fidgets unnecessarily with the dishes in the washer. I clear my throat, face a little warm.
“Do you want to play Uno? I don’t know a lot of games, but sometimes we’d play Uno on away games with the team.”
“Or we could play Minecraft,” Parker says hopefully.
“We should probably take a break from electronics,” I say carefully, trying to tread lightly, but also feeling like spendingfive hours staring at a screen during my first babysitting stint isn’t really a good look.
“Okay,” Parker agrees, quicker than I’d expected.
I fight back a smile as I dry off the neighbor’s casserole dish, and he heads out of the kitchen to scrounge up the game. I’d texted Desmond after he left, a little worried that Parker might not listen to me without him here. He’d replied that he guessed Parker would probably take direction better from me than him. Apparently, he knows what he’s talking about.
We play round after round of Uno, sitting cross-legged on the family room floor. Around seven, he starts yawning. Eight o’clock ushers in sleepy blinks, and rubbing at his eyes. By half past eight, he’s started asking if Desmond has texted, or if the game is over. Now, just after nine, he looks like he’s about to fall asleep sitting up.
“Ready for bed?” I offer.
“When will Desmond be home?” he asks softly, his face absent of the scowl he often seems to be wearing. There’s something shy and a little bit sad in the question, like he doesn’t particularly want me to know how much he wishes his uncle was here, but still needs my help to find out when he’ll be back.
“Probably not until late.” I check my phone, wincing when I see the game has gone into OT. “The bus hasn’t left yet, and they’re still playing.”
I watch as he thinks about this, staring hard at his Uno cards. I’m no expert on children, and certainly can’t base anything off of my own childhood, but I’m pretty sure ten is beyond the age when they want to be tucked in. I doubt heneedsDesmond here to go to bed, but it’s very clear tonight is a night when he’s wishing he was. I shift,stretching out one leg to give my knee a break, and put down my cards.
“What does your neighbor do when you’re over there on the late nights?” I ask carefully. He shrugs, looking around the room and fidgeting with the collar of his sleep shirt.
“I was only over there late one night,” he says, frowning, anger creeping in underneath the worry. “I fell asleep on the couch, and then Des came and got me when he came home. Another night, Anthony was here, but it wasn’tlate. I was still awake when he got home.”
My chest stings like I’ve got heartburn. He just sounds sosad, unable to maintain the annoyance he’d tried for. Perhaps he’s just tired, or maybe it’s my presence throwing him for a loop, but tonight he’s forgotten to be tough and angry with the world. Tonight, he’s a kid whose parents are dead and is reaching for the person supposed to take care of him, only to find they aren’t there.
“Desmond will come say goodnight once he gets home,” I try, frantically attempting to think of a way to appease him. “He’ll wake you up.”
“I’ll just stay awake and wait,” he tries, but is betrayed by another yawn.
“Do you want to try and call him?” I offer, knowing there is no way he’s staying awake much longer. Nor do I want him to. Desmond probably won’t be back until close to midnight—far too late for Parker to be awake, especially when he’s clearly exhausted.
“Right now?” he asks, perking up hopefully. I glance at my phone, noting that the game is, at least, over.
“I’ll text him and see if he’s able to talk for a second. Want to go brush your teeth and stuff?”
“Okay,” he agrees, scrambling up and scattering the cards.His eyes are intent on my phone, watching as I type out a message to Desmond. He bites his lip and takes a single, uncertain step toward the hallway. “You texted him?”
“I texted him,” I confirm.
“Okay. Okay,” he repeats. “And you’ll come get me when he calls?”
“I’ll bring the phone to your room.”
He stares hard at me for a moment, apparently trying to gauge my honesty. Deciding I’m trustworthy, he heads down the hall to his room. I pause, listening, and relax a little bit when I hear the water turn on in his bathroom.
Desmond hasn’t replied yet, so I rest my phone on the coffee table and kneel down to pick up the scattered Uno cards. Gathering up the trash from the cookies we’d been munching on for dessert, I’m tossing them in the kitchen garbage when I hear my phone ringing. Relief, so potent I’m dizzy with it, floods me. I’m not sure I’ve got the constitution for this babysitting thing.
Snatching up my phone, I smile when I see Desmond’s name on the screen. Crisis averted, thank-fucking-God. I answer, “Hello?”
