“Hey, Jacko. You right?”
I squeeze my eyes closed, the lightly accented, calm tone of his voice immediately soothing. I could listen to him talk about anything and everything, all day.
“Hi, Desmond, sorry. Parker”—I walk back to the kitchen and lower my voice—“is a bit bummed that you won’t be here until later. He’s a little…anxious, uhm, and he misses you. I think he’s just not used to you being gone.”
“Nico’s let me skip the games that require overnight stays, or super late returns.” He sighs, and I feel awful, all of asudden, for calling him and making him feel badly for something I’m supposed to be handling.
“Sorry,” I apologize softly. “I just thought it might help if you talked to him before he went to bed, and then maybe woke him up to let him know you were home.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’ve been worried about this, and have been trying to keep the late nights to a minimum. Not your fault. How’re things otherwise?”
“Good! He only had one thing to do for homework, so we did that, and then watched some videos and ate dinner.” I pause, face heating as I realize we ateallthe dinner. Nothing left for Desmond when he gets home. “Uhm, Sue brought over a casserole, and we ate that. No leftovers, though. Sorry.”
He laughs, and the sound echoes enough to make me think he’s in a bathroom.
“No drama. I’ll grab a snack and eat on the bus.”
“We also played some Uno,” I add, just so he knows we haven’t been rotting in front of the television all evening.
“That’s great, Jacko. Thanks for doing this for me.”
I smile, blushing, and clear my throat as I walk toward Parker’s bedroom. He left the door open, so I tap my fingers against it and call out to let him know I’m there.
“Hey, Parker. I’ve got Desmond on the phone for you.”
He pokes his head out of the bathroom, brown hair frizzy as though he’s just brushed it. He’s wearing boxer shorts and his baggy T-shirt, collar stretched and graphic long-faded. There is a spot of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth. He has, in the time that I’ve known him, never looked younger.
“Des?” he asks, pressing the phone to his ear after I pass it off. He ducks his head and angles his body away from me, so I step out into the hallway, trying to at least give him thesemblance of privacy. His voice filters out through the open doorway.
“Yeah…Miss Sue brought us dinner…uh-huh. I didn’t need any help, so Jack sat and folded up his laundry.” He laughs, suddenly and loudly; I smile, wondering if the response to that was a joke about Parker’s hatred of folding his own laundry. “We played Uno for a bit…right…uhm, okay, but you’ll, like, wake me up when you get home? Jack said you would…okay…I’ll try, but I’m not very tired, so…”
He pauses, longer than the others, listening to whatever Desmond is telling him on the other end of the line. I hear the bed creak softly, as though he’s sat down on it.
“Okay, I will. Do you want to talk to Jack again?”
Straightening up from where I’d been leaning against the wall, I step into the doorway. Parker, phone still pressed to his ear, lifts his eyes to mine and smiles. I wait, wondering if Desmond has any further instructions for me, but Parker hangs up before holding the phone out to me. He bites his lip, expression sheepish, as though feeling a little embarrassed about needing his uncle.
“Des said he’ll text you,” he tells me.
“Cool, thanks.” I sit next to him on the bed, the mattress creaking ominously under my heavier body. Parker slides toward me, hip coming up against mine.
“Are you going to sleep, too?” he asks. I want to sleep, but the thought of trying to fold my giant self up onto the couch isn’t appealing. I shake my head.
“No, I’ll probably read and wait for Desmond.”
Parker frowns, looking at me in confusion. “You’re tired, though. You should just go to bed.”
He points down the hall in the direction of Desmond’s bedroom. Immediately, I picture the bed in that room and mywhole body heats in a blush. The pillow would smell like him—subtle and clean, the way he always smells like a sheet pulled from the washer and hung outside to dry. If I fell asleep in that bed, what would happen when Desmond got home? Would he curl up on the couch? Wake me up and ask me to vacate? Or would he slide in on the other side, body weighing down the mattress and breaths even with mine?
Stop it,I tell myself firmly, face hot and hands clammy.Stop thinking about that.
“Uhm, yeah, no, I don’t think Desmond would want me to do that,” I reply, chuckling awkwardly. The thought of a man as handsome, put-together, and smart as Desmond wanting someone like me is laughable. He’d probably be offended I took the liberty of inviting myself into his bed; make me leave and never talk to me again. The thought makes me feel vaguely ill—sick with the worry of losing someone that I’ve grown pretty attached to. Nate, Desmond, and Parker are the only people I have, and I can’t lose any of them.
“You guys are soweird,” Parker grumbles, looking somewhat annoyed as he stands up and goes to pull back the sheets on his bed. I stand as well, watching as he crawls in, still with a frown on his face.
I retreat to the doorway, hand hovering near the light switch. He squirms around, fidgeting with the pillows and tugging the blankets. Eventually, he flops down facing the doorway, knees bent and arm hugging a pillow.
“Night,” I tell him, flicking off the switch and grabbing the door handle to pull it closed.
