* * *
GettingParker into my Jeep was far more physically demanding than I’d expected. He tripped over his feet on the way out the door and spent five solid minutes cry-laughing while the dogs slobbered all over him. Then he was certain he was going to vomit, and since that wasn’t going to happen in my car, we leaned against the bumper until it passed, at which point he admitted to mixing some magic mushrooms with his liquor.
There was a moment where I doubted those mushrooms were of the hallucinogenic variety but then he insisted the passenger seat was made of soft-serve ice cream and the highlights in my hair were sunbeams giving off UV light.
Parker ran his fingers over my hair as I drove, saying, “I wouldn’t admit this to anyone else but it’s kind of nice not having my parents around. Even though I love them—Ilovethem, Sunny—it’s like they’re always running with scissors.”
I murmured as he started braiding a chunk of my hair.
“I never would’ve gotten wasted tonight if they were home,” he continued. “Not because I’d get grounded or anything. They wouldn’t notice. They never notice that sort of thing. They pick random things to focus on, like whether I’m marked late for school, and that’s their pet project but nothing else matters. I didn’t go to phys edoncelast year. I failed the class. They didn’t fuckin’ notice. Maybe they didn’t care? I don’t know. But they never stopped talking about getting to class on time.”
“That must be tough.”
“The tough part is when they almost burned the house down because they went across the street to have drinks with the neighbors on their porch but forgot to turn off the grill. There’s a scorch mark on the back of the house. I showed it to my dad after it happened and he wasn’t worried. Like, ‘oh, well, no one got hurt, everything’s fine.’”
“I’m sorry, honey.”
“I don’t need you to say that.” He dropped my hair and gazed out the windshield, his head craned at a weird angle. “I’m used to it.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“My dad could go to prison for the rest of his life and my mom might be a fugitive forever,” he said, “but it’s all good because at least I don’t have to worry about them starting fires. That’s fucked up and that’s why I don’t need your sympathy.”
“It’s not sympathy. I just know what it’s like to feel as though you’re living in a straitjacket.”
With a gusty sigh, he said, “I read an article that said drinking pineapple juice makes your semen taste better but I don’t think that’s true because I drank a ton of pineapple juice and the person I was dating said he wanted to focus on himself this summer.”
“I—hmm.” I was not prepared to discuss semen tonight. Or any night, really. “I can’t help you with that one.”
“It’s always the same. They need to focus on themselves. Four times since last fall. All different people. Girls, guys, folks still figuring themselves out. And none of them want me. Even with all that pineapple juice.” He glanced over at me. “What am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing, sweetheart. It’s just not your moment. The time will come. I promise.”
With the help of both dogs to nudge him along, I escorted a very loose-limbed Parker to the front door. For his part, Parker did little more than wobble and insist he lived inside an oyster shell, not a regular house, but he did ring the doorbell at least fifteen times.
Just as the bolt turned in the front door, Parker threw his arms around me, saying, “I love you, Sunny.”
Two things happened when the door swung open. First, I got an eyeful of Beck wearing jeans, a t-shirt, andglasses, none of which I’d spotted on him before. The jeans were sublime, of course, and the t-shirt proved the importance of t-shirts to society, but it was the glasses that threw me for a loop. The frames were a simple tortoiseshell but the effect forced me to fully and completely admit that he was attractive andIwas attracted tohim.
And second, Beckett pried Parker off me by the backpack straps like his brother was a venomous snake. “What the fuck, Park? Hands to your fuckin’ self,” he yelled. “Did you not notice you were a second away from knocking her over?”
“I’d be careful with that one if I were you.” I held out a hand to steady him. Not that Beckett would let me be the one to do the steadying. “He’s a little shaken and stirred, if you know what I mean.”
“Dude, look at her hair,” Parker said, calling on all his shroom power to break away from Beckett’s hold. He shoved his fingers into my hair, pointing at my highlights. My stylist was going to die laughing when I told her this story at my next appointment. “It’s like sunshine is trapped in her hair.”
“As you can see, we’ve had some fun tonight.” I gave Beckett ayou have no ideasmile. “There was tequila and—”
“Don’t tell him about the drugs,” Parker loud-whispered to the side of my face.
Beckett ran both hands through his hair. “Do I even want to know how you came to be in possession of this kid?”
“The usual way. Heard noises when I was closing. Thought it was an animal. Turned out it was a drunk teenager down on the dock.”
“I took one of the boats to Jamestown,” Parker said. “But I didn’t get drunk until I came back.”
“Thank you?” Beckett replied. “If there’s a more appropriate response, you’ll have to share it with me.”
“Beck, my legs feel like spiders.” Parker abandoned my hair to tiptoe around the porch. “Why is this happening to me?”
