I run out of there as fast as my legs can carry me, leaving them behind. Arriving at the table, I quickly reach for my bag, already grabbing my keys. Parker sees my face as Savannah pushes through the crowd, approaching the table hot on my heels. She grabs me and reaches for my hand, taking the keys in one swift pull.
“Go!” she shouts, pushing me toward the exit. “I’ll meet you at the car, but babe, you are not driving home like that. I’ll drive.”
“Nadia, what’s wrong? Talk to me!” he shouts above the music as I run out of there with him trying to follow me, but I see Hadley stop him, telling him to wait.
I don’t hate the thought of Parker kissing another woman, but of how he didn’t trust me enough to tell me. I’m fucking tired of secrets. I vow no one will do this to me again. Ever. The worst is hearing Manny make out with that woman who is utterly repulsive, and then first looking at me that time at the diner with hatred when I didn’t deserve it. But I’m done. I’m so done with it all.
As I reach the car, I lean my forehead against the cool glass of the window, my arms hanging limp at my side. I just stay there for a moment, letting the night envelop me in its warm embrace. Then I flinch, hearing the crunch of gravel under approaching footsteps.
I turn slowly, my heart already sinking, and find Parker standing there. The look on his face is one of defeat and regret, conveying everything without a word. I know that what that cruel woman told me was true, and at this moment, I wish he thought of me betterthan that to confide in me. I look like a fool. It’s not that I wanted a relationship with him, but I wanted the trust of friendship. What am I saying? I am hurt, but not for the right reasons. The thought of Manny with that woman makes my blood boil.
“I was going to tell you,” Parker starts, his voice rough, but before he can say more, Savannah steps up behind him and shoves him backward, putting herself between us. I catch a glimpse of Parker’s face. His glassy eyes hold more than just guilt. It wasn’t just an act. He means it. But it doesn't matter anymore.
“Save it, Parker,” Savannah says sharply, her voice trembling just enough to betray her raging anger. She backs away, and I turn away, too, leaving him standing there with all the words he should have said to me sooner. I slide into the passenger seat, the door shutting with a soft, echoing thud. Savannah climbs in behind the wheel without a word, and once again, she drives me home through a blur of tears I refuse to fight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
We walk into the house, and I drop my bag on the kitchen island. Savannah pulls out a chair and points at it. “Sit,” she says, walking over to the cabinet. I comply and watch as she takes out two shot glasses and opens the bottle of Don Julio 1942. The amber-colored liquid flows into the small glasses, and she pushes one toward me. “Don’t drink it yet, bitch,” she says as she walks over to the refrigerator and pulls out a lime, carefully cutting it into small wedges. She grabs the salt shaker and places it there on the cutting board. “Ready? Because I want you to tell me what that woman said and what’s wrong, but we also need this.” Her hand extends toward the contents on the counter.
I nod. “Agreed.” I lick the area betweenmy thumb and index finger and pour a small amount of salt there, and Savannah mimics my actions. We grab the shot glasses and look at each other. A small glint in her eye and a lifted corner of her lip is the only indication I get as we lick the salt and toss back the contents of the shot glass.
“Smooth,” we say in unison, over theclinkof the glass striking the stone counter. Then we both pick up a lime, sucking on it. Honestly, the liquor is top-shelf. We don’t need the ritual that has followed us these past years, but we still do it out of habit. We plunk the limes down, and she refills the glasses swiftly. I watch the amber liquid swirl as its contents fill up the other glass in front of my best friend. She puts the bottle down, not bothering to cap it, and waits.
I lick my lips. “That woman is the bane of my existence. She has a” I lift my hand in the air, waving it casually, “thing for Manny and she is pissed about his lack of attention toward her many advances.” I try to make it sound as clinical as possible. A transaction, but she’s not buying it. Savannah lifts a brow, the questions she wants to ask is apparent, but she doesn’t say a word, so I continue. “She described in great detail an occurrence between her and Manny that made me want to vomit.” I stop speaking, feeling the bile rising already at the thought.
“Because you want him,” she says casually, and I nod, not even bothering to bullshit her. Rubbing my hand across my face, I grimace, looking at her.
“Badly. Is it that obvious?” I ask her. She smiles knowingly before giving me a nod. “Well, that was one of the things. The other was that she mentioned Parker was there with a woman right before I got there, and he was making out with her right before the mystery woman left, and then he texted me.” She cringes, her nose wrinkling in disgust like she smelled something bad, and that something is Parker’s poor decision.
She stops me from going further. “So let me ask you something?” she says, and I wait patiently for her to ask. “Do you like Parker in that way?” Before I can answer, she continues. “Because I don’t think you do. I think you like Manny. I think you want Manny so badly, and you have developed feelings for his daughter, too.” She folds her arms over each other. “Let me ask you this. What madeyou so upset?” She tilts her chin at the tequila shots, and we do another before she fills the glasses again. I wonder if we will pass out before I can finish answering all her questions, and honestly, I’m not sure that’s such a bad thing. When I confirm her suspicions, just as predicted, we both pass out shortly after.
I awaketo the light streaming in through the windows. I glance over to Savannah, lying on the leather couch. A white cloth is draped across her forehead.
“Not the white rag of suffering,” I moan as I try to stand up, but my vision blurs, and I flop down on the couch as cold perspiration beads upon my forehead.
She snorts. “Oh, yes,” she says before plopping it off her forehead and walking to the sink to soak it. My eyes close. The light feels too painful, like little knives piercing my retinas. I hear her little socked feet pad over to me, placing the cool cloth compress over my brow now, and I sigh in contentment. “It looks like you need that more than I do.” She chuckles, stepping away, and I hear the shower turn on. I lay there, stone-still, as the nausea subsides.
“I don’t think I can get up yet,” I say to no one. Maybe it’s to myself, to encourage me not to try that again too soon.
So I lay there for another hour. Savannah comes waltzing in with a glass of water and some pain medication. “Here.” She hands me a glass of hazy water, along with two pills.
“Thanks,” I say as I pop them into my mouth, letting the cool electrolyte-infused water travel down my throat, chasing the pills down with it to my empty stomach.
“Go take a shower.” She throws her hand toward the bedroom. “I’ll make us some breakfast. Trust me,” she says, walking to the kitchen. “A shower does wonders. You’ll feelmuch better. I know I do.” I hear her taking things out of the cupboards, and I decide to heed her advice.
She leaves too soonwith the promise to return before the summer ends. I hug her, holding on longer than I should as I watch her go. Alone with my thoughts, I plop myself into the hammock and sit there, my Kindle in hand and coffee along with water on the table beside me. A cool breeze blows off the lake, and I relax into it, slightly dozing off.
I hear a car door shutting, and I startle awake. I see Parker walking toward me, and I stiffen, embarrassed about my behavior and how I left. It wasn’t all about him, but the combination of her recount of Manny and then how Parker lied to me made me freak out. I turn my legs around and sit there watching him stop before me. His hands rest in his shorts pocket as he finds the words he wants to say.
“I’m sorry, I should have told you.” He looks at me sadly. I sit in my hammock, leaning forward to grab the water bottle and take a swig, to wet my dry, parched mouth, and also to give me something to do with this nervous anxiety I feel all the way down to my trembling hands. It’s the third time I’ve refilled it, and I fought the urge to expel the contents of my stomach again after the plentiful confessions and the multiple tequila shots last night that were still making a reappearance in the porcelain bowl inside. Parker approaches the hammock and sits beside me, and my dizziness returns. I set both feet firmly on the ground to center myself. He watches me and places his hand in front of him.
“Right before I came on this trip, my girlfriend was supposed to come with me, but we got into a big fight and ended up calling things off.” He runs his hand through his sandy blond hair. I take another drink from my water bottle.
“How long have you been together?” I ask curiously. He smiles as if recalling a memory only privy to him.
“Three years,” he says sheepishly. “I was heartbroken and sad when she said we should see other people, and then I met you. That day at the park, I saw you there and I was so fucking sad. I looked at you eating your ice cream alone, carrying the weight of the worldon your shoulders, and I thought you maybe needed a friend just as much as I did. I didn’t know why you were here until you told me about your parents, but I knew that I enjoyed your company. After we met, I realized I might not feel that way for you, but I did care about you, and I still want you as my friend, Nadia.” He looks down at his hands, twisting them together nervously. “I’m just really in love with Bethany. I have been for three years, and when she drove here to tell me she made a mistake…” He looks off into the distance. “I knew that I wasn’t going to let her go without a fight ever again.” I smile, looking at him and appreciating his honesty.
“You were going to tell me before I went to the bathroom, weren’t you?” I ask, now remembering the conversation we never got to have.
