Savannah Banana
I’ve only been to the new football house three times, including this morning, when I came to drop off what should have been enough pastries for a week, but didn’t even last until the guys left for training.
There’s a rookie at the door with a list, which I’m pretty sure is an excuse to only admit people who are either hot or invited, because the girls before and after me didn’t have to say anything, but I’m not let in until he finds me under Savannah Banana. Which could be so no one connects me to my brother, but is more likely so Parker can continue to tease me with my childhood nickname.
The living room has a couple of guys I recognize from the team, but mostly strangers, some of whom look like they’re trying to place me. I was at the old football house all the time, but rarely during parties, or at least not mingling, so they’d have to have gone to the games, or had sleepovers to recognize me.
“Banana!” Parker exclaims as soon as he sees me trying to disappear into the corner of the room. He’s a few shots into the customary twenty-one as he lifts me up in his arms so my feet no longer touch the ground and rocks me from side to side. “I’m so happy you made it. Feels like I haven’t seen you in forever. Other than this morning.”
If I was afraid of people pretending to like me to get to my brother, I have just ensured that a host of women are now jealous of me because Parker doesn’t show girls at school any interest, yet here he is acting like I’m his.
Or so their stares imply, but Parker just smiles and waves.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he whispers loudly before bringing me to the kitchen, where the island is covered with bottles of liquor, in addition to the beer and wine coolers that replace groceries in their fridge. He reaches into the back to grab a watermelon cooler and holds it up to me with a knowing smile.
“You remembered.” I beam at him and he winks, pouring the cooler into a cup with ice and club soda before handing it to me.
“Now you fit in perfectly.”
He wraps his arm around my shoulders, and I feel safe and comfortable, touched he remembered how awkward I feel when I’m the only one without a drink at parties, but my nerves are back with a vengeance when we get to the living room and it feels like all eyes are on me. When this happened in the past, someone would just remind me I’m not the center of the universe and most people are too busy paying attention to themselves, but tonight I’m on the arm of the birthday boy and I’m pretty sure I’m not imagining it. Best intentions, terrible execution.
Two rookies I don’t know come in carrying a pyramid of cupcakes with candles, singing Happy Birthday while the rest of the room drunkenly sings along. One girl is doing her best Marilyn Monroe interpretation while her friend tries to stop her, but she looks – and keeps singing – like she couldn’t care less, and I admire that.
“I’ll go get plates,” I offer, but Parker takes my hand to pull me back to him as another rookie appears with plates, napkins, and cutlery.
“You’re so domestic,” I point out.
“Not everyone has a you,” he explains. “And honestly, a lot of these guys clearly didn’t grow up with your mom, because I am cooking a lot more than I intended to. Chubbs over there? Tried to make KD without draining the water. What the hell, you know?”
“You’re teaching your rookies to cook?” I verify, finding it absolutely adorable.
“I make sure my team doesn’t pass out from starvation,” he argues. “If they learn a few things along the way, so be it.”
“I’ll bring you a casserole next time I go home.”
“I want to say you don’t have to, but it is my birthday and food you make tastes so much better than what I make.”
“Guess you have to come to a Sunday dinner once in a while.”
“Fuck, I miss those. I’m gonna guilt one of your brothers into having us over next time they’re in town,” he says, nudging my shoulder like he expects me to talk him out of it.
“Mom will love that. Everyone will,” I assure him. “I’m still there most Sundays if you want to join.”
“Might take you up on that,” he says, and I really hope he does. For his sake, because my mom’s food is amazing, but I also didn’t realize how much I missed my bonus brother. He isn’t far away, but he’s right, I have not seen him nearly as much as I should.
Parker does a great job of thanking everyone who comes wish him happy birthday, then politely sending them on their way, but more people are arriving, and I’m monopolizing the birthday boy.
“I’ll just go?—”
“Twenty-two minutes left, boo,” he whispers after checking his watch, and I laugh, because Dallas obviously told him about my limit.
I consider leaving anyway, because I doubt Dallas would go so far as to track my phone…at least not to make sure I stayed at the party, but Parker adds, “Darts are in the next room with Manning and Jacques.”
They’re two of the guys who lived with my brother in the old football house. And not that I’m dying to see them, but once I got over all the staring, this party hasn’t been as terrible as I thought. This could be a not-so-fun challenge. To hold myself to that hour.
“I’m here if you need me,” Parker assures me. “But it’s also cool if you need to bounce early. I totally get that – tonight exceptionally – I may be cramping your style.”
“Never,” I lie. “But I’ll check out the darts.”
