I chuckle at the fake holiday and stick figure drawing of a man with a computer underneath. I’m not sure exactly what she was going for, but I love it, and I’m grinning so hard my face hurts. I flip it open and push the limits of my smile, seeing the long letter enclosed, taking up the whole card. A picture of her in a Superman cape on the beach falls out as well.
I take a second to admire the beautiful blonde on the beach in the cape I sent, and I can’t help but feelallthe feelings about it.I set it down on the kitchen counter before I mentally combust, and start reading the letter.
Weston,
Thank you for taking the time to dress Polly up. I would’ve been so sad if she had gotten pinched for not wearing green. As for Florida, it was fun and the warm weather was nice. I was ready to come back to the city, though. As much as I love traveling, I also like being home. Do you think that makes me a homebody?
You said you traveled to Florida as a kid. What was your childhood like? I don’t think Parker has ever told me about it. He doesn’t really tell me much about anything, haha. I bet you know a lot about my childhood, though.
We grew up poor, in the Bronx. Money was always tight, and my parents fought a lot. Their divorce was pretty ugly, and after that, there wasn’t much stability. Dad worked nonstop. He was always exhausted, always stressed, and he carried a lot of anger about what he couldn’t give us. But he showed up in the ways he knew how. Then my mom started dating, and there were a lot of men coming in and out of our lives. It felt like everything was constantly shifting.
And Parker … Parker was the one who made things feel steady when nothing else was. He protected me from more than I’ll probably ever know, and I think growing up that way is a big reason why he is the way he is now.
I talked to my dad a few days ago. I try to keep up with him and remind myself that he did the best he could. I’ve forgiven my parents for the mistakes they made, but I don’t really talk to Mom as much lately, aside from holidays. She just got a new boyfriend, and she always disappears a little when there’s a man in her life.
On a happier note, I’ve recently started getting close to one of the new girls at work. Her name is Harlee. She’s a little eccentric and a little loud, but she’s a total sweetheart and she somehow walked into my life at a time when I really needed a friend. She’s pretty much become the best friend I always wanted but never really had. She’s like the Parker to Weston—or maybe the Weston to Parker. She’s definitely too happy to be a Parker.
Tell me about your childhood?
And keep being awesome!!!
Sincerely,
Brittany
P.S. I really love this exchange. You’re the best pen pal I’ve ever had. Let’s keep it going!
“Absolutely,” I whisper, setting the card down on the counter. “We have to keep this going.”
Chapter Twenty
Brittany
My heels click against the sidewalk as I make my way down a street I know by heart. The Bronx hums around me, familiar and unchanged, neighbors offering quick waves as I pass. I promised my dad I’d come by today, but that doesn’t stop the nervous flutter in my stomach as his townhouse comes into view.
Coming back here always does this to me.
I climb the cracked concrete steps and take a deep breath as I ring the doorbell, stopping to see if it’s actually going to work. He told me he was going to get it fixed, but I’m not holding my breath. However, much to my surprise, I hear the chime on the other side of the door.
Good job, Dad. You actually fixed something broken about this place.
Hovering in the doorway, I rock side to side, waiting and listening to footsteps. Finally, after about five minutes of wondering if he’s coming, the door swings open. I stare up into the face of an older version of Parker—well, minus the blue eyes. My father has hazel eyes, and his hair is gray rather than blond.
But it’s still clear that Parker is his son.
“Hey, hon,” Dad greets me, opening the door and stepping to the side. “I’m glad you were able to make it today.”
“Of course,” I tell him with a smile as I enter. I note his coat hanging on the rack—the one from the mechanic shop. He works harder than anyone I know—that’s where Parker gets his work ethic from—but managing money has never been his strength.
“How have you been?” he asks, shutting the door behind us and flipping the lock. “I haven’t made it to see your new apartment … I’m sorry about that.”
I gaze back at him. “It’s okay. It’s just an apartment.” I take in the cleanliness of my dad’s older home, breathing in the familiar scent of cinnamon. My dad’s always kept a clean, warm house, even if that’s all he could give us.
“You want a snack and coffee?” Dad offers as we enter into the small kitchen and dining room, a place where Parker and I used to play Monopoly to pass the time.
“Sure,” I tell him. “That sounds good.” Honestly, it really doesn’t, but I know he’ll be offended if I don’t take him up on it. So, I do.
He gets busy with the coffee pot, and I take a seat at the worn table. I run my finger over the scratches in the light oak veneer.
