Page 56 of Special Delivery

“Damned if I know.”

It takes him a few minutes before he enters the room with a massive wooden platter. He places it on the coffee table with a loud thud and a proud smile on his face.

“What’s this?” Wes asks.

“A snack platter. Book club meetings typically have them.” Parker shrugs.

My eyes widen as I stare at the so-called snack platter. Instead of curated salami and cheeses, the platter hosts barbecue meat for at least six adults. Chicken wings, sausages, onion rings, bacon strips, and pork chops. There is also at least a loaf of bread on there, and a cluster of white grapes. A chuckle bubbles out of me.

Wes decides on a more rational approach. “You do realize that book clubs involve books? And you chose the world’s greasiest food to accompany it?”

“The shit I saw online seemed out of my cooking range, so I did what know, okay?” Parker says defensively, and I full-on belly laugh.

The pulsing behind my eyes is pretty much forgotten, drowned by the ease of spending time with my favorite people. Parker crumples a napkin and throws it in my face. I catch it before it hits the ground, pretending to wipe my laughing tears away.

“Excuse me for trying to do something nice, fuckers,” Parker adds.

“No, it’s nice,” I say in the midst of laughing. “Just unexpected.”

“Let’s eat before it gets cold. And we’ll do the book club thing after. Can I bring you anything else?”

“A plate. And some utensils,” Wes deadpans.

“I meant a beer.” Parker rubs his hands on his jeans.

“That, too.”

I lift a finger to show him I want one as well, considering our book club turned into a barbecue. He comes back with the beers, plates, and utensils, and the three of us dig in, with no hope of finishing the crazy amount of food he made.

I load my plate with a little of everything. “Fuck, I really needed this laugh. Ever since we got home, my head’s been killing me.”

Wes stops his knife in the middle of the air. “How was your head on the trip?”

“Better.” I glance down at my plate. “The last few days on the island were headache free.”

“Hmm.”

Being the analytical mind that he is, Wes has been trying to figure out my triggers for months now. He’s also trying to figure out my ‘glimmers’. They’re supposed to do the opposite of triggering me, helping me regulate my nervous system, which is a term he taught me.

“That means the trip was good?” Parker asks, destroying a chicken wing, his fingers already greasy with gravy.

“Yeah, much better than expected.”

“Did you have time to relax? Having your own space at last.” Parker knows how challenging it was for me to adapt to living with someone again after I moved back home.

“Erm…” I haven’t mentioned sharing the villa before. “Actually, I was in a suite with the daughters and the daughter’s wife.”

Wes has now completely forgotten about his food, focusing on me instead. “You shared a suite with three people you barely know, but don’t like, on a trip you didn’t even want to go to… and your headaches were better?”

I know, Wes. I know. It makes no sense to me either. “Yup. Maybe it was the air. Or the ocean.”

“Maybe…” He doesn’t sound convinced.

“It’s either that or he finally got laid.” Parker waves his greasy finger at me.

I guess I make a face, because he tilts his head to the side, and a slow smile builds on his face. Great. The one time Parker is the more perceptive one.

“You did, didn’t you?”