Page 18 of Finding Parker

It was time I ended this date, and take Miss Katelyn Moss home.

Wait a minute.

Katelyn Moss.

Kate Moss.

My date for the night shared the same name as the crack smoking, former, not-so-super supermodel.

I should have known.

I sat and recalled what was sure to become some very valuable words of one Kenton Ward. And, you have to know when to shove your cards to the center of the table and say, ‘I give up.’ There’s no shame in it. All the winners do it, and they do it regularly. The unintelligent, the dreamers, and the unknowing don’t.

And as a result they lose.

The time had come for me to shove my cards to the center of the table and give up. I needed to fold this particular hand, and do so in as graceful as a manner as I could develop. I needed to get her away from here and do it away from Kenton, minimizing my exposure to his scrutiny.

I turned to Katelyn.

“You want to go to Belmont Park and ride the Mission Beach roller coaster? The Giant Dipper?” I asked.

“Oh my God. That sounds awesome. You want to go, Kenton?”

I turned toward Kenton and waited for what would be his certain response in the form of no. Without a doubt, he had much more important things to do on a Friday night than accompany us to Belmont Park. As he stood from his chair and straightened the fabric of his shorts, I attempted to disguise the grin developing on my face.

“I’d love to,” Kenton responded.

As the bile once again rose in my throat, I began to realize the value in being more cautious of whom I may ask out on a date, and less eager to simply fill a void in a schedule on a calendar. Muffled voices in the background continued. I was blocking her out again – a failed effort to make her disappear. I stood from my chair and followed as Katelyn and Kenton walked into the house. I had yet to develop a single plan of how to rid myself of Katelyn and do so with any degree of grace. I decided to allow the night to unfold and look for any opportunity that may present itself.

Katelyn turned and walked into the hall bathroom, giggling. As she closed the door, I turned toward Kenton and made eye contact for the first time of the night. Somewhat embarrassed, I stared, not quite knowing what to say.

“Oh my God,” he whispered mockingly.

“I know,” I whispered in return.

“So, when is the second date?” he chuckled as he reached down and removed one of his golf shoes.

“There won’t be one,” I responded.

“Here’s my advice, Parker,” he paused as he pulled the shoe from his other foot.

“Be delicate, kind, and remain friendly with her. Explain in the best manner you are able that she merely doesn’t fit the mold of what you seek in a mate. She won’t like it, but she’ll understand. Be clear. Women typically maintain or develop hope if you aren’t one hundred percent clear with your intent. Be concise. And by all means, do so after this night is over,” he said, his golf shoes dangling from his fingers.

I nodded in acknowledgement as Kenton finished speaking. I realized as he turned to walk away although he may look at this as an employer employee relationship, I – in many respects – was beginning to view it as somewhat of a father son relationship.

The thought of which provided me with comfort.

And pain.

PARKER. Life is far more abrasive in experiencing its individual components than the sum itself. I liken it to the ingredients that make up a recipe. For instance, grilled beef tenderloin in Cabernet sauce first requires balsamic vinegar, garlic, rosemary, peppercorns, olive oil, and salt for the steak marinade. Individually, or standing alone, none of these ingredients are very palatable.

The steaks, once soaked overnight in this marinade and grilled, clearly define how an herbed, spiced filet mignon should taste. Regardless of the quality of the latter prepared Cabernet sauce, the steaks are merely chunks of grilled meat without the initial marinade. The sum of ingredients will develop something to be enjoyed by all who partake in the meal. Individually, the ingredients are repulsive at best.

I believe life can be compared to cooking in many respects. We know not to add vanilla to spaghetti sauce. In a batch of our favorite cookies, however, it may be quite tasty. Additionally, a slice of bell pepper which may work well in a salad would be out of place in a German chocolate cake. I feel I need to be cautious of the people I permit into my life no differently than I would be careful of the ingredients I would include in a recipe. I suppose a good recipe for life would be to allow nothing into it, knowingly at least, which is bitter.

It’s disappointing we aren’t able to simply spit people out that don’t taste well.

“Maybe I had one too many glasses of wine. I’ll do better next time. I really enjoyed myself,” she said sheepishly.