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Parker didn’t say anything initially, and Cassie laughed—this had to be a joke, right? Her laughter made Parker’s eyes flash.
“Look, y’all, let’s just—” Acacia’s tone was placating, but Parker ignored her.
“You’ve had one serious relationship your entire life and he cheated on you,” she said. “You don’t know how to be vulnerable with someone. You haven’t even tried to date anyone since Seth. You wouldn’t have any idea what it’s like.”
That was a fucking nasty thing to throw in her face.
“It’s not like you’ve had any models of good relationships in your life,” Parker sneered.
It reminded Cassie of Erin at Christmas, calling her some kid with mommy issues. Like mother, like daughter, apparently. With Erin, Cassie had left, but with Parker, she got mad.
“Like you have any idea what my life is like, lately, the amount of time you spend with Sam.” Cassie knew she shouldn’t keep going, but she was pissed. “I could be in a goddamn relationship for all you know. Maybe I have a secret lover after all—you’d have no idea.”
Acacia winced. She didn’t try to calm either of them.
Parker clenched her jaw. “Fuck you, Cassie.”
“Fuckyou. Go enjoy your ‘serious emotional connection’ with Sam. Lord knows you’re not attempting to connect with any of your friends.”
She pushed herself up off the sofa. Parker glared at her. Acacia’s face was still a grimace.
“What the fuck, man,” Cassie said, and left.
Eighteen
ERIN
It was Tuesday when Parker’s name finally lit up Erin’s phone. Erin had patients to see, but she ducked into a stairwell and answered the call instead.
“Hey, baby!” She winced as soon as she said it, sounding too enthusiastic, clearly compensating for her terror over what this call could be.
“Hi,” Parker said. Did she sound awkward because she knew Erin had fucked her friend or did she sound awkward because Erin had answered the phone like a fitness instructor trying to inspire people at a 5A.M.workout?
“What’s up?” The forced casualness wasobvious. “I mean, how are you?”
“Why are you being weird?”
Erin laughed, too high pitched. “I’m not being weird. I just haven’t heard from you in a bit, that’s all.”
“Oh my God, I’m sorry I didn’t call Sunday, jeez,” Parker said. “I was working on a piece and by the time I remembered, it was late.”
It had been two Sundays, but Erin didn’t point it out.
“That’s all right, of course, it’s all right,” she said in a rush. The tension in her loosened. “I didn’t mean to be annoying about it.”
“You’re always annoying about it,” Parker teased, and Erin must have imagined the mean undercurrent in her tone.
“I know, I know, I’m your mom, I’m supposed to be annoying. So, tell me about the painting.”
When she was little, Parker had been nervous about school. She’d gone to a preschool that was run out of the teacher’s farmhouse. It had been less structured and more like going to a friend’s house than to school. So kindergarten scared her. She wouldn’t get on the bus the first day, cried until Erin called in late to work so she could drive her. Erin left work early, too, to pick Parker up at the end of the day. She had been ready for more tears.
Instead, the whole drive home, Parker hadn’t stopped talking about the finger painting they’d done and how much Mrs. Schecter liked hers.
Asking Parker about art still worked just as well as it had back then.
She told Erin about her piece—a mixed-media project, not just a painting—and Erin relaxed with every word. Parker didn’t hate her. She was busy at school, doing well in something she loved. She was happy. It wasgoodthat she hadn’t called Sunday. Erin’s baby girl was growing up.
“Anyway,” Parker said when Erin ran out of questions about the piece. “How was your week?”
