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“Yes.” She sighed, “Erin is here, and I made your favorite… mac and cheese.” I cringed. She had no idea what my favorite food was. Mac and cheese was what I ate because it was all I could teach myself at the time. I glanced down at a small burn that resided on my wrist, evidence of the little girl who was learning to boil water but ended up getting hurt. I wasn’t even sad anymore, that’d require energy.
“How’s Erin?” I changed the subject, checking on the only friend Claire had, the Puerto Rican neighbor who lived alone and visited often to watch TV with her. Erin’s soft voice said hi on the other end of the phone, causing Claire to snort.
“Erin is Erin, she brought over some wine. We’re about to have a few glasses and watchFamily Feud.” She confirmed, but I furrowed my brow.
“Are you still taking your pills? You shouldn’t mix alcohol with those.”
“It’s a few glasses, Gemma, calm down.” She exhaled, but I was quick to her annoyance. This wasn’t a passive idea, this was a necessity, something that would keep me up at night. Without her medication, things went wrong. The thought alone made me feel like a little girl again, but not in a good way. Scared.
“Don’t just disregard what I’m saying. Your depression needs to be managed, and I’ve seen enough of what it does untreated. You understand?” A not so gentle reminder of Claire’s behavior, of the disorder which ruined both her life and mine. Depression took my mom away, and the mellowed version I was speaking to now was only thanks to new medication.
“You’ve seen enough of what it does untreated? How about living with it?”
“I have, with you. I’m just checking.”
“Don’t bring up the past. You have no idea what it was like. When your father left, it took everything from me.” Her voice was almost in a tremble.
My patience was at its end with her, and I couldn’t help but snap, “Well it almost took everything from me too. Please don’t bring him up.” I avoided talking about Dad, I couldn’t chance her being stuck on this carousel, not now, not before wine.
“Don’t do this.” She groaned.
“Do what?”
“Run from this discussion, about how awful your father was.”
“Not now, Claire.” I tried to swallow, but my neck felt tight. I hated these moments, where I reached up and soothed my throat. I could smell the cigarette over the phone, the pungent rasp of her voice.
“When will you forgive me for that night?” She whispered. I heard the scoot of her steel chair along the linoleum floor, as if to tuck herself away from Erin’s ears.
“I’ve got to go.”
She sighed audibly, “Just like your father, when the going gets tough, the weak get going.”
“I’m not like him, I’m not like you. I have my reasons.” My voice cracked, but she persisted. I couldn’t manage the things she was saying, the things she’d done, how every conversation led back to Dad and the night he left. Because of this, I felt far away, and amongst other things, it made it difficult to breathe. I felt this at times, but was always saved by one man, the person whose face I caught now, standing in line for pizza as an electric jolt sprang through my belly.
It was Parker, his gaze fixated on his phone, scrolling through the screen with his thumb. Without knowing it, he was there for me, his thick hair in a slick wave, combed back tightly like his fitted suit.
Maybe Claire was right, maybe I was running away, but after all that happened, didn't I deserve a break? Parker was my constant, one I fought to protect from the ugliness of my life. He knew enough about Claire, but he didn't know everything, and that was how I wanted it to be, partly from the fear Claire instilled, but mostly because I wanted to keep this life—here with Parker—untouched by the things of my past.
“I have to go, Claire.” I said flatly, interrupting the middle of her sentence.
“Gemma, don’t be a fool,” her words fell short, lost in the abrupt disconnect of my phone. Maybe I was a fool, believing in a fantasy, believing Parker and I had a future, but it was the fantasy that kept me afloat at times, so I chased it, as I did now, walking into the shop to see him.
CHAPTER 8
“Hey, oyster boy!” I shouted, garnering the attention of every customer of the pizza shop. Parker’s head shot up, instantly smiling as he saw me standing in the back. His eyes were soft, almost tender from the day, glancing as if relieved to see me.
“Gem?” Parker cocked his head. I waved, suddenly shy from my shout but eager to be by his side, even if it was just as my best friend. Parker scooted his way to the back, allowing others to pass ahead. The musk of his worn cologne was a sensory comfort, and after the day I had, its cedar wood spice was both sensual and profoundly relieving. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”
“Intuition,” I joked. “How do I always remember your creamer at Benee’s?
“And I, your Tabasco?” He added, “A good team.” He loosened his tie, his fitted grey suit more relaxed as he unbuttoned the top. “Did you get my text?”
“Another late night,” I confirmed. “Glad you’re eating though. Real food that is,” I added, partly teasing.
“As opposed to ocean slime?” He asked. “Not as bad as you think, but not as great as others make it either.” Parker motioned to the cashier, flashing two fingers before pointing down to the pepperoni slices. “I’m trying,” he confirmed, “and it looks like you are too.” He looked into my eyes, his emerald stare studious like an astute lawyer. “Are you ok? You look like you just got bad news.” I was unaware of my expression but figured the lingering effects of Claire’s call still persisted.
“Oh yeah. Uh, I just got off the phone with Claire.” I admitted, leaving nothing else to be said. Parker studied me but rarely lingered on the topic.
