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Parker held my gaze, his bold green eyes attempting to pierce the armor of my walls. He was as handsome as ever, his face more refined, older with slight creases. His once smooth jaw was now replaced with fresh stubble, his look more rugged, appearing like a man of strong labor before slipping into a suit. He always cleaned up before a big case, shaving his beard, returning to the polished lawyer of great prestige. What a man. It felt as though we stared so long, that both of us forgot what we were doing.
“Ummmm…” He laughed, massaging his strong chin, still bent on his knees. “I got a surprise for you,” he chirped, almost as if he’d forgotten.
“For me? Parker, you shouldn’t have.” I waved him off.
“I didn’t, but someone couldn’t resist.” He shot to his feet, quickly making his way to the kitchen and back with a bouquet of flowers. “Mama Meg sends her housewarming regards.” He rolled his eyes, still holding a mischievous grin.
“No, she didn’t!” I exclaimed, reaching up to smell the arranged cream roses and assorted baby’s breath. Mama Meg was no ordinary mother; she was Parker’s mom, but in many ways mine too. She always had me by her side at family gatherings, seating me as if I were her daughter, showing me the love I never knew I deserved. “I’m her favorite.” I announced, yanking the basket from his hands filled with assorted goodies.
“I won’t argue with that.” Parker exchanged, knowing full well his mother and I were close. I plucked out a handwritten card from the crystalline blue vase.
Gemma dear,
Thrilled to see the adventures to come, and know in your heart greatness will follow wherever you go. Have Parker mind his manners, or else send him to me.
Love, Mama Meg
My cheeks were in pain, caught in an unbreakable smile. I owed her more than she could ever know, and in reality, if it weren’t for her real estate endeavors, I would have never met Parker. Back in the early 2000s, when rates were low and the market was hot, Meg Jones invested in blocks of real estate in the heart of Brooklyn. It was no secret the Joneses had enormous wealth, but Mama Meg’s humble beginnings were never fallen short on Parker. She made her family relocate from Manhattan for the entire length of the project, investing millions into the renovation of older brick apartments and impoverished communities. For over a decade, Mama Meg forced Parker to live a normal life, to be a child in the public school system, just as she had growing up. This of course was in exception to the lavish Hampton vacations they took each summer. I peered down at a postscript below her signature:
P.s.
Sent a vintage Fendi skirt with Parker, found it at the thrift store for $14.00. What a thief I am.
Her eye for fashion was equally matched with her need to stay frugal, maintaining that wealth was no excuse to spend unnecessary money. She was a thrifter, and a style icon in many ways, stealing designer looks for fractions of the price. When I first met her, I loved everything about her, and it began with the welcoming hues of her styled looks. Sophisticated browns, grey tweeds, and white tops tucked into skirts. Her eyes were always framed in dark chic glasses, highlighting the glow of their welcoming green tone. Before she could ever say a word, her fashion said it all. I knew it the moment I saw her, she was a kind, sophisticated, and elegant woman. I wanted that power too, to communicate like her, to express how I felt through design. I loved her, and then from that love, came fashion.
“Dibs on the candy.” Parker fished out a bag of peach gummy rings from the care package, splitting it open.
“Of course she remembers these.” I sat the flowers down by the side table, reaching in for a ring, “Anytime I eat these it reminds me of vacation, of lying out by the pool with your family.” I took a bite, remembering how we would eat these until we were sick as children.
“We always pretended they were some type of treasure.” Parker continued, reenacting a tradition we began as children. He reached out for my hand, gripping my wrist, propping it on display as he slipped one onto my finger. The sugary crystals tickled along my skin, a momentary sensation until Parker reached down and removed it with a bite. I laughed, chewing the original gummy I still had in my mouth.
“I’m calling Mama Meg today, catching her up on the move.” I said nonchalantly, avoiding the wave of heat I felt from Parker’s lips near my fingers. He stifled his expression, combing his golden hair back, almost sighing.
“Speaking of moms…” He motioned back to a box, avoiding the question I knew he didn’t want to ask, but felt compelled to do so, “Have you told Claire about moving in?”
Claire. My mother. If it weren’t apparent enough in the awkwardness of the question alone, I didn’t enjoy talking about her or the memories she brought.
“I checked on her.” I stated quickly, “She’s doing ok, still taking her medicine as instructed. But honestly, the less she knows, the better.” Not once did I glance up at Parker but assumed my position back on the floor with a box. I wanted to brush this away, and though he was always there to support me, I didn’t want him exposed to too much of my reality.
If my past were one of these boxes, I’d choose to keep it sealed, to tuck it away in the closet, as to not spoil the charming decor of Parker’s home. Within that box would be shame, exhaustion, but most of all, fear of being vulnerable. That side was ugly, and out here with Parker, it was pretty. “I have so many boxes, and they’re totally in your way.” I laughed, dispelling the tension I felt over my mother.
“They’re not a problem, Gem. If anything, they’re exciting. I’m happy to have someone around. Especially you.” Parker lifted two large boxes on his own, placing them in a corner with little effort. I couldn’t help but appreciate what I saw, his ass sculpted from years of athletics, placed perfectly in fitted grey slacks. He was incredibly sexy, and though he was both generous and helpful, I needed to remind myself, the longer I stayed the harder it’d be to leave.
“Well, I don’t want to be in your hair too long, you're already going out of your way with helping me unpack. Just don’t go snooping around my other boxes, got it.” I teased.
“You can stay in my hair and my house. Honestly, it's yours too. You’ve had a key since I got it, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but that was for emergencies,” I corrected. “This is different, I’m in your space. My interview is tomorrow, and I’m hoping it’ll go well.” I mumbled, realizing the dreaded words that just slipped from my mouth.
“With Gerard?” Parker asked, his voice dropping an octave. This was the shift in his mindset, from perfect friend to vicious lawyer. “I don’t like what he did, and I especially don’t like that he’s stringing you along for this interview.”
“I know…” I sighed. Parker wasn’t wrong. My business was so small, shopping for clients and styling them for events. It wasn’t even worth Gerard’s attention, yet he seemed so relentless with his pursuit, propositioning my clients with lower prices. After all, his name was bigger than mine, how could they refuse?
“You really want to go back to him and beg for your job? Gemma, you have time now… you want to be a designer, I know you can do it. You’re not a stylist, you're a creator, so stay here and chase your dream.”
“It’s not that simple.” I replied, reminding myself staying longer meant growing more attached to the idea of being closer to Parker. Couldn’t he see that? It made me wish I was still in contact with Dana, who left before graduating to study fashion in Paris. We lost touch, and it had only been Parker and me for years. But despite my urge to leave, his offer was tempting. And he was right, styling was not what I wanted to do, and though my business consisted of that, it was only a means for income, nothing more.
Starting a business was supposed to give me more time to design, to live on my own and make my own hours. But I couldn’t even do that, not with Gerard looming in the shadows. More than three years out on my own, and he stifled every opportunity that came my way. I felt like I was on some blacklist, and getting in his good graces felt both pathetic and necessary, especially if I wanted to leave Parker’s sooner.
