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Did he really just admit that?
Agreeing to something he fought vehemently against weeks ago, as I shouted it in his face.
He left me speechless.
“You were just being the good big brother,” Camilla defended. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Parker looked at Camilla, surprised by the termbrother, his face caught in disgusted shock, as if completely disappointed in what was said.
“Well, look at me now. I got both the pretty girl and the couch!” Tommy flashed a victorious grin, but Camilla reached over to slap his hand away from my shoulder.
“No touching!” she snipped. “She’s taken.”
“By who?”
“By Alex Rivers. They’re totally in love… well, at least Gemma is.”
Still leaning back in his seat, Parker’s face froze at this new misguided information, furrowing in her direction. It was as if Camilla herself were a splash of cold water dumped onto him, his O-shaped mouth formed for some set of words I knew he wanted to say but couldn’t get out.
“I didn’t say—” I stuttered, my explanation cut short as Tommy sighed.
“Another six-foot monster? As if Parker wasn’t bad enough.”
“I love monsters,” I quipped quietly, as if tagging our appreciation for horror movies would somehow make it better. It wasn’t, and if anything, it sounded like I agreed with Tommy.
Camilla squealed as a waitress from the bar brought over a s’mores kit, handing over four metal roasting rods to Tommy with a wink. She had essentially blocked the view between me and Parker, shielding my embarrassed smile. Everyone seemed fine, but I knew I was being awkward, chugging an empty bottle of beer that I’d already finished. Parker sat up, massaging the back of his neck while Tommy passed out marshmallows.
“I’m not that hungry,” Camilla wobbled her head, breaking a piece of Hershey bar to chew on. “I’d rather dance. Parker come dance with me.”
“Good luck!” Tommy laughed. “Parker can’t dance.”
“I can dance,” Parker disagreed.
“I’ve never seen it, and we had parties all the time.”
“I mean, I’ve danced before,” Parker hesitated, knowing damn well the only time he had ever danced was with me.
The eighth grade Bushwick Beaver Ball was hardly as lovely as itslovely luautheme, but we went together nonetheless. Originally I told him no, not because I didn’t want to go, but because I didn’t have a dress—or any dress up to that point. But that didn’t stop him from taking me, instead, he tried to match me as much as possible. While others girls wore gowns and boys had suits, Parker and I wore everyday clothes. I tried to dress myself up, braiding my hair, wearing my most valuable second-hand Paul Frank top to match his orange Knicks jersey, and in a way it kinda worked. We looked like a couple, and regardless if we were both sweaty or stepped on each other’s feet, the moment David Cook’s “The Time of My Life” came over the intercom, I knew it was the best decision I ever made.
It was the first time he had ever touched my hips, drawn me near, and stared into my eyes without saying a single word, but he didn’t need to, because I was already convinced that we were meant to be together for the rest of our lives. This happened like a dream, a three-minute moment with green tinsel backgrounds and partially deflated beach balls. It felt good; it felt right; but most of all, it felt like the first time that either of us had the courage to do anything at all, that was, until he gave me my butterfly ring. After that, it seemed like neither of us made a move, until the night that Tommy reminded everyone of—the one with the three-hundred-dollar Blanton’s bourbon.
“Come on, don’t be a beach bum, Parky. Dance with me!” Camilla pulled on his arm.
“I kind of just want a s’more right now.” He removed his marshmallow out of the fire, single handedly assembling his sandwich.
“You prefer that over dancing?”
“Well sure, have you ever had one before? They’re so good.”
“Not this again,” Camilla exasperated to Tommy.
“What’s he doing now?”
“This whole, ‘flavorcan change your life,’ thing he’s done before,” she groaned. “He once offered me a peach gummy ring, and when I refused, he gave me some lecture about how it could change my life.He was so dramatic on their sensation. I’m sorry, but a candy can’t make you feel everything you described, as if eating one could just make you ‘die happy.’” She mocked, giving air quotes.
The brief and sardonic tease caused me to grow silent, the mention ofdyinghappyfelt so specific from today, with the peaceful awe Parker showed while resting along my thigh. Peach rings were our thing, our tradition, and his feelings towards them felt so heavy, so purposely poetic.
I removed myself from their attention, staring at the tips of my teal, painted toes, concentrating hard to avoid the swarm of fluttering wings in my chest.
