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My cheeks heat and my jaw is clenched tight when I whisper back, “I’m not ready.”
He takes a gulp from his drink. “Will you ever be ready?”
Today has been an absolute clusterfuck. As in, my life as I knew it has been blown to smithereens while I’ve been smiling my way through stupid small talk and everyday adolescent drama.WillPenny hook up with that hot townie guy again this summer at the shore?ShouldParker’s bestie, Logan Clark the damn Third, follow in his father’s footsteps, or try to make a professional career out of sailing?IsClara really going to move clear across the country if she gets into USC?Who the fuck cares???That’s what I’ve wanted to scream at the top of my lungs all day long. And the pressure Parker is laying on me right now is threatening to send me right over the edge.
There’s some part of me that wants him to be sympathetic, to understand. I don’t let my guard down or show my real self to him in any meaningful way, so I don’t know why I expect anything from him in return. But I want that. I want him to look at me and sayI love youfor real. He uses that lame line as a bargaining chip. I love you so let me get in your pants. I love you so give it up to me. I’ve come to equate those three beautiful words to nothing more than a lie.
My sadness turns to anger, but I swallow it down like I always do. “There are plenty of girls here ready and willing. Take your pick.”
He says nothing, just looks off to the side as he takes a long, dramatic drag off his cigarette. Now that I’m up close I can see it’s a Marlboro—the brand of cowboys and tough guys all the world over. Is Parker like me underneath it all? Is he trying on different versions of the person he wants to be? One day he’s quoting Whitman in an attempt to come off like an intelligent badass, the next day he’s watching video tutorials on how to live a greener existence. And while I do doubt his commitment to sustainable living while residing in an eight-thousand square foot home, I have to give him props for at least thinking along those lines. Is he just as mixed up as I am?
And just like that, any sympathy I have for him evaporates much like the smoke he blows back in my face. I cough, and I swear the jerk is pleased when he waves the smoke away and mutters, “Sorry ‘bout that.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You know what sucks, Sarah? I know Icouldhave any girl here, but for some reason I want you, my girlfriend. It’d be nice if you wanted me back.”
Stated in another way, those words would sound tender, but Parker’s tone is biting. He’s angry and resentful. He believes I owe him and I’m refusing to pay him what’s due.
Fuck this. I want my pajamas and my bed.
Parker calls after me as I make my way to the door. It’s an exasperated, “I’m sorry, ok?”
He knows he messed up, and I’m sure there’s a part of him that is genuinely sorry, but I don’t care. I hear Logan call out, “Let her go,” and once I’m out of the rain and back in my car, it dawns on me that Parker followed orders. He didn’t plead with me to stay or follow me outside.
It’s just as well. I’ll never be what he wants or what he needs. The sooner he realizes it, the better.
Chapter Three
It’s still quiet at this hour.
It’s early May but I can still see my breath in the chill of the early morning air. I don’t mind the cold.
My mother used to obsess over the chances of me contracting pneumonia when I was younger.This can’t be good for her, I’d hear her complaining to my father.It’s freezing in that stable. Arms crossed, I’d plead my case to my father, reasoning that if the horses didn’t get sick in the winter then neither would I.
He’s always had to play the role of referee. It’s not that my mother and I butt heads on a regular basis, it’s just that we’re not like-minded. We tend to disagree about pretty much everything. My father has spent years as the go-between, handling negotiations with the tact of a seasoned diplomat.
And in the end, I won out. It took a couple of winters of me not contracting bronchitis, the flu, or so much as a bad case of the sniffles for her to let up, but eventually she did. And I firmly believe all that time spent out in the elements has toughened me up—you can’t tell me anything different.
I breathe in deep, fill my sturdy lungs with that crisp air, and smile when the scent of fresh hay and leather hits me. It’s a smell that’s so uniquely horsey. I lean in and nuzzle Shadow’s mane, and he turns his face to show me some love right back. It never gets old.
The sound of boots on the ground gets my attention. Braids, bright eyes, and a smile that stretches clear across her face. This one can’t be more than nine or ten, and she reminds me of myself at that age. You can tell from the look on her face that there’s nowhere else on Earth she’d rather be. A girl and her horse. I had that same single-minded obsession way back when.
Back then I spoke to Shadow in the early morning on the weekends, and then every afternoon as soon as I could cast off my school uniform and tug on my boots. I told Shadow everything, even though most of the time I wasn’t speaking a word aloud. I believed we had this perfect symbiotic relationship where no words were necessary. I could ease his worry with a gentle brushing, and Shadow could soothe me with a nuzzle, or cheer me up with a whinny.
“You’re here early.”
“Early?” I don’t look up at Mr. Murphy as I go on brushing my baby. “I used to get here before sunrise.”
“Still, it’s pretty early for a teenager. My nephew was snoring like a bear when I left, and if I don’t call him every hour on the hour he’ll be late for his shift at noon.”
“He snores?”
“Sleeps soundly is a better way of putting it. Guess you could say I’m jealous. Sound sleep isn’t easy to come by at my age.”
“You’re not so old, Mr. Murphy.”
“I’ll be sixty next month. And my own kids had already flown the coop by the time my younger sister had this hellion, so don’t mind my complaining. I think I’m just too old to be raising a teenager at this stage in my life. I prefer horses,” he rustles my hair like he’s done since I first started riding here, “present company excluded.”
