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He nods thoughtfully. “Hm. Interesting. A process for finding love… I like it, I like it. In business, the bottom line is you gotta sell something folks want. Who doesn’t want love? Heck, all of us want love.”
“Exactly.”
“Now you’ve got me thinking. ” He reaches for a framed photo on his desk and turns it to face me.
I cringe.
The Mannings have two children—Carly and her older brother, Parker.
I spent a lot of time in this house. Doing my own homework and helping Carly with hers. Letting her paint my nails and brush my hair. Sunbathing in the backyard by the in-ground pool, baking brownies and cookies in the kitchen, and poring over girly magazines in Carly’s bedroom.
And almost every visit with Carly included some sort of run-in with her older brother, Parker.
By the time I reached eighth grade, I realized that Parker was not only a fearsome wielder of Supersoaker squirt guns, and a rival for the cherry flavored popsicles, which all three of us liked best. He was also hot.
Reallyhot.
Killer smile, washboard abs, shaggy-blond hair hot.
And that meant that when I raced Carly and Parker to the freezer for the last red popsicle, I ran extra hard because IwantedParker to tackle me and drape me over his shoulder so he could reach into the popsicle box first. I wanted him to douse me with his Supersoaker, or flick little paper footballs at me while I made a show of trying to study, despite the distraction.
Eventually, neither of us could handle the flirting any more. Wehadto kiss. It was like we were two trains, locked into steel tracks and heading for one another without any way to change course.
I was eighteen and he was twenty-three when we both gave into the tension.
What a terrible idea.
It doesn’t matter that his lips on mine made fireworks shoot through me. It was still a mistake. Because a few weeks after it happened, he decided it couldn't happen again. That night when I stayed up until sunrise it wasn’t to outline and write a spectacular report about worms that eat dirt. It was because I was crying so hard, I thought my stomach was going to turn inside out.
Right now, seeing Parker's photo makes me remember how I actually crouched over the toilet bowl that night he broke things off, because I was crying so hard and my stomach hurt so much, I was sure I was about to throw up blood.
Mitch doesn’t seem to notice my aversion to the photo. His voice sounds far off as he says, “My boy. He’s in a rough spot these days. Have you heard?”
The sight of Parker’s photo caught me off guard. Like I was sitting in a business meeting one minute, then suddenly getting creamed with a giant wrecking ball the next.
I blink as I stare at the image, and try to catch my breath and look like I’m not reeling.
It’s a professionally taken shot, probably at one of the big tournaments Parker played in over the course of his tennis career. He’s on a sun-soaked clay court, wielding a racket. His tattooed arms ripple, sweat glistens off his brow.
I cough into my fist. “Ah… hm?”
“I’m sure Carly’s mentioned that he’s living in Pines Peak these days?” He says this like he’s bringing up the embarrassing fact that his son’s chosen to spend his days hunkered under a rock. It’s clear he thinks that Pines Peak, in Northern Vermont, is the sort of speck-on-the-map town acceptable for owning a second home in—which the Mannings do, a gorgeous log cabin—but that’s about it.
“Oh. Yeah. She’s mentioned it.”
“He’s had a rough go of it, since his injury forced him into early retirement. Off the rails, if you ask me. No direction, no sense of purpose. He’s got a lot of energy, always has, and without an aim for that… Well, it’s not good. He’s getting in trouble. Fired from his job, living in a trailer. You ask me, what he needs is some stability.”
“Stability. Right.” I recross my legs and try to look professional. As though right now, I’m not thinking about that time Parker and I kissed for the first time.
It was right here in this house.
Parker was home for a brief respite from tour; I was gearing up to go off to college.
Mitch says something about his own company, Manning Light Fixtures. Maybe it’s about his upcoming retirement? I’m not sure, because I’m too busy remembering that night a decade ago.
How the rec room couch felt scratchy behind my shoulder blades and thin tank top, when Parker crawled on top of me and finally,finallyplaced his lips on mine.
How he smelled like coconut tanning oil and chlorine, and he tasted like bubble gum.
