by JD Chambers
Parker doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t have to. My heart does it for him – a spiderweb of hairline fractures just waiting for that final blow to burst apart.
The walk to the car feels like an ending, not just to this date, but to everything. Every emotion running through his brain shows on Parker’s face, and I can tell that he’s doing everything in his power to avoid coming to terms with the fact that he really has made his decision. And it’s the right one. The unselfish one. The one that I expect an amazing man like Parker to make.
After I settle in, I turn on my phone. I turned it off once Parker arrived so that I could focus on our date, but I need something to do with my hands or I’m going to go crazy. My phone blares with over a dozen notifications of people posting to my social media account. That’s new. I usually never get comments.
I pull up the site, and it feels like someone poured ice water into my veins. That someone being Shelby.
You’re going to hell.
You’re an abomination.
You have a mental disorder.
And those are the nice ones, all posted by people who have one friend in common. Shelby McWilliams. Shelby was nice enough to leave a much longer and more explicit rant.
“Parker,” I say when I can finally find my voice. “I think I know how Shelby found out about us.”
It’s too dark to see his reaction, but the air in the car goes abnormally still, like if he doesn’t move or breathe, reality can’t penetrate the safe bubble of his Volvo.
Fuck, I can’t believe I was so stupid. “I’m so sorry,” I rush to say. “I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t thinking.”
The air returns to normal as he pats my arm and laughs with forced relaxation. “It all worked out. She had to find out sometime, and now I don’t have it hanging over my head, so don’t worry about it.” He acts like that’s the end of it, but only gives himself a few seconds’ pause before adding, “What was it?”
“I posted the picture of us on the bike ride. The one where I kissed you. I didn’t tag you in it, but I posted the other one of us too, and I did tag you in that one. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to put you through this.”
I wrap my coat tighter around me, as if it will somehow protect me from my own stupidity. I immediately pull up both pictures online and delete them. It hurts to do it. Having Parker’s smiling face on my site made me feel normal and happy. Now that’s gone, but at least the hateful comments are gone too.
“Hey, it’s okay. I think it’s actually going to be worse for you than it is for me.”
“How’s that?”
“All of this happened in front of our lawyers, and Shelby swore vindication. My lawyer, Ms. Grassi, is afraid Shelby’s team will use you, or something about you, to make this all infinitely worse. If that’s even possible. Ms. Grassi wants to do a preemptive background investigation on you, so we can be prepared for whatever Shelby’s lawyers might throw at us.”
Whatever chill I felt earlier disappears, with heated indignation quickly taking its place.
“God, this is not how I wanted to spend our evening,” Parker says, oblivious to the car’s sudden change in climate. “Fuck Shelby and my father.”
“Or you could just ask me.”
I don’t mean for my voice to be so small. It’s supposed to be filled with righteous anger, damn it.
“What?”
“Instead of allowing your lawyers to go crazy playing how-can-we-pin-this-on-the-freak, you could just ask me if there’s anything in my past that could be a problem for you.” My voice returns and rises in parallel with my anger. “Although I’m still fuzzy on how I could be a problem for you anyway. You don’t have kids. You don’t even have a dog. Even if I am corrupting you, it doesn’t have anything to do with your divorce from Shelby.”
Parker chances a glance in my direction, his eyes wide in astonishment.
“I don’t understand why you’re getting upset.”
“Really? You won’t press charges against your psycho wife when she assaults you, but you’re fine with lawyers investigating a totally innocent party in all this. Me. Because I’m different. You’re okay with that. You think your lawyer’s right.”
Parker huffs out a frustrated breath and twists in his seat. “Do I think that the situation is right? No. But my lawyer is right. Look, I’ve been in divorce hell for over half a year now. I just want it over and done with. And if Shelby’s going to use you to drag it out for longer, then yes, I’ll do whatever it takes to prevent that.”
I don’t have the heart left to argue. Whatever it takes. That says it all. When Parker turns onto my street, I click out of my seat belt and put my hand on the door handle.
“Just drop me off. We’re done here.”
“Mal, don’t be ridiculous,” Parker says, pulling to a stop behind my truck in the driveway.
“You know what? This wasn’t going to work anyway. It was fun. But you have to live your life for your dad, and your mom, and apparently for Shelby. Everyone but yourself. So I’m taking myself out of the equation. I hope that smooths the way for your divorce. I will be a speed-bump on the path to your freedom no longer.”
I slam the door before he has a chance to respond, and rush through the front door. I click the bolt into place and lean with my ear against the hollow wood door. Parker’s car pulls away not even a full minute later. I slide down the door until my coat pools around me and my satin-covered ass hits the cold vinyl floor.
18
Mal
Parker: I didn’t give your information to my lawyer. I know it’s too late to matter, but I thought you should know.
I received the text two weeks ago, the day after Valentine’s. In the time since, I’ve tried to keep myself busy. I’ve worked on Zach’s website. I’ve gone biking twice, and physically ached both times at not having Parker there with me. I also texted him back.
Mal: Thank you.
I stopped and started a million different additional messages. Ones asking if he was moving. Ones telling him how much I wanted to continue what we had going. But fear stopped me every time. I’m not going to put him in a position of having to choose between me and his family, probably because I know I’d lose.
I’ve got a meeting at Crach’s this afternoon to do a final demo of his new website before it goes live. Zach does a terrible job of hiding his surprise at my appearance when he answers the door. My wet hair twisted into a bun is probably more shocking than the baggy sweater and yoga pants I threw on. If he wanted more of an effort, there’d have to be the possibility of a threesome as our meeting wraps up. I shudder at the thought. Ugh, who’d want to join Craig and Zach in what is assuredly the most disgustingly sweet vanilla sex ever.
Zach offers me tea or coffee, and I choose tea because I feel like death warmed over and it sounds like it would hit the spot. I boot up my laptop and wait.
“Thanks again for doing this,” Zach says as though I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart. He sets down two coasters before bringing over our mugs. “I was so embarrassed by my old site I never even gave out the web address.”
“No problem,” I say and sip at my tea. “It’s not like I don’t have the time on my hands.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Zach says and glances away quickly. He fidgets with his glasses while I pull up the demo that I have on a staging server. “I hope it’s not too presumptuous of me, but I’ve been doing a little research on freelance graphic designers.”
My hand pauses at that. “You think I should go into business for myself?”
Zach rushes out of the room, but returns seconds later with a file folder. He pulls out paper after paper, spreading them out across the table.
“Look at this map,” he says as he thrusts a map with purple circles of varying sizes placed across the United States in front of me. “In all of the Rocky Mountain and Great Plains regions, only Denver is really a hub of design activity. There’s a market for a designer who can meet the needs of
smaller clients in this area.”
“But isn’t that like the company I worked for? Don’t they fill that need?”
“Ah, but look,” he says and shuffles around some papers until there’s a new chart in front of me. If this is what he calls “a little research,” he must have some very satisfied clients. “You mentioned in passing what your agency charged their clients for what you’re doing for me. They are almost as expensive as a Denver-based firm. Which is outrageous. But if you think about it, they have massive overhead. How many people are employed by Metro?”
“Five designers and two design interns, plus the lead designer. There’s also eight account executives and their boss. The secretary, the office manager, the lead financial guy, and the owner. So that’s twenty-one people.”
Zach scribbles some notes in the margin as I tally the numbers out loud. “And how many clients did you have?”
I puff out a breath as I think. “Three big ones, the type who had consistent work that required multiple monthly print layout designs for magazines and radio ads and billboards. The others were smaller. Maybe someone would need a flyer one month, or another would want an advertisement for their new store. There were always a ton of those, but they weren’t consistent.”
More scribbles accompanied by excited bouncing.
“How were they not in the red with that many people on staff, even with their exorbitant pricing? Never mind. The point is that you don’t need the super big clients. If you charge reasonable rates for a variety of basic services that a small start-up business would need, you would be great. The big costs – people, overhead – you wouldn’t have. And small start-ups can be intimidated by the Metros of the world. These are folks who are risking everything to start a business, already stressing about funds, and then these marketing firms try to come in and tell them that if they aren’t on TV or splashed across every newspaper in town, that they might as well shelve their dreams. It freaks them out. Believe me, I’ve had to talk enough of them down to know. A simple, reasonably-priced start-up package – logo, website, cards, flyers, the basics – is what these folks need, and that’s a niche that’s missing around here.”
I sit back, stunned. First, because I’ve never heard Zach talk that much at once, but second, because everything he said makes sense.
“Sorry, I got carried away.” Zach turns red and pushes at his glasses.
“No, man, this is amazing. Really.” I think my eyes have glazed over from all of the graphs, but damn. “I never even thought of it as a possibility. But you make it sound … doable.”
“Did he show you all the charts?” Craig appears in the doorway, one hand holding a grocery bag and the other tossing his keys on the little table they keep by their front door. It’s so domestic it makes my teeth hurt. His question is for me, but his smile is all for Zach.
“It’s incredible,” I answer with a nod, because the work Zach put into the idea really is.
“Yeah, he is,” Craig says dreamily, still staring at Zach, and I fight the urge to throw a paper wad at his head.
“I said it, not he, you lovesick idiot.”
Zach has the decency to blush, but I can tell he loves it. “Well, do. Think about it, that is. I’d be more than happy to help you out with a business plan and to look for financing. I wouldn’t even charge you for it. We could work out a trade – more branding and advertising help in return for my services. And I have a ton of clients. I could refer them to you.”
“I … why would you do all this for me?”
“You’re my friend,” Zach says, almost like he’s taken aback.
Craig chuckles and squeezes a hand at the base of Zach’s neck. “I’m going to go get dinner started. Would you like to stay, Mal?”
Now that I’m not texting or seeing Parker all the time, I’ve been lonely. Dinner with friends actually sounds nice, but the look of horror on Zach’s face makes me think twice.
The look doesn’t escape Craig. “It’s take and bake enchiladas from the market, babe,” he says and heads to the kitchen. “Don’t worry. Even I can’t screw that up.”
“If you’re sure you have enough for three, it sounds perfect,” I say, and Craig leans back from his spot in front of the oven, thumb held high in the air.
“And that right there is why I want to do this, help you start your own business,” Zach says, ducking his head while he gathers up the papers into a single tidy stack. “Well, if you want to, that is. I know you had to move once for work. If you had to move again, that would really suck. We would miss you. We’re losing Parker in two days. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”
It could be minutes or hours that I stare at him without blinking. “Two days?”
I knew it was coming, but I think I convinced myself that if I didn’t know for certain he was moving, then I could delude myself that it never happened. Or maybe I just thought I’d have more time.
“He’s moving back to Oklahoma to take care of his mom. I thought you knew about his mom. You were there when he found out about her Alzheimer’s, right?”
“Right,” I say around the world’s most difficult swallow. I can’t get anything past my constricting throat.
“I can understand wanting to be there for her before she forgets everything. But I could strangle Uncle Ralph. Acting like it was his duty as a son to take care of her. Umm, what about Ralph’s duty as a husband? He’s a wealthy dentist who could retire at any time. And probably already spends more time on the golf course than at his practice. But Parker’s life and job are somehow less important? God, sometimes I really hate my family. Parker excluded.”
I sleepwalk through the rest of the evening. I think by the end of it, Zach’s website is live and he’s happy. I’m fairly certain I partook of their dinner, but I don’t remember tasting anything. The only thing I know for sure is that Parker is leaving.
19
Parker
My life has turned into a giant to-do list these past two weeks. The car is loaded. Check. I’ve given my two weeks’ notice. Check. Craig’s friend Kieran is going to be taking over the room. Shelby was notified of my departure via lawyers. My dad has cleaned out my old room to make space for a grown man’s belongings. My grand experiment, Parker 2.0, has blown up in my face. Check, check, check.
The day after Valentine’s, I called Ms. Grassi and told her that Mal and I had broken up, and that I would not be providing her with any information pertaining to them. I then informed her that I would be moving to Oklahoma as we had previously discussed. I think the ulcer in my stomach can be pinpointed to that exact moment.
Dad keeps saying Mom is thrilled that I’m coming home. I wish I had the balls to tell him to stop. I might be a sucker, but I’m not an idiot. He won already; there’s no need to continue with the manipulations. There was a time in my life when I would have fallen for it. Hell, probably most of my young adulthood was orchestrated by my father. At least this time I’m going into it with my eyes wide open.
When I first told Ben about my mom and my plans, he pulled me into his arms without hesitation. It almost broke me.
“I couldn’t have made it through these past months without you.”
Ben tightened his grip, even as he said, “Hey now, just because I’m hugging you doesn’t mean you need to get all mushy on me.”
“God, I so don’t want to go back to Oklahoma. I feel like my life is over before it even began.”
“You are not allowed to talk like that. The Parker I know stood up to his bitchy wife. He jumps into new adventures, whether they’re trying every single ale at New West Fest or hooking up with that cute twink you were dancing with at the gay bar.” I startled at that, but Ben kept me locked firmly in his grip, patting my head in a way that was half patronizing, half comforting. “Yeah, I know you thought I missed that. The point is, your life isn’t over if you don’t let it be.”
I was pretty sure that was the only time I’d have with the wise and serious version of Ben, so I’d let him hol
d me a little while longer.
Later, Zach and Ben tried to conspire to throw me a going away party, but I begged them not to do it. The only person I want to see before I leave doesn’t want to see me. I’ve rushed through this entire process, hoping to distract myself from that fact. A party with all our friends would only highlight that Mal wasn’t there. Or worse, they’d show up out of pity, and I’d spend the whole evening pretending to be fine with the way we left things.
The only bit of brooding that I have allowed myself regarding Mal is the decision I made about my bike. I’m leaving instructions with Craig to give it to Mal once I’m gone. If I can’t do it, I might as well help others live their lives to the fullest.
At Zach’s insistence, I compromised on a final pizza night, just the four of us, and no black olives anywhere.
Ben brings me a beer from the fridge while we wait for the pizza.
“At least Kieran plays video games. I’m so excited. I’m finally going to have a roommate I don’t have to take it easy on.”
Zach and I flip Ben off simultaneously.
“Have you warned Kieran, by the way?” I ask Craig, who shoots a pitying glance Ben’s way.
“I’ve already arranged for Zach to walk him through everything. I like Kieran too much to make him deal with a whiny Ben.”
“Yeah, that would have been nice.” I give a pointed look to Zach, who winces.
“Sorry, I was a little preoccupied then.”
“Yeah, yeah. Love will do that, I guess.”
I should have kept my mouth shut, because the look that passes between Zach and Craig at that statement is nauseating. Ben thinks so too, because he starts making gagging noises and grabs two game controllers.
“Here,” he says and hands one to Craig. “We can play until pizza gets here. I need some way to keep you two from making goo-goo eyes at each other, or else I’m not going to be able to keep my pizza down.”