by Monica Cole
“Hey,” I say, the silence finally becoming too awkward. I lift my hand slightly, wishing this moment wasn’t so hard, or weird, or thousands of other things.
Parker sets the bowl on the arm of the couch and rolls his lips together. “Will you get over here and hug me already?” he says and gestures for me to come over.
I make my way to him, chewing the inside of my cheek so viciously, I taste blood swirling over my tongue. I bend down and wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder. I’m trying hard not to shake, so I take a deep breath and try to focus on something good. He still smells the same. Like this cologne that reminds me of the ocean. Or at least what I think the ocean would smell like. I’ve never been but I imagine it smells clean and light. A little salty.
“Are you smelling me?”
I jerk my head back, blinking away the haze of tears. Parker smirks and reaches for his ice cream.
“Why would I be smelling you?” I ask straightening back up and taking a seat on the edge of the recliner.
He shovels a giant spoonful in his mouth and shrugs. “I don’t know. You tell me.” He takes another large bite. “You miss me that much?”
‘That much’ doesn’t begin to cover it. I’ve missed him every single day since I walked out the door and got on a bus to Knoxville. Instead I tell him, “I missed you enough.”
He smiles like he can see through my vague answer, which is okay, as long as he doesn’t make me admit it out loud. I slide back in the recliner and he moves in front of the T.V, keeping his body mostly facing me. The volume is up pretty loud and when his eyes cut to the remote on the end of the couch, I scramble to get it before he inconveniences himself by having to maneuver around the coffee table.
“Thanks,” he says as I hand it to him. I force a smile and return to my seat. It's things like getting the remote for him that always bother me. The little, simple things that shouldn’t be a big deal but turn into a huge inconvenience for Parker. I’m not saying he’s helpless because he’s not. He’s always been able to do so much on his own but there’s also a lot he can’t. Even though he hates when I do, I just want to make his life a little easier. He knows I blame myself for what happened to him but how can I not? How can I not blame myself when I’m the reason my brother will be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life?
“So how was the trip?” Parker eyes me over the bowl as he drinks the last of his melted ice cream.
“Long,” I say, dangling my feet over arm of the chair. “Whitney refused to stop more than one time and that was for a two minute bathroom break.”
“Sounds intense.”
“My bladder seems to think so.”
Parker snickers and sets his bowl on the table then scratches the back of his head, like he’s trying to figure out how to say something. “So, mom wanted me to tell you that she’s sorry she wouldn’t be home when you got here. She got called in to work a few hours ago.”
Oh, right. I’d been so caught up in seeing Parker I’d completely forgotten about mom. Knowing she isn’t here is somewhat of a relief though. I’m not sure I’d be able to handle seeing both of them in the same night.
“That’s okay. We’ll have the entire summer together.” My voice sounds so pathetically forced that I’m sure he notices. The thought of being here all summer is overwhelming. If every day is going to be this emotional, I’m not sure I’ll survive.
I swing my legs to the ground and stand up. “You won’t be too upset if I crash early tonight will you? I’m pretty exhausted.” I’m totally pussying out but at least it’s been more than five minutes. That’s all I promised Whitney.
He shakes his head, but his gray eyes look sad. “No, go ahead. You’ve had a long day.” He half smiles, but I can’t find it in me to do the same. “I’m glad you’re back, Elaine.”
Before he can see the tears flooding my eyes, I turn and grab my stuff off the floor then rush down the hallway. I find my bedroom door open, and when I flip on the light, I notice clean sheets on the bed and the comforter pulled back, ready for me to crawl into. Other than that, it still looks like the same purple, clutter filled room I left behind. Once I finish in the bathroom, I shut my door and change into an oversized t-shirt. As I crawl in bed, I can barely keep my eyes open, but before I pass out, I send Whitney a text saying that everything went okay. She immediately replies with a message that reads, ‘See, I told you everything would be okay.’
All I can think about as I fall asleep is I hope she’s right.
Chapter Two
I was kind of hoping this was a dream. Coming back home. Seeing Parker. But when I wake up and find myself staring at the four purple walls of my bedroom, I’m reminded that I’m fully conscious, and this is just my first day in what’s going to be an excruciatingly long summer. Even though last night wasn’t as bad as I’d anticipated, it was still difficult, and knowing I have to face Parker and my mom today only makes me wish my bed would swallow me up and prevent me from having to face the unavoidable.
Even though I’m fully awake, I can’t force myself out of bed so I continue lying here, wondering how today is going to play out. How this entire summer is going to play out. The sucky part is that I have nothing to keep me busy while I’m here. At least back in Knoxville I had a part time job to kill time and an empty dorm room where I could lounge around pantless. As of right now, the only thing I have to look forward to is moping around the house and having awkward conversations with Parker because even though I have a million things I’d like to say to him, I can’t bring myself to say a single one of them.
Thirty minutes later I finally throw the covers off and sit on the edge of the bed. I catch sight of my reflection in the dresser mirror and frown at the sight of my light brown hair half falling out of the ponytail I slept in last night. My gray eyes look dull and droopy and my skin too pale. Maybe while I’m here I can work on a tan.
“Elaine?”
A soft knock draws my attention from the mirror to the door. It creaks open and my mother’s face appears through the crack. The moment her blue eyes find mine, my heart attempts the same move it did last night with Parker along with the urge to jump up and hug her. I half expect her to react the same way. To barrel through the door and embrace me like the prodigal daughter that’s finally returned home. But neither of us makes a move and I can’t mistake the disappointment that settles in my chest when she continues lingering in the doorway.
“Breakfast is ready if you’re hungry.” She thoroughly scans my face but it doesn’t take the sting off the fact that she completely skipped over a greeting.
“Okay,” I answer, matching her neutral tone. Without another word she shuts the door, leaving me with a few ideas of how this summer is going to be. None of which include the word fun.
By the time I enter the kitchen, mom and Parker are already seated at the table, the pancakes on their plates half eaten and their noses buried in the paper. Naturally, Parker is looking at the Sports section, but when he notices me sit down, he folds the paper and discards it on an empty chair.
“Hey.” His voice is upbeat. Cheerful. Not at all forced and I know he’s trying to make an effort.
I take a drink of the coffee I assume mom poured for me and offer him a small smile. “Hey.”
Parker leans back in his wheelchair and clears his throat. Mom lowers the paper, looks from Parker to me then sets the paper down.
“How was your trip, Elaine?” She says, taking a drink from her own mug.
God, could this get any more painful?
“It was…okay.” I shrug, not sure how else to describe the seven hour car ride with one measly bathroom break.
She stands up, gathering hers and Parker’s plates and takes them to the sink where she starts washing dishes. “Well, it was sweet of Whitney to give you a ride. Remind me to get you some gas money to give her the next time you see each other.”
I stab a piece of pancake with my fork and shove it in my mouth. “It’s Whitney, m
om. She doesn’t expect you to pay her.”
“Maybe not, but I’ll feel guilty not offering her something.” She rinses a plate and sets it in the rack to dry.
I shovel more food into my mouth, unsure how to respond. The kitchen is quiet until Parker says, “So what are your plans for today?”
He’s looking at me, so I swallow and take a drink. “I don’t know. Netflix probably.”
His mouth curves, making the skin around his eyes crinkle. “Seriously? I thought you would’ve outgrown that by now.”
I snort. “You’re one to talk. I’m pretty sure I learned everything I know about watching five seasons of a show in two days from you.”
He smiles and leans back in his chair, arms stretched above his head. “Maybe.”
“You mean totally.” I point my fork at him before chomping off the pancake at the end.
Parker shakes his head and wheels away from the table, running a hand through his slightly damp hair. “I’m about to need to leave for work,” he says, addressing mom who’s putting plates in the cabinet. She spins around, drying her hands on a dish towel.
“Alright sweetie. Let me get my scrubs on, and I’ll be ready to go.”
She leaves the kitchen, and I wait until her bedroom door closes before looking at Parker.
“So, you have a job?” I ask, a little surprised. He’s never mentioned a job before but then again, we only talked every few months.
Parker keeps his chair facing away from me but I can still see his face. “Yea.”
He scratches the back of his head, and I get a vibe that he’s nervous.
“Oh. Where?”
“A photography studio downtown,” he replies. He’s keeping his answers vague, and I get the feeling he’s keeping something from me which isn’t like Parker at all.
I set my fork down and lean back. “I didn’t know you were into that. Do you photograph?”
“Here and there.” He shrugs, brushing some crumbs off the front of his t-shirt.
Mom comes rushing back into the kitchen dressed in a pair of faded blue scrubs. She looks worn out. The dark bags under her eyes an indication that she’s been getting little sleep. Her mousy brown hair has a few streaks of gray, and it’s longer than it used to be, an untamed mop of tight curls she has restrained into a ponytail. I’ve always been glad I didn’t get her hair. There’s no way I could pull it off, but she does. Mom is one of those people that looks beautiful without even trying.
“You ready?” She looks at Parker as she digs through her purse and retrieves her keys.
Then she looks at me. “I won’t be home until around midnight, but Parker gets home about five thirty. There’s frozen pizza in the fridge for dinner, and if you need anything today, just call Parker.”
I nod and she says goodbye, rushing out of the kitchen and past Parker.
“I’ll see you later. Have fun Netflixing.” He grins, and before I have a chance to respond, follows mom out of the house. After I rinse off my dishes I decide to take a cold shower. It’s burning up in here, and I wonder if something’s wrong with the air conditioning because I was drenched in sweat by the time breakfast was over. I get dressed in a t-shirt and denim cut offs then check my phone to find a text message from Whitney.
Whitney: So bored. Wanna meet up at Wired?
I plop down on my bed and pull my legs to my chest.
Me: We haven’t been here twenty four hours and you’re already bored?
Whitney: Whatever. Don’t act like you’re not dying to get out of your house.
Me: Mom and Parker left so it’s just me.
Whitney: Please meet me at Wired? Jenna keeps asking me to hold the baby. I don’t think I can handle being spat up on again.
Me: Okay fine. But what’s the magic word?
Whitney: Double shot caramel vanilla latte with extra whipped cream. On me. ;)
Me: I love when you talk dirty to me.
Whitney: There’s more where that came from. Meet me there in an hour.
Wired is a local coffee shop located downtown. It opened our sophomore year of high school and was a godsend because it gave people our age something to do other than wander aimlessly around Walmart. The owner Rob is a retired roadie for some eighties hairband that was apparently really big back in the day. Now he’s the lead singer for his own band Iron Tiger which plays at Wired on Saturday nights. During the week, the nights are open for other local talents. Except for Monday. Monday is karaoke night which mostly consists of a bunch of teenagers hyped up on too many espresso shots.
“I’ve really missed this place.” Whitney sighs happily, cradling her mug between her hands.
I nod and glance around at the dark red walls. They’re decorated with coffee themed pictures, band posters and a few autographed guitars Rob keeps locked in a glass case behind the counter. A small stage is at the back of the room with tables, chairs, and a few couches scattered around in random places. It’s different from most coffee shops, at least the ones I’ve been to in Knoxville. But it’s cozy and Rob makes the best coffee.
“So,” Whitney says, her green eyes watching me over the cup, “have you talked to your mom yet?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Kind of.”
“What do you mean, kind of?”
“She asked how the drive went.”
“That’s it?” She scrunches her nose and shakes her head. “Were you even trying to have a conversation with her?”
“I answered all her questions if that’s what you mean.”
“Seriously?” She slams her mug down and folds her arms on the table. “You do realize you’re making this worse for yourself right?”
I sigh, tracing a finger around the rim of my mug. “I’m not trying to. But it’s weird being in that house. It’s not as hard as I thought it would be with Parker but mom…” I trail off, searching for the right words, “mom and I aren’t close. You know that. And I can’t read her like I can Parker. I don’t know if she’s mad at me or just feels as awkward as I do. There are a lot of unsaid things between us.”
“Then say them,” she says, staring at me like she doesn’t see the problem. “Ya’ll aren’t going to fix the issue if you don’t talk about it.”
“You make it sound so easy, Whit, but it’s not. If I knew what to say, I’d say it. It’s like all these unknown problems are floating around between us, but I don’t know what they are. How do I fix something when I’m not even sure how where to start?”
Her expression changes, like she finally understands what I’m saying. I get where she’s coming from with talking to my mom, but it’s more complicated than that. It’s like getting a cut and not taking care of it and before you know it, it’s festered into something painful and gross. I wish I knew a way to heal our relationship, but I don’t. That’s why I ran. I ran from so much, because I don’t know how to fix it.
“I’m sorry,” she sighs. “I’m not trying to be insensitive. I just hate that you aren’t close to your family anymore.” She wipes at the lipstick smudged on the edge of her cup then looks at me. “This needs to be your summer. Our summer. We need to have fun, because it seems like ages since we have. No matter what happens, let’s just try to enjoy our time here. You know I’m always down for doing something fun.”
She props her chin in her hands, her eyes wide and hopeful.
“Alright, fine.” I agree begrudgingly. “This can be our summer. Whatever that means.”
Her lips curve and I smile too. Whitney has always been here for me. Stuck it out when my life was crumbling to pieces. I owe it to her to be happy, even if it is just for the summer.
She claps her hands excitedly then flags down Rob, asking him to bring us each an espresso shot. He apologizes to me in advance because he knows a shot for someone as spastic as Whitney is the equivalent of her snorting a line of cocaine.
“To summer.” She smiles, lifting her tiny glass in the air for a toast. I raise mine, too, even though we look ridiculous. Our glasses clink togethe
r, and we toss back our shots.
To summer.
“Have you ever realized that all we do is eat?”
I swirl a massive onion ring in a pile of ketchup and take a bite. It’s only been two hours since we left Wired, but after wandering around town for a while, we decided it was time for lunch. I don’t even think we were hungry, but once we spotted Alden Dairy Bar, it was like the heavens opened up, tempting us in with the "Hallelujah Chorus" and the smell of chili cheese fries. We practically sprinted inside, giggling like little girls in a candy store while we ordered one of everything on the menu. From the miserable look on Whitney’s face and the churning in my stomach, I think we’re starting to regret it. I swallow my last mouthful, washing it down with my Vanilla Coke.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Whitney pushes her glass across the table and rests her cheek on her arm. “We need help. Serious help. Like food rehab, where we’d spend our days doing yoga with a hot instructor and drinking those crappy looking kale shakes while we attend Junk Food Anonymous meetings.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re referring to hell, with the exception of the hot yoga instructor,” I say, chewing on the top of my straw.
Whitney sighs dreamily. “Hey, I’d burn in hell if it meant doing the downward dog with a hot guy for all eternity.”
I snort a laugh.
“What? Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same thing.”
I push my lips to the side doubtfully. Unlike Whitney, I’ve only been with one guy my entire life. He got all my firsts. First date. First kiss. First time having sex. First guy to steal my heart and the first guy to break it. But he was also my last. The last guy I’ll ever love because even after all these years, I haven’t been able to move on. And it’s impossible to give your heart to someone else when it still belongs to the person who last had it.