Page 45 of Wish You Would

Parker sighed, a delighted little sound, and a soft smile touched her face. I wasn’t sure if it was a pancake reaction, or happiness for our siblings. “They're really good for each other, aren’t they?”

Despite the ever-widening chasm in my chest, I smiled back. A real one. Because, yes. Vaughn and Anya were very good for each other. “I sometimes think,” I started, but reined in the sentence before I could finish it. Too much, I thought. It was too much.

“You sometimes think what?” Parker cut another triangle bite and dragged it through the syrup puddled on her plate.

I watched the motion, ignoring the warm prickle of her eyes on me. “Nothing.” I waved a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s something.” She sat her fork down with a soft clinkand sought out my gaze. Her eyes were soft. Warmer than that shade of blue had any right to be. “Tell me.”

That was all it took. Those two words were sticks of dynamite at the base of my very well-kept wall, blowing it up.

“I sometimes think,” I said, words falling from me like debris, “that if it weren’t for Anya, Vaughn and I would still be...I don’t know. Estranged? Broken? He’d still hate me?” I drummed my fingers against my juice glass. “He’d have every right to. Still does. But...somehow, he doesn’t? I think that...” Exhaling a hard breath, I blinked away the stinging in my eyes. “I think I have Anya to thank for that.”

Parker watched me silently for a few moments, her face unreadable. I fidgeted under her scrutiny, scraping the tines of my fork through the perfect top of my pancake until it had four long grooves. My stomach protested, ordering me to shovel the food into my mouth, but I waited, as if I couldn’t move on until I knew what Parker was thinking. What she’d say.

“What happened between you two?”

The question was delivered in the softest of tones, but landed like a cannonball to my gut. I lifted my apple juice and laughed. “This is the entirely wrong kind of drink for that story.” I took a sip anyway, and wished for the burn of whiskey. “The CliffsNotes version? I left. Physically, yes. But also, I left him alone to deal with all the hard shit.”

I stared into my glass, my reflection in the golden liquid blinking up at me. “It wasn’t intentional,” I continued, into the silence. “Not at first, anyway. But intentions don’t matter when the damage is done.” My chest ached the kind of ache that came with knowing you’d hurt someone you loved. Really hurt them. “No amount of grace given can make you forgive yourself for that kind of damage.”

Across from me, Parker was quiet. I looked up to find her watching me, those lovely eyes of hers filled with tears.

“Parker,” I started, ready to tell her that I was not worthy of those tears. To tell her that she should save them for someone better, someone who didn’t crush their brother’s heart and miss their dad’s funeral. But the words froze on my lips when she reached across the table, across the pancakes and napkins and juice glasses, for my hand.

“That’s a lot to carry,” she said as her hand covered mine. “All that guilt.”

I wanted to shrug, to tell her that I’d earned it. Deserved it. But my words were lost to the ether when her hand covered mine. Her skin was soft and warm, but her touch was sure. Her thumb slipped under my hand and made tiny circles against my palm and my every nerve focused there.

“Aren’t you tired?”

I tore my stare away from our hands to look at her. She watched me through eyes bright with tears, brow furrowed. If she were anyone else, I’d have balked. Questioned their sincerity. Their motives. But Parker could only be genuine. It was her only setting.

So, instead of scoffing or joking or brushing her off, I nodded. A moment of truth.“So fucking tired.” As soon as the words came out, my shoulders sagged with relief. Eyes stinging, I looked away.

Her grip tightened on my hand for a moment before she moved away, as if she sensed I needed a moment. From the corner of my eye, I saw her pick her fork back up and cut another triangular bite. I watched for a few more bites, transfixed by the methodical way she ate. It was soothing somehow. Like meditation. And, bite by bite, my breathing slowed, my lungs stopped aching.

When I finally thought I could speak without dissolving into tears, I cleared my throat and faced her once more. “Anyway,” I said as I picked up my own fork. “I’m pretty sure your sister threatened violence if Vaughn didn't at least hear me out when I first came home.”

Parker’s lips quirked. “That sounds like her.” She, too, had pulled herself together. The tears that had threatened to spill over her cheeks moments before were gone. “She’s a lunatic. And I adore her.”

I smiled, stabbing into my own stack of pancakes. “She gets shit done, that’s for sure.”

For the rest of the meal, we talked and laughed as we ate. My brief moment of vulnerability still hung like a neon sign in the back of my mind, but I ignored the flickering. This meal wasn’t about me, after all. It was about Parker.

It was about making sure she was ready for her date.

With someone else.

The last bite of pancake turned to dust in my mouth. I swallowed hard, forcing it down, then reached for my juice. As I gulped, I tried not to think about it. How this time tomorrow, Parker and Halle’s first date would be a reality, something that happened, instead of the hypothetical it’d been this whole time.

Maybe I should be proud of myself. I helped Parker accomplish exactly what she wanted. The attention of another woman. A date with her. Possibly more than one date. Maybe a whole-ass relationship.

My food turned to stone in my stomach.

“You ready to go?”

I jumped as Parker voiced the question. Looking up, I found her watching me, amused. “Now who’s the jumpy one?” she asked as she shrugged into her jacket.

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