Page 79 of Wish You Would

I thought my dad would always be here, with his strong arms to hug me and his sage words to soothe.

“If only you knew,” I whispered to the photograph, flinching when a tear splashed against the glass. Another followed, then another, until it looked like the sunny day captured in the shot was tarnished by a rainstorm.

God, I was a leaky mess today.

Sniffling, I squared my shoulders. Then, I wiped the tears from the glass and put the frame back on the wall. Baby Gigi may have known nothing, but I wasn’t that girl anymore. Now? Well, now, I knew too much. I knew the bite of heartbreak, the sting of disappointment. The soul-stomping pain of loss. I knew all too well the hot, sharp stab of regret, of knowing how your choices hurt those you love.

I heard what Vaughn said. I absorbed it.

But he was wrong. I couldn’t make those choices again. The time to be selfish was dead and gone. Now? Now was about the people I cared about. The people I loved.

At the thought, a montage of memory ran through my mind. Parker, standing on the sidewalk outside the bar. Parker, across from me in my kitchen. Parker, dark hair fanned out behind her in my bed. Sweet pink lips and fathomless blue eyes. Tinkling laughter and throaty moans. Fingertips and full hips and a heart so big and open it could fit the whole damn world inside…

“Fuck,” I whispered. I hadn’t let myself think these last few days. I hadn’t let myself second guess, reconsider, run. No, I’d stepped right in front of the freight train with arms wide open, welcoming the collision.

And, oh, had it hit me. Hard and fast.

Oxygen left my lungs in a whoosh as all of the pieces clicked into place. The excitement, the euphoria. The panic. The peace and the passion. The chaotic, red-stringed board inside my chest, jumping from point to point, all arriving at the same conclusion:

I was in fucking love.

32

32 PARKER

WHAT IS LOVE?

There were some things one didn’t know, growing up as the only child in the house. There were some things one did not learn unless they had a sibling in their life on a regular basis. What things, you might ask?

Well, I was currently learning how impossible it was to ignore your sibling when they were intent on bothering you. Especially when that intention involved, as Anya put it, juicy deets. I didn’t know if all siblings were this obnoxious, or if I’d hit the lottery in hell, but here we were.

We were at Molly’s, a bakery/bar, for one of our semi-regular “work dates.” I’d bring my schoolwork and Anya would bring her comics work, and we’d get stuff done over pie and wine. It was one of my favorite ways to spend time with my sister. Usually.

Tonight, however…tonight was a different story.

I was in study mode: noise canceling headphones and glasses on, laptop open, a thousand books stacked beside it. My highlighters and tabs were neatly organized by color, and I had three separate notebooks open to various pages. I was ready to go.

But, in my periphery, I could see Anya leaning over the table to peer at me, her face distorted into the most macabre expression. I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing and kept my eyes on the screen. Maybe if I ignored her, she’d stop. She’d go back to work on her own project. She’d leave me to study in—

The remainder of that thought vanished the moment Anya reached over and yanked my headphones off.

“Hey,” I said, trying to snatch them back. “What the heck?”

Anya tucked the headphones into her messenger bag and faced me, a beatific smile on her face. “Hello, sister dear.”

“Hi, hello.” I waved maniacally. “We’ve done this already. Can I please have my headphones back? I have so much to do.” I cast a pointed look at her unopened sketchbook and powered-down tablet. “As do you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She reached across and closed my laptop. “And we’ll get it all done. After.”

I sighed, summoning the patience of a saint. “You know, it’s moments like these that I’m glad we didn’t grow up in the same house.”

Anya gasped, clutching her chest. “I cannot believe you’d say such a thing!”

Folding my hands atop my laptop, I waited for her to get her dramatics out.

“You know, Parks, that hurts. It really does. After all we’ve been through. After everything we’ve missed, I—” She stopped abruptly and sighed, sinking back in her chair, artifice gone. It would’ve been jarring, how quickly she changed tacks, if it were the first time I’d witnessed it. Now, it was simply Anya. “Look,” she said normally, as if she hadn’t just channeled an award-winning soap opera actress. “I just wanna know how it happened.”

It.

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