Page 210 of Untouchable

"I know you must feel like you have it all figured out. I was 26 once too, you know. But you should be looking for someone to start a family with, have a life together..."

Parker only barely manages to contain his eye-roll.

“Mom—Vanessa didn’t even meet her husband until she was 29. And—and, besides, who says I couldn’t have that with Harp—I mean—I mean, not that—not that it even matters?”

He flushes. The truth is, he’s been trying not to let himself stray down that path too far, because he knows that when he does, he’ll be picking out colors for their wedding an hour later. But Parker’s never been good at not falling for someone that way, and he has thought about the future: what it would be like if the drive down from Storm Mountain was his daily commute, how he would feel to go hand in hand to The Red Hut and become regulars there, imagining the holiday traditions they’d build as they wove their lives together.

"In ten years, you'll be in the prime of your life and he'll be—what... 55? Fifty-six?" She shakes her head sadly. "And do you really think that when Harp looks at you, he's thinking of you as his future husband and equal? That he's thinking ten years down the line?"

Parker’s face falls.

“Y-yes?” he says in a small voice. “Why wouldn’t he?”

She looks at him like she's tremendously sad, like it's so hard to tell him this.

"You're eighteen years younger than him, gorgeous, bubbly... Parker, you're a trophy. This man doesn't loveyou."

“Huh?” Parker says. Her words circling in his head, but he can’t quite seem to digest them. A trophy was how he’d felt with Cole—something dumb and pretty for Cole to bring on his arm to parties, someone only good for sex and bringing Cole lattes during long shifts at the hospital. But Harp is nothing like Cole, and, more importantly, the way Harp treats Parker is the polar opposite of how Cole acted.

"You'll understand this when you're older, I'm sure. You just need—well, I'm not saying you're immature but I know it must be nearly impossible to understand. When Harp was your age, you were in second grade. What could you possibly share, in the long term?"

“Mom, I don’t get how he could possibly be using me,” Parker says, frowning at her. His wrap is all but forgotten on his plate, but he has no appetite. “He’s the one that—”

He stops himself, thankfully, before he accidentally reveals just how much Harp has paid for and given him. But Harp had never seemed to expect anything in return. Paying for the car had just been a loan, a favor between two people. And, though of course he’d never bring this up with his mother, the orgasm tally was definitely in Parker’s favor.

“Look, Mom, there’s… there’s a lot of aspects of our relationship you don’t see. You met him for like, two seconds outside my work when I was really flustered, and—I know him, okay?”

Even as he says it, his mind is working overtime to keep himself from doubting it. Harp had seemed so open, so vulnerable, that night at The Stewart when he’d laid out his past, but a nasty little voice in Parker’s mind is going through everything Harp has ever told him with a fine tooth comb, looking for holes or bare spots or discrepancies.

He wants to cry—not even an hour with his mother, and he’s already finding himself trying to catch Harp in a lie. He feels like he’s betrayed Harp somehow.

"I can see I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this," she says, looking down at her lap. "I just hope you know what you're doing, Parker."

“Mom—I’m sorry—” he says, instantly guilty. He kicks himself—she’s told him before that she feels as though he never listens to her, doesn’t value her advice, and though she can be difficult, she’s still his mother. He doesn’t want to make her feel like that. “I—I—thank you for looking out for me, okay? I appreciate it, I swear—it’s just that—you don’t—you don’t know Harp like I do, and he’s—he’s—” Parker falters, making a vague hand gesture.

"I know that you want to see the best in people—and I'm sure there are some parts of Harp that seem... charming to you. But you're attractive and young and... You're a plaything to him. It might be fun for you now to feel desired, but you will end up discarded. I can already see it happening."

“You—you really think that?” Parker asks softly, looking up at her. His heart aches. He’d been looking forward to today, to getting lunch with Harp before his session, to getting to see Harp and spend time with him, hold his hand on the table as they ate.

But instead, here he is, at a restaurant he doesn’t really like with his mother, on the brink of tears.

"I know it's hard to hear. I hate to be the person to say it to you. But don't you think it's better you know now than years down the road, when you've invested so much of yourself into this person?"

“I guess,” Parker says, staring down at his lap miserably.

“I only want what’s best for you, sweetheart,” she says, her voice the perfect facsimile of kindness.

* * *

The restof the lunch passes in a blur. His mother offers to give him a ride back to Rocky Mountain, and when he reminds her that Harp is picking him up, she gives him a long, pointed look. When she finally goes, Parker gives serious thought to calling out sick and going home to sleep for about twenty hours. He texts Harp his location and waits outside, his arms wrapped around himself. It’s December, and in all the chaos Parker hadn’t even grabbed his sweatshirt. He barely feels the chill, though.

* * *

It only takesa minute to get to the address Parker texts him, but Harp still considers calling to talk for the whole drive. When he arrives, Parker is turned in on himself, looking small on a park bench. Harp wishes Parker would've let him come along. He's already shouldering out of his jacket by the time Parker walks up to the passenger door.

"You look miserable," Harp says, pressing the garment into his hands and leaning across the truck bench to kiss his temple. "What happened?"

* * *

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